seven I got a chance to see my two nephews this past weekend and as always, their innocent insight into the world proved to be enlightening.  From Monkey Poop to thoughts on what colors of food are edible, they have a knack of pointing out things that us “adults” miss.

For instance, did you know that nicknames should make sense?

My cousin has a little boy named Kyle but because the grandfather is Kyle and the uncle is Kyle Junior, this Kyle is referred to as “Little Kyle.”  Sounds reasonable enough, right?

Until you mix kids into the equation.

Just last Christmas, when my nephews were told they would get a chance to play with Little Kyle, they got excited.  Another kid to play with.  Cool!

But the next time my smallest nephew, Joey, saw my mom after the holidays, he informed her of a mistake.  His three-year old brain had picked up on something everyone else had missed.

“Mammy?” he said with the serious face of a doctor informing a family of grave news.  “Little Kyle is not little.”

And you know what?  Joey was right.  Little Kyle was six at the time.  Compared to Joey’s undersized three year old body, Little Kyle was anything but little.

With the holidays coming up, this story was retold this past weekend.  And it was enjoyed again.  And much laughter was shared.

Joey was in the room and smiled.  Then he said, “How old is Little Kyle now?”

“He’s seven, honey.”

“Is he a regular seven?” Joey asked.

With knowing looks that we were about to be treated to another gem, we asked Joey, “Joey?  What other kind of seven is there?”

He said, “You know, like seven and a half.”