Chippie has had more than his fair share of exposure to television shows, movies and DVDs that are beyond his years.

With two older brothers, he often has little choice, despite the best efforts of his parents.

He seems to self select well, sticking around to watch when he gets a little enjoyment out of it, or wandering off and playing trains if he’s unable to follow or gets bored.

He does, of course, also learn much from his older siblings. Much that I prefer him not to even know about, which my seemingly relentless “Do not tell him to do stuff like that!” does little to change.

I worry sometimes – often – but he seems stable enough.

I think.

He found some chocolates I had on my desk. Chocolates that Grumpy Pants had made at work with one of his classes. Gourmet chocolates. The kind I don’t normally share with children, but as they’d been sitting there a while and getting in my way, I figured I’d just give in and get them out of my way. We undid the silky ribbon and opened the crackly cellophane bag. We shared them out.

He came back for seconds, telling me his chocolate “taste like marshmellons!”

He came back for thirds, telling me his second chocolate “taste like bits of nuts!” and asking how mine was.

He came back after his third, extremely excited … “You know what mine chocolate taste like?” he asks me. “It taste like someone drinking their own blood.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I just didn’t.

He lay down on the floor a few hours later.

“I’n died!” he yells.

“Riiiiight,” I reply. He also sounds rather loud for someone who just died.

“Yeah. I just fall asleep on the floor then someone stab me in the back wif an axe!”

He seems quite happy about it, really.

I can’t decide if he’s disturbed or just needs to be banned from his older brothers for a while.

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