High hopes...he's got...high hopes....

Peanut:  By the time the Toddler is my age, I'll be fourteen.
Me:  No, you'll be twelve.
Moon:  No, you'll be eleven.
Me:  No, he'll be twelve.
Peanut:  No, I'm seven right now, so....
Me:  Right.  And the Toddler is two.  You are five years apart.  When he's seven, you'll be twelve.
Moon:  And by the time the Toddler turns seven, I'll be 23 days away from driving.
Peanut:  And then you can drive me to school.
Moon:  No.  I'll drive myself to school.
Me:  In what car?
Moon, shrugging his shoulders:  I dunno.
Peanut:  You have to get a job first.
Sixty seconds of silence
Peanut:  I hope you don't end up a hobo.

Well, at least he's mastered his "R"s

Me, backing out of parking spot, nearly hitting a man on a bike who decided to whiz between cars:  Nice!  Stupid fucking guy on a bike.
Toddler:  Fah-ker bike?
Me:  No!  No!  Babies don't say that.
Toddler:  Fucker bike?
Me:  No, no!  Those are not words for babies.
Toddler:  Fucker bike?  Fucker bike?  Fucker bike!
Me:  Awesome.
Toddler, singing in a sweet little voice all the way home:  fucker bike....fucker bike....fucker bike