Target is no longer my easy out...

Used to be if we needed something to do and I didn't feel like going to a playground, we (that is, Zane and I) could pop into Target and kill 45 minutes "pushing buttons." We'd often walk out with nary a dime spent (with the exception of an occasional bag of Goldfish or Frappuccino). Zane has apparently matured beyond that. Now, after pushing a few buttons, Zane asks "can we take this home?" or simply wraps his arms around whatever toy that he's taken a liking to (i.e. everything that he touches) and states "take this home." So, Target is no longer the easy way to kill a bit of time. Just in time for the too-hot-to-touch-playground days of summer. Great.

In addition, Zane has now entered the precursor to the "why" stage: the "what's that called?" stage. As in...

Zane: (pointing to my car stereo) What's that called?

Me: Radio

Zane: (pointing to my car stereo) What's that called?

Me: Button

Zane: (pointing to my car stereo) What's that called?

Me: Other button

Zane: (pointing to my car stereo) What's that called?

Me: Other button

Or...

Zane: (pointing to my dinner plate) What's that called?

Me: Plate

Zane: (pointing to my dinner plate) No. What's that called?

Me: Umm...crumb.

Zane: (pointing to my dinner plate) No. What's THAT called?

Me: Umm...bread crumb.

Zane: (pointing to my dinner plate) NO! What's THAT called?

Me: Ahh...green dinner plate with food crumbs on it.

Zane: (pointing to my dinner plate) No. What's THAT called?

Me: Crazing. (I know this because of my Hummel research and Antiques Roadshow)

Zane: (pointing to my dinner plate) No. What's THAT called?

Me: Do you want to watch Elmo?

To be fair, I have now entered the mom-stage of lying on the couch and saying "I'm just resting my eyes."