Grey and I were upstairs baking. Because Grey looooovves baking. Anytime I am in the kitchen, Grey is right there next to me, standing on a chair with a wooden spoon in his hand, insisting that he wants to "helmph." Harvey was downstairs in the toy room, playing. Because Harvey has no interest in cooking whatsoever, and an awful lot of interest in plastic dinosaurs.
After a few minutes, I noticed that Harvey had gone completely silent downstairs. I could no longer hear the agonized grunting of a stegosaurus clutched between the ruthless jaws of a T-rex, or the ripping of book pages being sacrificed to the insatiable appetite of a brontosaurs.
I went downstairs, to check on him. Naturally, Grey followed one step behind me. Because he always follows one step behind me. Aaallwayys.
I found Harvey curled up on the cold tile floor, fast asleep. Preschool wears a body out. Grey stepped out in front of me, saw Harvey laying on the floor, and started shrieking, "Oh no! Harvey dead! Harvey dead!"
I picked Harvey up. "No. He is just sleeping."
Grey was still screaming, inconsolable. I was just crossing my fingers that Grey's agonized wails would not wake up exhausted little Harvey. "He dead, Mommy! He dead! Please no! Oh no! No, no!"
Eventually I had to wake Harvey up myself, just to end Grey's devastation. Luckily Harvey fell right back asleep.

Tonight, I told Grey to put his shoes on, and a few seconds later he sat down in front of me on the floor with his shoes in his fists, and said as he put them on "Here you go, feet."

It kind of breaks my heart that my baby is three, now. Oh, how I will miss it when they stop saying all these cute little things all the time.