Oh, those pesky, pesky pronouns.
I'm often reminded when talking to Bud just how difficult the English language is. This morning I was reminded that, when spoken, the word "your" sounds exactly like the word "you're," and confusion of the two can make the response to a question sound like a personal affront.
Bud woke for the day today at 3:30 a.m. - a phenomenon I haven't seen since late last fall. By the time we stumbled down to breakfast, I was bleary-eyed and foggy-brained, but Bud was full of energy and enthusiasm - and he was hungry. I staggered across the kitchen, took out some bread, popped it into the toaster and stood waiting for it to be done.
"What are you making, Mama?" Bud asked.
"Your toast," I answered.
"I'm not toast!" he shrieked with a giggle as he ran into the other room.
He's got me there. He's not toast.
But he's the best thing since sliced bread.