My husband is a very, very animated storyteller. Tonight at dinner, he was telling me the reason behind a broken plate I had recently discovered in the kitchen. Matt’s alibi is that he was napping the other day when he suddenly was awoken by a big “pop”. He thought that someone had thrown a brick into our glass door or even that the hood over our stove had fallen. But nooo- after some careful sleuth work, he discovered that the cause of the “big boom” was a plate that had “spontaneously combusted” (his words, not mine) on Carson’s placemat. Sounds kind of fishy to me, but whatever.

A few minutes after Matt told me this strange tale, Carson began talking a mile a minute about the “big pop” and the “big boom”, completely retelling Matt’s story in his own two year old manner. Even as I put him in his bed tonight, he was still excitedly jabbering on about the “big pop” and the “brick in the glass”.

I think I have another storyteller on my hands.