FYI, he’s still asking as many as ever. Today when we got home the lawn service was cutting the grass and I didn’t hear from the duo for at least fifteen minutes, except once when Drew ran downstairs to say, “Hey Mom, if you have to talk to us in front of the guy mowing the grass, be sure and call me ‘Fred’ and call Porter ‘Bobby.'”
“Why would I do that?” I asked.
“I don’t have time to explain– just do it, okay?” He ran back up the stairs.
During lunch (a nutritious bowl of Beef-A-Roni seasoned with Tabasco and oregano) the boys laughed about their adventures in the front yard, while I just hoped they had not driven the poor man crazy.
I gathered that they peppered him with inquiries such as “Do you like Mountain Dew” and “Have you ever fried beef jerky?”
Apparently he still has his sense of humor intact:
Beware all Glamore visitors! My boys just might talk you to death.
Cute picture alert, as well as skilled rhymes:
Two years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Vague Remembrance of Things Past