Row, row, row your...

At 2 1/2, The Wombat is discovering humor. So far it's been limited to bodily functions, pratfalls, funny noises, and Dory speaking Whale in his favorite movie, Finding Nemo.

Last night, the boys took turns sending each other into fits of giggles by identifying various household objects and body parts and declaring them made of dirt.

"Your head is made of dirt!"

Hysterical laughter.

"The house is made of dirt!"

Hysterical laughter.

"Mama's neck is made of dirt!"

Hysterical laughter.

"The chair is made of dirt!"

Hysterical laughter.

This went on for a while before The Scientist and I separated them for bedtime stories (at their soon-to-be-patented Early Bedtime Hour). The Wombat eventually settled down, but not before naming another dozen items made of dirt (cue hysterical laughter).

When the stories were over, I turned off the light, wrapped him in a blanket and sang him a few bedtime songs in the rocking chair. The last one was Row, Row, Row Your Boat. He sang along with me, getting most of the words right and requesting an encore performance.

Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily.
Life is but a dream.

The room finally quiet and peaceful, he looked up at me as I rocked him. In a moment surely to bring tears to the eyes of other parents and destined to be featured on a Hallmark commercial, he declared,

"I have a butt."

Life is butt a dream, indeed.