but at four, they don't get your jokes and they don't joke around with you.
at four, they could give a giant crappola about world events and economy and war and chloroplasts (unless a certain someone happens to tell them about starving children who don't get chocolate milk and don't have homes).
then they care, but they don't really get it.
at nine and eleven they get your jokes. even when you don't want them too.
big enough to empty the dishwasher....score!
they are big enough to give you 3 second piggy back rides.
when you have a bad day at work because of a bunch of meenie poo poo heads, they wrap their arms around you tight and say, "tell me all about it mom". and then they listen. like really listen.
i love that.