I’m afraid my toddler has gone Hollywood.

Over dinner at the Farmers’ Market this evening:

W: [makes horrible science-fiction monster noise] Mommy! I’m a SCARY puppet bear! AND, I’m a producer!*

Me: A producer? Really? What are you going to produce?

W: Actually, Mommy? I’m not going to produce anything.

I’m not sure whether we should start working on his BS skills or just be impressed that at his tender age he’s so much more realistic than many other producers I have met.

*Not to interrupt the flow of the conversation, but: a producer? The hell? Between this and his walking around with a straw hanging out of his mouth announcing that he’s “smoking” when he doesn’t even know anyone that smokes, I’m beginning to wonder if my toddler has a secret life.