A few months back, when the kids were still going to school, I witnessed a rather bizarre exchange between my youngest son, who was three at the time, and his mother.

I was eating breakfast at the time, and my wife was scurrying around trying to get a snack put together for the little guy’s class. The school had somehow convinced the parents that each family would be responsible for providing the class with snacks for one whole week. Don’t ask me how. I wasn’t involved in that discussion.

At any rate, this particular week was our week to provide snacks, and the little guy was very excited. As you might imagine, the arrangement spawned more than a little bit of competitiveness, both among the kids and among the moms.

The kids and I finished our breakfast while we watched my wife scurry around the kitchen putting the last touches on the snack she’d prepared. I had offered to help, but apparently my kitchen skills weren’t quite at a high enough level.

The kids were dressed and ready to go. After they finished eating, I told them to take their dishes over to the sink and then we could play a bit before school. Meanwhile, their momma had finished preparing the all-important snack and was cleaning up her dishes.

The three year old took his dishes over, and then walked over to his momma. “Mommy, I’m the snack helper today. Do we have a snack?”

I muffled a laugh.

She picked up the plate full of snacks and showed it to him with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

He held out his hands. “Apparently, yes.”

Then he walked away, leaving his momma looking rather crestfallen.

Apparently? Where’d he learn that word, anyway?