It's not what he says, it's how he says it...

Henry has always called our backyard "the jungle"

Well, no, actually it is what Henry says that cracks me up these days...

As he hands me an egg:  "Hatch it, Mommy.  Hatch it for me."

While reading Momma Loves Her Little Son at bedtime:
"You're my precious one, Henry."
"No, I'm your precious three."

When (apparently) my jeans were cut too low:  "Mommy, I see polka dots on your big boy pants."

And the best was when he overheard me say that I was having a bad day.  Henry patted me on the back and said,  "No, you're not.  You're fine.  It's okay, Mommy."