As the parent of three small kids, I've learned to write down the stuff they say. Like this gem of a conversation three years ago, as we pulled into the field to take supper to John. Nathan was 3 at the time.
Nathan: “Dat’s corn.”
Me: “That’s right. How did you know that?”
Nathan: “’Cause. I know tings. God told me.”
Or this one from a year ago:
Nathan: "How will we know which one is God and which one is Jesus when we get to heaven?"
Jenna, after a moment's contemplation: "God will probably be taller."
Or this one from dinner one night:
Jenna: "Is Dad 100?"
So last month, as I was helping the kids with their chores and Nathan made one enormous observation relating to Swiffers, GPS and farming, I first thought to myself, "I need to write that one down." Then I thought, "That right there is a column."
And because the kids are getting a little older and I think they should have some say about what may be published about them, I asked him if it was OK if I used what he said in a story. (He may someday wish I'd started that policy a little sooner. We'll worry about that later.)
He grinned and said, "Sure." Then I asked if I could take a picture of him to go with it. He grinned again and said, "Sure! Will it be on the cover?" Not exactly, buddy. Page 13. This did not dampen his enthusiasm.
And so, ever since, he's asked approximately every six hours whether "da Pwaiwie Fawmer" is here yet.
And now it is. He's certain he's famous. And maybe he is...