Q was invited to a cooking party and came home with a treat-smeared face, a truly masterful cake, a green apron and a smile of sheer self-satisfaction. He let the kids and I share his delightful treat with him. It was actually quite delicious. His cake decorating skills bring one thought to my mind. If one topping is good, every conceivable candy/sprinkle/frosting color would be absolutely phenomenal.
One day, I was cleaning in the kitchen and out of nowhere, Q proclaims, "Bon Appetit," while handing me a glass of water with two bits of purposefully-placed cheese floating and swirling in its depths. He then smiles at me, obviously proud of his culinary masterpiece. I made an excuse to avoid drinking it, although the "Bon Appetit" pronouncement made the cheesy water seem very fancy indeed. Now where in the world did he hear that French phrase and understand the correct usage at a mere three years of age? I am baffled, I am.