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I love it when dogs try to help but the task at hand requires zero dogs so they just kinda stand in front of you and look serious.

kinda miss sitting in restaurants with my friends loudly having what is clearly the weirdest conversation the couple two tables over has heard all week and pretending not to notice them chuckle at my jokes but making sure to throw in enough exposition to give them context if they’re still listening

“why the hell is this one getting so many notes” i think, briefly, before realizing we’re three years into The Great Loneliness and i have just wistfulposted on yearning dot com

Watching my toddler figure out how to language is fascinating. Yesterday we were stumped when he kept insisting there was a “Lego winner” behind his bookshelf - it turned out to be a little Lego trophy cup. Not knowing the word for “trophy”, he’d extrapolated a word for “thing you can win”. And then, just now, he held up his empty milk container and said, “Mummy? It’s not rubbish. It’s allowed to be a bottle.” - meaning, effectively, “I want this. Don’t throw it away.” But to an adult ear, there’s something quite lovely about “it’s allowed to be a bottle,” as if we’re acknowledging that the object is entitled to keep its title even in the absence of the original function.