. . . but not yet.

P. {confined to his room for Quiet Hour}:  God, please let me out of this cage.

As if Halloween costumes weren't already hard enough.

P.:  My pee-pee is going to be Bob the Builder for Halloween.

Birth of snappy patter.

P.:  M.?

M.:  Yes, P.?

P.:  Nothing.

M.:  Why'd you say my name?

P.:  Because I love you.

As are we all.

P.:  I'm a little bit beautiful and a little bit tough.

The feeling is mutual.

P. {about his brother, C.}:  He is the bestest and I love him.

Ya think?

P. {to a crucifix}:  I'm sorry you died.

Pronunciation.

P.:  Pumpkim.

P.:  Pissert.

P.:  Pamtake.

P.:  Bamember.

P.:  Napkim.

P.:  Legular.

Well, the alibi is plausible.

D.:  Let's talk about China.  How's China?

P.:  She died.

D.:  Really?  How did she die?

P.:  She throwed up.

D.:  People don't usually die from throwing up.  Did she say anything?

P.:  She said, "Blech."

Huh. Better than what D. actually had in mind.

P.:  Are you going to have a train birthday?

M.:  It's not my birthday.  It's my anniversary.

P.:  You could have a D. tent.  You could have a wedding house and dance with D. in it.  That would be a good compromise.

Not exactly what the tourism board has in mind.

P.:  I want to go to South America and pee.

Everyone loves a compliment.

P. {to K. in the bathtub}:  K., you look beautiful.  You look like a princess in there.

My sources say "no."

P.:  We could have another baby . . . next week!

Dunno. I'm too sleep deprived to remember.

P.:  Why do we need a baby?

Arrival.

Doh.

M.:  Don't lick the chicken.  Chicken is for eating.

P.:  I'm licking the chicken.

M.:  Licking is not eating.

P.:  Licking is a kind of eating.

What gives you the right.

P. {asserting that he is in charge}:  I'm old and sick!

Like we needed another metaphor for the church.

P. {seeing a bishop in a mitre}:  It's the Captain!

That can be arranged.

P. {staring at dessert plate}:  I'm looking at cookies.

D.:  Are the cookies talking to you?

P.:  They not have faces.