Sweet Little Dyl

Dylan is always trying to get me to give him "junk." He loves sugar, and soda, and is always bartering with me. This morning was no exception, so when I pulled into the Chevron to get a Diet Coke, this little exchange occurred:
Dyl, "I'll have a diet coke."
Me, laughing, "yeah right."
Dyl,"well, you shouldn't have sugar either."
Me, "Diet Coke doesn't have sugar."
Dyl, "Well, when I'm an a-dolt, I will buy me a Diet Coke and not you."
Me,"That's fine, I will still be an adult, and can buy myself a Diet Coke."
Dyl," Well, when you are old, I am not going to take care of you. I will put you in a bad home with strangers."
He is only 4, but I totally believe him. I need to seriously suck up to Dawson.

Things didn't get much better this afternoon. We have all liked renting this house across from the new Diner, and enjoyed the people watching. Dave and I were in the kitchen, mass producing BLT's for dinner, when Dawson came in to report that Dyl was out on the trampoline, yelling to the bikers', "Sweet hog, Dude!" and then turning around and pulling his pants down, to moon them. I am glad that Dave could keep a straight face, for the discipline, because it's not funny. "It's NOT funny, Linsey!"