Reincarnation and grossness

Our conversation at breakfast this morning:
Spence: I'm going to help the garbageman when the whole, whole, whole Spencer dies.
Mommy: You're going to help the garbageman when you die?
Spence: Yep. I'm going to turn into a garbageman next.

Awesome. What a lovely next life to aspire to.
And in Isaac news, his fetish for eating nasty things is, if anything, intensifying. My mom and brother Peter were here this week for a few days, passing through Illinois in their giant moving van on their way to Utah, where both will be settling down for the foreseeable future. And of course with my mom came her dog, a little cocker spaniel named Nutmeg. And of course, with Nutmeg, came an accessible bowl of dog food. Isaac had not one but two helpings of this. He came back for more, so apparently it was tasty. Over the course of the past week he's also eaten a couple of mud-covered rocks I had to fish out of his mouth, bitten off the end of a stick to chew on, sucked on the end of an ash-covered spoon, tried to swallow a penny, and stuck a stale, live-ant-covered chip from a restaurant floor in his mouth. Is he trying to tell me that he has an iron deficiency or something? Grossness.