flattery is the . . . scariest thing my kid can do

so the boy has two beaded necklaces that he found lord knows where - one of them he calls slimey (oscar the grouch's pet worm) and the other beebee (which i think is because it is a fake pearl and he thinks of those as beads but it makes me think of kill bill everytime he says it). well, the last couple of days he's been draping the necklaces over his ears and saying he has earrings, lots of earrings, and that he is momma. and then i have to pretend to be malachai. today he says 'would you like cheerios in a little bowl'. so anyway, all very cute but here's the terrifying thing that i have been thinking about a lot lately . . . we have reached the stage where how we treat and interact with him is only part of the equation and will become increasingly less important. what becomes more and more important is how we act / what we are modelling for him. and frankly, i'm not comfortable with that.

i mean for one thing . . . i have spent the last three days searching for my keys. literally. sigh.

which is why i am cutting this short. but as part of my buffy marathon i offer this - in response to joyce's death anya is asking all sorts of "inappropriate" questions and willow finally gets upset with her and the following ensues:

Willow: Oh my God! Would you just... stop talking? Just... shut your mouth! Please!
Anya: What am I doing?
Willow: How can you act like that?
Anya: Am I supposed to be changing my clothes a lot? Is that the helpful thing to do?
Xander: Guys—
Willow: The way you behave—
Anya: Nobody will tell me.
Willow: Because it's not okay for you to be asking these things!
Anya: (crying) But I don't understand! I don't understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she's, there's just a body, and I don't understand why she just can't get back in it and not be dead anymore! It's stupid! It's mortal and stupid! And, and Xander's crying and not talking, and, and I was having fruit punch, and I thought, well Joyce will never have any more fruit punch, ever, and she'll never have eggs, or yawn or brush her hair, not ever, and no one will explain to me why.
Willow: ... We don't know... how it works... why.

Even if I wasn't currently . . . ya know . . . this is just so well written.

good thing i don't have anything on my mind.