Q is now sick. Fa la la la la la la la la.
Sitting on our bed this morning, he made one of his typical statements: "When Noodle is twenty, I'll be twenty-three."
What was somewhat surprising, was that usually he states that as a question: "When Noodle is twenty, how old will I be?"
J and I exchange looks.
J asks him, "Hey Q, when you are twenty, how old will Noodle be?"
A pause. "Seventeen."
My eyes bug out.
He then goes on to recite one of his current favorite books in his favored current style: operetta.