Apportioning blame

On the way to the doctor's this morning (where it turned out Monkey has a totally unexpected ear infection rather than just the same old cough or seasonal allergies; as we drove I wasn't even sure why we were going, but it must have been my maternal intuition or something sending me there...but I digress...) Monkey was musing on reading and the future.

"...and when I'm married to Helen and I'm a Daddy, I'll read stories to the little boy or little girl every night. And sometimes I'll get angry and shout at them because that's what Daddies do."

Me: "Well, sometimes Mummies get angry too."

Him: "Only wrapped-up ones."

Me: [Thinks] Wrapped up? What? Very self-centred mothers? Mothers in cold climates? Oh wait... "You mean, wrapped up like in Scooby Doo?"

Him: "And Phineas and Ferb."

Me: "Yes. They're called Egyptian mummies."

Which led to another conversation about death, actually. Monkey would rather be mummified than turn into a skeleton, just so we're all clear on that.