[while listening to “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley]
Sullivan: What are “every little things”?
Carla: Just everything. Everything’s gonna be alright.
Sullivan: God. ‘Cos he makes badness into…into…love-ness. He’s a nice guy.

It is kind of scrapey on your tongue. It is hard. It is hard to lick. It is round. In a ball. What is in it? It has a lot of sugar. You [c]an spin it. You can lick with two sides. It has a lot of juice in it also.

— Sullivan, describing his first lollipop

The scary part wiggled your head a little.

— Sullivan, after having watched portions of How to Train Your Dragon at a family friend’s house 🍿

[several days after Jami’s visit:]

Scott: Does Mama drive like a pinball?
Sullivan: Yeah, Mama drive data pinball into the back of Bam-Bam’s car yesterday!
Scott: Well, it wasn’t yesterday, but good job; you got the right half of eternity, at least.

Carla: Sully, what do you want to be when you grow up?
Sullivan: A man.

Carla: How do you always know what I’m going to say? Am I predictable?
Scott: No, you’re my wife. You’re only predictable to me. To everyone else, you’re a complete mystery.

Scott: Wow, so we’ve started our seventh year married.
Carla: Uh oh. We’re gonna get the seven-year itch!
Scott: Not me. I’m not itchy.
Carla: Ya, I’m starting to kinda get attracted to you, actually.

I’m orderin’ whatever the heck I want next time I go to a bar, and it’s probably going to be water because they don’t serve milk or juice there.

— Scott to Carla, arms akimbo and very serious, after getting home from a mini bar tour (and one lager) with new friends 🍺

The sun woke up over Mount Nittany.

— Sullivan on a morning walk to the park

as reported by Carla:

We just got back from our summer ultimate league finals and picnic. While enjoying our hoagies amongst our fellow ultimate lovers, I notice Sully is yelling something at the top of his lungs…on loop. I ask him if he wants a bite of sandwich (hoping to stuff his mouth) and he comes up to me, hands me a crumpled piece of grass and walks away saying casually, “There’s a four-leaf clover, Mama.” I look at the piece of grass, and sure enough, it was a clover. I look further and one, two, three, four. It was a four-leafed clover. Suspecting someone may have given it to him, I ask as he’s walking back down the hill, “Where did you get this?” He replies unexcitedly pointing around at the ground, “ummm…. riiiiight…. there” and walks away munching his sandwich.

After sharing his discovery with Scott and our nearest conversation partners, one of them realizes that what Sully was chanting earlier was, “Found it, found it, found it.” Ah, the faith of a child.

Oh, and who told him about four-leaf clovers?

as recorded by Carla:

Scott put on one of our favorite classical pieces, The Lark Ascending, this evening. I introduced Éa to it by telling her, “This is The Lark Ascending by, um…Van Williams I think?”

Then, without a hesitation, I asked Sully, who was diligently working on a puzzle on the floor, “Sully, who wrote this piece? It’s The Lark Ascending by ____…”?

He took a moment, still concentrating on his oversized puzzle, and then replied in his classic matter-of-fact manner, “Hmmm…Boathoven.”

He was wrong, but it was cute as heck… 🎵

[I] want to watch the clouds fly to their beds!

— Sullivan, in smiling protest to heading inside for bed

Dave: I didn’t realize buffalo was a verb.
Carla: Yeah, it means to bully.
Dave: Yes, I gathered that from the context.

Sorry! I got into my whistling.

— Scott, as we swerve off and back onto the road

Scott: No! You gave them expectations that I have to live up to!
Carla: Scott, I just spoke positively about you!