digging up bones

This is how it started (see if you can follow along through the mind of a four year-old): Catcher asked me what a booby trap is, so I asked him what he thought a booby trap was. "Well, it's when you dig a really deep hole and then put a blanket over it like a picnic blanket and then you put rocks on the blanket to hold it down. Right?" Thinking this was a pretty well thought-out answer, I retorted: "Where did you see that?" Answer: The Winnie the Poo movie. I should have guessed.

This thought of digging a big--or rather deep, as Catcher corrected me--hole led Catcher and Scout into the closet to retrieve their sand pails and then out the front door for the big dig. By the time we made it to the alleyway along the side of our house, however, all thoughts of booby traps were gone and we were "going to the beach." [Duh.]

Tillie led the way down the sandy (i.e. gravel) path.

Scout was the first to start digging but promptly forgot where it was she was supposed to be (in her imagination).

Once Catcher started digging I guess the whole beach thing was over because he declared himself a paleontologist and was looking for dinosaur bones.

Then Scout got wind of this whole "digging for bones" escapade and informed us that she was digging for pizza bones.*

*There's a story from my childhood that goes something like this: one of the children (I think my brother or myself) had left his/her pizza crust on their plate a dinner one night. My mom asked why he or she didn't finish his or her pizza and the answer was "I don't like the bones." Since that time, pizza crust has been referred to as bones in my family. 

Side note: When someone who doesn't "believe" in having children asks you why you want to raise these mongrels, tell them that if we didn't have children we wouldn't have anyone to dig for pizza bones.