Conversation around the table ten minutes ago, while the kids were indulging in a few squares of the (completely inappropriately massive) slabs of chocolate my brother gave them during the holidays:
Lizzie: "Did you ever notice, Matthew, that you and Seth and I like different kinds of chocolate?"
Matthew (in a bored, duh tone): "Yes, Lizzie."
Lizzie (oblivious to the boredom factor): "It's interesting that I like white chocolate the best, Sethie loves the medium brown chocolate the best, and you like dark chocolate the best."
Matthew: "Uh huh."
Seth (condescendingly, and using a brand new word): "Technically, Lizzie, the chocolate I like is called milk chocolate, not medium brown chocolate...and I like dark chocolate, too, just not as much."
Lizzie (undeterred, ignoring Seth's intrusion): "And you know what's amazing?"
Lizzie: "Whenever Uncle David brings us chocolate, he just knows what kinds of chocolate we like. How does he do that?"
Matthew: "Lizzie, he knows us. He tries hard to bring us the kind of chocolate we like the best."
Lizzie: "I think I know how he knows."
Lizzie (wide-eyed, hands out, palms up in exclamation): "Because he's a genius. He's an actual, total genius. And he loves us. Amazing. I love Uncle David. And he's actually a genius."
I was hard pressed, having know my brother for all of my forty-seven years, not to laugh or dispute her claim of his genius, but her conviction was sweet and so fervent that all I could do was confirm that, indeed, he is pretty amazing to know them that well.