So I'm putting the boys in bed. I'm cuddling with Garrett and I tell him that I hope he grows up to be a godly, righteous man. I hope he marries a good, godly woman and that they have wonderful children. I tell him that I hope he has a job that he loves. "Like what?" He asks me.
"Well, what do you want to be?"
"I don't really know," he answers.
"A firefighter?" I ask.
"A police officer?"
Again he replies, "Maybe."
"A port-a-potty cleaner?" I ask, just to break up the monotony of the responses.
"What's that?" he asks.
"Someone who cleans port-a-potties."
"With their hands?"
"Ew. No. With some kind of pump."
"YES! I want to do that!" he shouts, laughing.
"Garrett, what do you really want to be when you grow up?" I ask.
"A PUMPER!" he giggles, hysterically. "I really do."
"This is ridiculous," I say in a teasing voice and climb down from the top bunk. I get into bed with Matthew for some three-year-old snuggles. "Matthew, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
Without missing a single beat and with all the seriousness in the world, Matthew proudly announces, "I want to be Batman."