He became confused and asked, “How did men and women cavemen have babies, Mom? They couldn’t get married.”

This I could handle. But much to my shock, he then added, “They also didn’t know how to KISS. You can’t have babies if you don’t even KISS.”

I frantically tried to remember any new or older friends Deep Thinker has met lately, but none came to mind. So, I asked, “Why do you think they needed to kiss to have babies?”

And he said, “Hello. You have to KISS to get MARRIED, don’t ya? Didn’t YOU kiss DADDY when you and Daddy got married?” And he waved his hands around in the air like this was the dumbest question he’d ever heard in his entire life.

I was quite relieved. Then he added, “Oh yeah, also there were no doctors back then to take the baby out of the Mommy’s belly. That’s ANOTHER problem.”

Yes, I agree. That certainly is another problem. One that I am not ready to solve with Deep Thinker right now. Fortunately for me, the conversation took a turn for a different caveman-related topic.

Everytime he does something that he finds exciting (dropping cereal on the floor, turning on the light, falling over, jumping off the counch), he yells at the top of his lungs “SAD AT MOMMY?!”

I’m not sure how it translates in writing, but it is hilarious and extremely adorable, I promise.

Deep Thinker is going through a phase of asking lots of questions about God and heaven. So, we were on our way to school, and he pointed to a house as we walked by it, and asks, “Mom, are there houses in heaven?”

I said, “Well, I am not sure. People might not need houses there, because their bodies might be different. Maybe they are invisible, or maybe they are always warm. They might not need houses to protect them.”

Perplexed, he asked, “Then where do they put the BEDS??”

One evening, the children playing shepherds practiced the line, “No Samaritans allowed!” over and over. On the way home afterward, my son asked, “Mom, why did the shepherds say ‘No Samaritans allowed?’”

I answered in the simplest terms possible, “Well, the shepherds were Jews. They didn’t like Samaritans.”

He squinted his eyes and asked in a low, serious voice, “Why Mom? Were the Samaritans girls?”

I wanted to teach him about forgiving and moving on. So I told him about the time my sister tore my favorite swirly-q picture. I was about 7, and she was 5. I liked drawing swirly-q’s and coloring them in. But every time I drew one, it turned out crooked, too dark, or too small. But finally, one day, I did it. I drew the perfect swirly-q ! I was sooo happy!

A few minutes later, my sister asked me to play inside with her, but I refused. Out of anger, she tore my picture in half. To Deep Thinker, I pointed out that my sister didn’t want to hurt me or my picture. I said, “See, sometimes little brothers and sisters do things like that. It doesn’t mean they want to hurt you–it sometimes means they really need your love and attention.” He got it. Or so I thought.

About 30 minutes later he comes up to me. I could see from his face that he was horribly upset. His little chin was quivering, and his mouth was pinched. I asked, “Are you okay? What’s wrong???? ”

He said, trying really hard not to cry, “Why don’t you buy a new curly thing NOW, Mommy?” I asked “What?” He said, “The thing that your sister BROKE. Why don’t you buy one for yourself now, Mommy?” He wanted me to buy myself another swirly Q picture that wasn’t torn. So compassionate.

He felt totally better after learning that my father had taped my picture back together for me:)

This morning, I walked in and Denise (our part-time nanny) was reading with Rowdy Rebel. He must have eaten something that didn’t agree with him, because he was passing gas. Every time he made a sound, he looked at Denise and asked very loudly and curiously, “Whassat!?!”

Denise was blushing throughout the entire ‘conversation’ and just kept answering, “That was a noise, Rowdy Rebel. Just a noise.”