Pronunciation is key, my son.

So, I've rearranged the living room. This means that the coffee table is no longer off limits to the small one, and she is very pleased with this new situation. Unfortunately, it also means that J can no longer leave things there, like a train set (a crisis which arose approximately 3.2 seconds after completion of the rearrangement). When things calmed down, I decided to reward myself with compy time, while the children played at the one edge of the table I cannot see due to my laptop.
Suddenly J starts screaming.
"No, baby! No eat! No, don' eat it!"
I immediately jump up to extract whatever B's managed to find and attempt to swallow this time. My probing inside her mouth gets a little more frantic (and disgusted) as J continues yelling.
"No, baby. Don't eat bug!"

I feel the object in her gums, and dread pulling it out...
It's a barely identifiable white mass. Then I realize that J has retrieved the remainder of his supper, and is holding a half-eaten roll.
Apparently, in angry toddler-speak, "bug" = "bread".

Definitions

I'm starting to think that parenting is little more than rearranging boundaries, whether physical, psychological, or regulative, as the children learn enough to bypass them.

They're collaborating.

This does not bode well.

Is lying a milestone?

Well, as some of you may have heard, J has defeated doorknob locks. So, for those who are wondering: don't get this kind, with the hole in the front. Little fingers can grip the doorknob that way.

Anyway, we've been dealing with J's new obsession with opening all the doors previously forbidden to him (the front door now has a chain lock, for the record). He opens the bathroom door; he closes the bathroom door. He opens the master bedroom door; he closes the master bedroom door. Usually.
I was playing with B in the living room while J played in his room, or so I thought. I then heard the bath being filled with water, so I decided it may be prudent to go check on the boy. As I rounded the corner into the bathroom, J was, as expected, removing his clothes.
"I take a baff."
"No, it's not bath time."
"Baff!"
"No, bath time is after supper. Come on."
"No supper. Baff!"
"No, it's not bath time. Let's put your clothes back on."

I succeeded in convincing him that he did indeed want supper (pasta is pretty popular around here), and escorted him out of the bathroom. Surprisingly, B, despite her new-found skill in crawling, stayed in the living room.
"Okay, I'll go make supper. Can you close the door?"
"No close a door!"
"Close the door."
"No close it!"
"J, we can't let Baby get in here. The door needs to stay closed."
And here comes the kicker:

"Baby says door stay open!"