The bus is a place where you can talk about death.

The scene: Dutch, Skipper, and I are riding home on the bus. Skipper is nursing and thus quiet.

Dutch: I told Teacher C and Teacher J that I'm going to get a short haircut.*
Me: Yeah? What'd they say?
D: They were excited.
M: Hm.
D: I don't think I look like a (Dutch) with long hair. I want to look more like a (Dutch.)
M: Oh.
D: I want to look more like I did when I was a tiny baby.
Me: You want to be bald? Or do you want a mullet?
D: No. I just... I'll never be a tiny baby again.
M: No.
D: And soon I'll be...
M: ...a grownup?
D: ... some dirt.
M: Um. Yes. After a long while. But you'll be very special dirt.
D: Mom! You only think I'll be special dirt because I'm YOURS.
M: Maybe.
D: Mom! Anna has beads that she says are magic! Tomorrow I will ask her if they can make you live forever, and if they do, I will give one to each of you!
M: Great, thanks!

*Dutch and I have back-to-back PROFESSIONAL haircut appointments scheduled for next weekend. I'm holding my breath that she'll actually go through with a short haircut...