Introducing ... Gershio.

A few nights ago when I put Levi to bed, he was saying "Gershio" (pronounced Grr-she-oh, emphasis on the first syllable). Both Steve and I have heard him saying this before, and when we ask him what he's talking about he simply replies, "I'm talkin' a Gershio," with this look on his face like, "duh, Mom and Dad, didn't you hear me? I said Gershio, therefore I'm talking about Gershio. Obviously."

Today he was standing in the upstairs bathroom talking down the laundry shoot. I found it rather humerous, since neither Steve nor I were downstairs at the time, so I asked him with a smirk on my face, "hey bud, who ya talkin' to?" I was not prepared for the response:

"I'm talkin' a Gershio."
"Oh really? You're talking about Gershio again?"
"No, I'm talkin' a Gershio."
"You're just talking the word Gershio?"
"NO. I'M TALKING A GERSHIO."
"You're talking to Gershio?"
"Yup."
"Who's Gershio?"
"My bee."
"Oh. Really? Gershio is your bee?"
"Yup."
"Where is he right now?" (see, I never know where he is. And if I guess, I'm always wrong).
"Downstairs."

Downstairs. Spoken, again, like "duh, Mom." So, folks, apparantly Gershio the bee has come to stay at Wildwood Dr. for a while.