You tell me.

In the car today, Owen said, "Mom?  What kind of bird is that?"

A flock of birds had just taken off from a building, soaring into the sky, free of annoying children asking science-y questions in the backseat.  

I turned to look more closely for a second before I realized I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA ABOUT BIRDS.

So I said, "I don't know, Owen."

And he said, "Mom?  Over there, those birds, do you see those birds?"

"Yes, Owen, I do."

"Mom?  What kind of birds are they?"

"I still don't know, Owen."

Pause.

"Mom?  Do you think they are pigeons running away from a Peregrine Falcon?"

"Um.  Yes?"

And then Sam said, "Mom?  I'm not judging, but did you just run a red light?"