It's popcorn Friday. I've got several little things to share with you, but rather than cram them all into one disjointed post, I'm going to be like a traditional blogger, and spread them across several brief posts. I call them popcorn posts.

Why popcorn Friday? If that's what you're asking, then you are asking the wrong question. What you really ought to ask yourself is this: Why not popcorn Friday. I think you see my point.

Those of you who get an email announcement when I post can rest easy — this is the only post you'll be alerted to. Of course if you don't check back later, you may miss something worthwhile. Probably not, but maybe.

Let's lead with something undeniably cute, like Isaac. I think I've mentioned that one of his most frequent replies, when asked why he's not only rooting through a kitchen cabinet, but is all the way in the cabinet, or where his pants are, or why he whacked Eli with a spoon, is, "I don't know." He says it like he's just as exasperated as we are.

A couple of nights ago, after a rough day which led to, among other injuries, a big scrape on his elbow, Isaac crept upstairs to the bathroom. I say crept because he likes to wash his hands, only if you don't monitor him, he'll use the entire bottle of grape-smelling kid's soap. Isaac doesn't like to be monitored. So he crept up the stairs.

Not long after, I heard him crying in the bathroom. I ran upstairs to find him standing over the sink with his little arms in the air, a thick layer of suds covering each arm from fingertip to armpit. "What are you doing?" I hollered.

"I don't know!" He wailed. The suds had gotten on his elbow ouchy. I rinsed his arms and lectured him about not sneaking off to do what he knows he shouldn't be doing. He sniffled and said "Okay." This is his other staple phrase, and it means, "Can you stop lecturing me now, because I'm only two."

I dried his arms and picked him up. He hugged my neck, and put his face against my cheek. He smelled like a very clean grape.