My 3-year-old son Luke has taken to naming monuments after himself. While driving up I-10 toward Phoenix, he asked Jessica what Piacho Peak was called. She responded "Picacho Peak." He shot back. "No, I think it's 'Number Luke.'"
He calls the peak "Number Luke" whenever we drive past it now, and I've adapted the term as well. Someday they'll throw out the old name and usher in the new one.
Luke has also named our future dog. For those who don't know, our beloved lab Goose succumbed to bone cancer late last year. Luke has declared that our next dog will be "WorseGoose," since no future dog could possibly equal the excellence of Goose. Luke took it a couple steps further by declaring it wouldn't be acceptable to have just one dog, but we'd need at least three. The other dogs would be "Daddy WorseGoose" and "Mommy WorseGoose." He foresees an entire lineage of dogs with the "WorseGoose" surname.
Jessica laughed it off, but I pretty much will demand that our next dog actually be named WorseGoose. It's impossible to think of a better name.
We passed Number Luke yesterday while discussing the future WorseGoose, and I bragged to Luke that before he was born I climbed Number Luke several times. Unimpressed, he shot back "why?"
I paused for a while, incapable of a coherent response, before babbling something about how it gave me a view that let me see far, far away. Luke didn't buy it, responding with "No, why?"