...or is our eldest son, well, a bit odd?

Tonight in the living room for the rosary: Thomas on my lap, John stretched out on the couch next to me. Before the first Hail Mary they were... interacting. My decade sounded like "Holy Mary, Mother of--ow, not my hair! God, pray for us--leave his eye alone! sinners, now and at the hour of--GENTLE!"

"I'm strug-a-wing," said John, muffled through a sofa cushion. (NB: Two other entries of note in the John-English lexicon: Guh-wih-wah, which translates literally as "gorilla" but is apparently his word for "dinosaur," and Ack-chew-wee [actually], with which he prefaces all his self-corrections.)

The rosary ended. Joe took Thomas off to bed. (NB2: Did I mention? We've been sleep training Thomas for almost a week now. Evening routine: dinner, bath, pajamas, nurse on the couch during the rosary, off to his bedroom for two board books in the rocking chair, then lights out and a walk around the room singing, then into the crib. Daddy stays with him until he falls asleep, with occasional pats and shushings.) John reached for my hand and dragged me off to his room.

"What story would you like tonight, John?" I asked, bracing for the umpteenth rendition of "Pooh Invents a New Game."

"Da fone book," he replied, and heaved it over the railing into his bed. "You come up too and get in."

"Um, er, I do have to warn you, this won't be a very interesting read," I informed him, as I climbed dutifully up.

The child was unfazed. "Wead it," he commanded.

"Uh. Yeeeeeeeah. Okay, here are the white pages. These have the phone numbers for all the families in our area. And here are the yellow pages. These are the numbers for all the stores and businesses. Oh, here are the blue pages! These are the government agencies."

"Wead it," he repeated.

"What, do you want me to read all the listings?"

"Yes."

"O-kay then." And I proceeded to recite them, rattling off agencies as fast as I could in the hopes of boring him. What really happened was that I discovered lots of information I didn't realize the phone book had, like maps to (and of) local parks and attractions, many of which will be quite field-trip-worthy, and a list of upcoming events for the county through December. Finally he said "Daz enuff," and I laid the book on his dresser, with a mental note to write down the things I'd noticed.

Maybe this just means his mother is the one who's odd. I must get it from him.