Birds, bones, and butts

The lyrics to Julia's newest made-up song: "Homie homie, dead bird dead bird, homie homie, dead bird dead bird..."

The dead bird fascination comes from a recent afternoon out in the back yard. Ethan and I saw her poking at something on the grass that we both swore was a bird. We freaked out, and when Ethan ran over to her to tell her not to touch dead birds, it turned out the bird was really just a big stick. Since then, she has been talking non-stop about dead birds and has asked me probably a thousand times "why did you and Daddy fink the stick was a dead bird? Mama, what does dead bird mean?"

In an equally morbid vein, last night I was putting Julia to bed and when I went to give her a big snuggly hug good-night, her response to my affections was: "Excuse me, I'm just eating your bones."
Oh. Okay.

And finally, I'll share with you the conversation we had while cleaning up Julia's toys the other evening:
ME: Julia, can you please bring your tadpole up to your room?
JULIA: Uh, no, Mommy, that's Butt Crocodile.