"What is applesauce made of?" he asks, as we eat steaming bowls of sauce that he watched me make this afternoon.
"What do you think? Is it made of peaches?" Joel asks.
"No!" He laughs.
"Is it made of pumpkins?"
"No!" Then his eyes take on a kind of glint, and he says, "Is it made of sky? And moon? And stars?"
"Yes," we exclaim, "that's exactly what it is made of!"
He giggles a bit wildly, and complains, "Why you said yes?"
"Because it's such a lovely idea," I say.
Then we talk again about thirteen apples from the farmer's market and a heaping spoonful of cinnamon, and he asks for another bowl.
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