A Conversation Over Skittles

I picked up Little Squirt from school yesterday, buckled him into the car seat, and handed him his Tuesday treat of Skittles.
Me: “How was your day today, buddy?”
LS: “Oh…not very good.”
Me: “Why not?”
LS: “It was a very sad day. Somebody died.”
Me: (with dismay) “Somebody died?? Who died?!”
LS: “He was a friend of Mrs. Rubin’s. She read about him in a book.”
Me: “Who was it?”
LS: “A man with a beard who got shot in the head in the movie theater.”
Me: “Was the man’s name Abraham Lincoln?”
LS: (astonished) “How did you know that, Mom?? You’re sooo smart!!”

So, even though "the word on the street" is that I am in my “winter years” with a crone-ish voice, my six-year-old believes my brain to be still functioning at full capacity. He actually thinks I’m smart!