We stopped for gas on the way home this evening, and for once Micah didn't ask to go inside Sheetz and get a hot dog. So Daddy poked his head in the van and said, "Micah, could you go get me a hot dog?"
That boy didn't need to be asked twice. He heard hot dog and promptly dismissed the rest of the sentence. He jumped out of the van, trotted himself across the parking lot (sans coat, but it was a balmy 35 degrees so he was good, in his short sleeves) and headed to the door. Of course I was right behind him, because someone has to pay. As I was holding the door open for Micah, the cashier called out, "Hey! He's here for his hot dog with coleslaw!"
So tonight I learned that perhaps we're at Sheetz a lot. Maybe too much.