Seth is my everlasting literalist, my budding accountant. He thoughtfully files away all details to be pondered. I find it hilarious when he comes to me, sometimes days later, to ask me somberly about an occurrence.
For example, my friend Harry came to stay with us a few weeks ago. He mentioned something in passing, saying, "I'd be tickled to death if..."
Days later, a poker-faced Seth came to me. "Mommy," he queried, "why Uncle Harry said he be tickled to death?" His sober blue eyes peered up at me. "He die?"
Yesterday, Seth was listening to a story that mentioned an orange tree. Later, he came to me and announced, "That a silly stowy."
"Why did you think it was a silly story, Sethie?" I asked.
"Because dere no owange twees!" He giggled. "Twees are byown!"
(OK, just in case that's unintelligible in writing, that sounds like "brown.")