To distract him from wrecking the livingroom and head-butting his sisters, I scooped up BR and started telling him a story this evening. Well, I wanted him to be part of the story-telling process, too:
Me: "Once upon a time there was a little boy. He grew up and became a..."
Me. "Right, a daddy. And so he did a lot of fun stuff and took his kids to Coney Island and--"
Him: "He did a lot of work." (Clearly, he wanted to take this story in a different direction than I was headed, but I decided to roll with it.)
Me: "Oh, yeah, work. Ok, he worked at..."
Him: "He did work and more work and more work at his doctor's office."
Him: "And he took people's blood."
Me: "Ha! What else did he do?"
Him: "And he threw stuff in the trash."