There's a Whore at the Door!

My kids are always crazy when they wake up. It's like somebody secretly gives them an intravenous drip of extra silliness in their sleep. They leap out of bed, run around like wild men, and pretend to be weird characters acting out equally weird scenarios.

In the pre-dawn hours of this morning, we were lying in bed when we heard Colin and Cameron come out of their room and into ours. They bounced around like a couple of pinballs for a minute, then started chasing Josie, our chocolate Lab.

All of a sudden, Colin bellows, "THERE'S A WHOOOORE AT THE DOOR!" in this salty-old-sea-captain type voice.

My eyes widened. I looked at Curtis. We tightened our lips in a (futile) effort to keep from smiling.

"Um, what?" I asked.

"A whore at the door!" Colin repeated cheerfully, bounding after Josie.

"And uh ... what's a whore?"

He's in this phase of making up "a new language," as he calls it. Last night he told me that we no longer live in Iowa, but in a place called Leefan. (I dunno. Your guess is as good as mine.) We've already been through the excruciating process of trying to explain the meaning of "whore," but apparently we didn't offer up a satisfactory definition - because when I asked him what it was, he pointed at Josie.

"A whore is a type of dog," he explained.

"I think that's bitch," Curtis whispered to me.

Potato, potahto.