Scene: Wheeling through the produce department at the grocery store.

Poppy: Pears! Pumpkins!

Rockford: That’s right! What else do you see?

Poppy points at the pineapples.

P: That looks like a food.

A: Those are pineapples.

P, as we pass the tomatoes: Stinky Petes! Red Stinky Petes!

Later, she correctly identified lamb chops and steak at the meat counter. That’s my girl.

Scene: The family watches as the Cubs’ 2007 season spirals the drain. Stephen Drew hits a home run. Rockford expresses his dismay by hitting mute.

Poppy: I don’t know what happened to the Cubbies.

Scene: The family relaxes in the living room after dinner. A gastrointestinal sonic boom disturbs the peace.

Nichole: Ew! We’re going to have to get rid of the futon.

Rockford: It’s a poot-on!

In related news …

Poppy seems to have inherited her father’s gaseous fortitude (fartitude, perhaps?). We’ve been trying to get her to say “pardon me” after she has an indiscretion. It isn’t working very well. Here’s a typical call and response after such an incident:

Nichole: What do we say?
Poppy: Toot!