Tom recently learned that things are different sizes, and has been enthusiastically explaining that fact to anybody who happens to wander by. He presses his thumb and forefinger tightly together for "little" and spreads his arms out over his head for "big." Mikey? Little. Tom? Big. The car? Big. His ball? Little.

I came home from work yesterday and Joanne was on the back porch, folding laundry. Tom sat on the floor nearby and watched her. "C'mere," she called when she heard me. "Watch this."

She yanked a sock out of the dryer. Tom pressed his fingers together and made an affirmative grunt: "Little."

She pulled a bathtowel. He swung his hands up, over his head and out: "Big."

She yanked out out a pair of my jeans. Tom's arms swept up and wide, as far as they could go, and he punctuated the motion with a little, "Eeee!" He pointed to me, then to the jeans, then pinwheeled his hands again, for emphasis.

Which I translated as, "Damn, you've got some big pants there, Dad."