Shef has begun quoting his books and movies in apt situations. For instance, I came to his room the other night, exasperated by the fact that he’d been calling out for me for over an hour, and he looked at me, dejected.

“What’s wrong,” I demanded.

“She loves me not,” he explained, his lower lip protruding.

Flash-forward a couple of days, to when Dan was reprimanding me for burning out light bulbs too fast. I explained that the lights were burned out because I’d left them on overnight when I was home alone with my child while my husband lived in Iowa.

“Mommy, I’m afraid,” Shef interrupted.

“Of what?”

“Of the ringing bells of Santa’s sleigh.”

Of course.

And then yesterday, as we left Dan’s parents’ and discovered that a few inches of snow had fallen during dinner, Shef exclaimed: “The world is covered with a sparkling blanket.” I thought that was charming plagiarism if I’d ever heard it.

I’m pretty sure he wasn’t quoting any book or movie I’ve ever shown him, however, when he looked the tech who was set to x-ray his tonsils and adenoids in the eye and announced, “Now, we’re not going to cut my penis.”

No. No, we’re not.