Earlier that same day Brad and I were in our bedroom and called to Z who was in his room. He responded, "What guys?" Three or 13?
And here's my personal favorite -- this exchange occurred at dinner the other night, after Z intentionally dropped a piece of food on the floor. (Seems that if he doesn't want a particular food, he feels strongly that said food should NOT be on his plate at all.)
Zander: "Pick it up mom."
Me: "You dropped it. Your job is to pick it up."
Zander: "My job is to look at it [pause]...with a magnifying glass. Your job is to pick it up for me."
Three, 13, or maybe just a wise ass? (He did eventually pick it up himself. I'm not a total pushover).