Maggie regularly refers to her brain as her computer, usually in reference to her dreams or imagination. This morning as Griffin and I were talking about bad dreams, Maggie declared, “I don’t have bad dreams anymore because I thumbs down them in my computer.”

Griffin and Maggie both love jokes and riddles. Griffin, Maggie, and Grandpa Jeff often exchange video riddles with each other—this is worth its own post sometime—and we have a children’s joke book that we often read before or after dinner, resulting in lots of silliness.

Maggie has recently begun telling her own jokes, which appear to be a combination of the knock-knock joke and riddle jokes, like “Why’d the chicken cross the road?” The humor is often opaque (or translucent) to an adult ear, but I love it that she is playing with the genre.

Here are two recent examples:

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Dog.
Dog who?
Why did the dog go on a walk?
I don’t know. Why?
He sneaked out the door to get his other bone!

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Door.
Door who?
Why did the door open the door?
I don’t know. Why?
To get to the other door!

Like many parents, I’ve adopted the weird tradition of expressing my affection toward my children in cannibalistic terms. When Griffin and Maggie were babies, I regularly described them as “delicious” or “so cute I could eat you.” As I write this, we impatiently await the arrival of our third child, who will no doubt receive the same dubious treatment.

These days, it’s more of a faux threat that I toss out when we’re playing tickle games or otherwise rough-housing. I’m a hungry troll! I’m going to eat your belly button! (My beard is an astoundingly effective tickler.)

This morning, while chasing Maggie around the loft, she suddenly put our her hand and yelled, “STOP! Persons don’t eat persons.”

I burst out laughing, as did she, and I pressed her further. “What about delicious little toes?”

“No!”

“Crunchy elbows??”

“No!”

“Angel hair salad???”

“No! Persons do not eat persons. Period!”

I was simultaneously amused by the whole interchange and pleased that she’s properly internalized the cannibalism taboo. And then she continued, doubling down on the weirdness factor.

“Because we have brains.”

“What?”

“Persons have brains. Up here,” tapping her head.

“Ok. So, I shouldn’t eat people because they have brains?”

“Yes.”

Now that that was settled, I prepared to tackle her for some more tickling, but she added, “And when you die you turn into a plant.”

“Um. Wait, what?”

Grinning with increasing excitement, she explained, “Daddy, when you die some day, you will grow into a plant. Or a bush. Or a flower! Or a TREE!” She was very pleased with the thought that I will be a tree.

There is nothing cooler than a 4 ½-year-old brain.