Actually...

Jeremy enters our bedroom this morning and approaches my side of our wonderful, big, high bed where he unceremoniously heaves a wooden pirate chest onto the comforter and announces matter-of-factly:

"My bear is dead. This is his coffin."

[I stifle a giggle. Jeremy remains straight-faced]

"He needs a potion to bring him back to life."

[I dutifully supply a pretend potion from a tub of facial cream on my nightstand. The now magicked-bear rises miraculously from its treasure-chest-coffin.]

"Actually..."

[I smile, because we hear this word a lot as Jeremy explores--and exercises--his right to change his mind. It is oft-repeated, with increasing emphasis and frequently heralds dramatic changes in opinion]

"Actually..."

[I'm poised, waiting, highly amused]

"it's his escape pod..."

[another giggle, as I reconcile, treasure-chest-coffin, and escape pod in my head]

"...in case one of Jamie's bears comes in..."

[still having trouble, though, with escape pods and bears here]

"...and is throwing up..."

[because that is SUCH a problem with bears!]

"...OR barfing"

[not both, mind you, just one or the other]

"... so he can go into another dimension..."

[because we needed more science-fiction in this fantasy-adventure-wildlife story]

"...and not get yucky stuff on him."

[by this time, I'm laughing so hard I can barely breathe, Alan is desperately repeating the details aloud so as not to forget any, and Jeremy, looking non-plussed, suddenly notices that his bear is wearing a bow-tie, which, of course, changes everything!]