"Hey Sam, remember the time I pooped on your head?"
(gales of laughter)
"Hey Sam, remember the time I poured ice cream on your head?"
(more gales of laughter)
"Hey Sam, remember the time I threw up all over your head?"
(even more laughter)
"We all live in a yellow submarine..."

Three-year-olds have a limited repertoire. Limited not so much by subject but by proximity. For the most part, Max will parrot the last thing he remembers anyone saying. Which is why his (false) reminiscences are so amusing.

Max's nine-month-old brother Sam will laugh at anything Max says, provided that Max laughs first. If big brother has given the okay, then it's time for hilarity. In a year, this line of largely scatological comedy won't appeal to Sam, since he'll understand what Max is saying--and promptly let Max know he doesn't appreciate the idea of having a poopy head. But for now, toddler potty humor is king.

There comes a point when a parent realizes that a child has a mind of its own. Max let us know early. He hated to be held unless he was nursing, and nothing we did could change that. At about a year, Max became much more approachable (and he began to allow us to read to him). Sam has been a mellower child, but he, too, is now willing to put his foot down (such as it is) if need be.

Still, it's one thing to recognize the obstinacy present in your child. It's another to hear the independent thoughts of your child and realize that there is an alien intelligence in your house.

Which is why Max's dinner table reminiscences with Sam are so remarkable. It is true that Max is always trying to get Sam to laugh (and Sam is almost always agreeable). But the format, the "remember the time" preface, surprised me the first time he did it. Now, sure, Max did stick to a very strict formula (he distributed some substance all over Sam's head), but I don't know where he came up with the "remember when" line of questions.

In fact, now that Max is 3 1/2, he's using words and phrases I know he hasn't heard at home. Every once in a while, I can hear the echo of one of our friends, but more often it seems that these unique sayings might actually be, well, unique. Max is not only thinking for himself, but he's also talking for himself.

The changes will keep on coming. Max recognizes a new word or two every day, though to say he's close to actually reading is a big stretch. But he's paying attention to how the words are being written (and said) and starting to pattern his own speech accordingly. That he merely recognizes that words (and numbers) are written left to right as opposed to right to left is a new and wondrous accomplishment.

And every day, Sam sounds more and more like he wants to talk. While his only consistent noises are "ma" and "da," which have more to do with the relative ease of those consonant sounds than "mommy" and "daddy," about once a day I catch myself after hearing him respond to me with noises that sound suspiciously like English. Maybe some of them are. But he still won't be talking much for another eight months to a year.

"Hey Sam, remember the time I threw spaghetti all over your head?" "Hey Max, remember the time I whacked you for asking me all these stupid questions?

Ah, that'll be the day.

Jon Worley would settle for a half hour more of sleep a night.