"I'm not a food!"

As often as I encounter it, you'd think I'd have no trouble remembering the strictly literal nature of children. The single funniest example, one I will never forget, occurred when my daughter had just turned five and was still attending preschool.

My older daughter and I were discussing kindergarten, and how different an experience that would be for Little Miss. Little Miss heard us talking, and became agitated over the idea of leaving preschool. Her sister tried to comfort her, pointing out the exciting advantages of kindergarten.

"Relax," I said. "It's still several months away. We don't have to sell her on the idea of kindergarten just yet."

Little Miss howled, hot tears flying off her cheeks and landing in a puddle on the floor.

Baffled, I reached for her. "What on earth is the matter?"

"I don't want you to SELL ME! I'll go to kindergarten! I promise! Just don't SELL ME!"

Upon hearing me say "sell her on the idea" she instantly had visions of becoming the subject of an eBay auction, having seen me sell her outgrown clothes that way.

Poor kid.

Mr. Literal knocked on our door again today. My son waddled in here moments ago, his jeans at his ankles.

"I just had to go to the bafroom," he said.

"Well, pull your pants up, then."

"I can't!" he wailed.

As I helped him, I said gently, "You're going to have to learn to do this yourself, Honey Bun."

He scowled.

"I'm not a Honey Bun."

"Yes, you are. You're my Honey Bun."

"Mom! I'm not a food!"

He turned and marched indignantly upstairs, leaving me alone to giggle and remind myself just how black and white a four-year-old's view really is.