...so I booted his ass into the ditch.

Connor has to run a trivia game in one of his classes tomorrow. I insisted that he take candy for the winners because how can a game that ends in candy be anything less than kickass? So I picked up some Jolly Ranchers for him, Nerds for me, on the way home from his hockey practice. By the way, convenience store? You're welcome for his stinky self not coming in with me.

I tossed them into his lap when I got into the car:

Me: I got a whole ton of them. Might as well give them to everyone... You can make it raiiinnn. *rainy fingers*

He: Should I stand up on top of one of the desks?

Me: Duck and cover, bitches!

He: You're gonna get a call from my teacher if I do that.

Me: I'll just tell him, "It was funny at the time!"

And then after we giggled over this conversation, he had the nerve to try to hold my Nerds hostage...

She's been begging for dance or gymnastics lessons...

So our conversations constantly alternate between all of the good reasons to get a dog and all of the good reasons for her to go to ballet or hip-hop or tap or gymnastics or...

Emily: ...and I really like dancing!
Ethan: Me, too!
Emily: You could take dancing lessons, too!
Ethan: No, thanks. I think I'm a great dancer.

No, seriously. I do not care about your opinion.

So! Recently, we've had a bout of H1N1 up in this hizouse. Or not. Who knows. What I do know was Emily got a big-ass but short-lived fever, a little bit of tired, and a slightly longer lasting cough. No belly pains, no lethargy, no dehydration. Several days later, Ethan followed suit. There and gone. From what I can tell, this either was or was not piggy-flu. So I am going with it was, and the rest of us developed the proper anti-bodies from the exposure. So, yay! All immune! Or not. Because it doesn't matter anyway. There is no vaccine to be had in our area, and even if it were, I'm not entirely sure I'd be willing to take it out of the noses hands of people who are at significantly greater risk than we. Also? I'm not looking for opinions here, so you just go ahead and marinate yours in your delightful noggin.

So what the hell is my point, you ask? Just this:

During Ethan's aforementioned illness, he was belly-down on the floor, playing a board game with Connor.

Sam: He's not getting this whole "sick in bed" thing.
Me: Yeah. We're gonna have to teach him, I guess.
Sam: We could cut off his legs. That'll keep him in bed.
Ethan: No, that'd keep me right here.

Because that's just how this family rolls.

A banana was not one of the things to go into the lunchbox.

This morning, Connor was putting his lunch... bits? containers? food stuffs?... into his lunchbox. "And to think," he said, "that I only have this *indicates lunchbox* because of cheating."

I gave him a glare. "At bible camp." Yes, bible camp. I know. Long, boring story, don't ask.

"Yeah," he said, then he smirked. "I'm going to hell." And off he flounced.

I? Stood there with my mouth hanging open. There's not much of a response for that- mostly because I'm sure he got the attitude (and, yes, okay, the phrase, too) from me.

While Watching Alton Brown Make Cupcakes:

Sam: Are you gonna be a chef?

Ethan: I'm gonna be me.

Dear Grampa,

Love, Emily

I Also Don't Bother Explaining Wreaths

Emily was helping unload the dishwasher. As she went to put away the bulb portion of a turkey baster, "What's this thing?"

Ever tried to explain half a turkey baster? Not worth it. I would have had to search for the other portion, which I probably already destroyed if history rings true. No idea why, they simply don't last in this house. So I went with the normal mom answer. "Don't worry about it."

And Emily went with the normal Emily... "It looks like it could suck your eye!" She then proceeded to squeeze it, press it against her eye, and release. Floop! "OW!"

Yeah. That's about right. For crying in the night. At least she still has her eye.

A Riddle From Ethan

1. I hop arond on Ester.

2. I am not a reptil.

3. I eat Yumey carets.

What am I?

Happy Easter!

The Origins of "My Drunk Monkeys"

Welcome to another edition of "here is a piece of my life that I already shared with Cassie, and would like to now share with you through copy/paste":

me: Emily: "there's no such things as ghosts"
Connor: "oh yeah? prove it!"
hardly fairFlutterBy: that's wrong
shouldn't it be
there ARE no such things as ghosts?
grammar failme: yes
AND they're arguingFlutterBy: i'm not sure how one would prove that, exactly
i think there's some sort of "burden of proof on the side of the accuser"me: but she said "I WILL prove it! I'll stomp on every part of the kitchen!"FlutterBy: it's as good as any defense!
i'm not sure what it accomplishes exactly but at least she's a woman of actionme: C: "so! maybe the ghost is invisible!"
E: "but i don't FEEL anything!"
C: "maybe you DON'T feel anything from a ghost!"FlutterBy: poor emmy
she's not gonna be able to win this one so muchme: it's like living with drunk monkeysFlutterBy: ahh, but at least they're YOUR drunk monkeysme: well, so THEY claimFlutterBy: no child birth memories to go by?me: come ON!
if i had memories of those things, would i have had a second or third child??? i mean, who's crazy enough to DO that???FlutterBy: "they" say you magically forget
that it's one of those nature's miracle thingsme: it's a defense mechanism... like ptsd

Graffiti That Teaches

This happened in December, so it's not very timely, but is still amusing. Bear with me.

All over our village, someone has decorated the stop signs. They've added "war" under the "stop". Now, this is a message I can get behind, but really? Every frickin' sign?

So we're driving through town, and I point this out to Sam. "We'll see what the next president and congress do," he says.

Ethan pipes up from the back seat. "I hope they don't draw on our signs because I'll be like, 'What???'"

What do you mean, Jurassic Park isn't appropriate for first graders?

Remember Jurassic Park? Remember the little girl? They're sitting, waiting for the t-rex to emerge, attracted by the bleating of the goat. "What's going to happen to the goat? He's going to eat the goat???" The pansy, jerk lawyer makes a comment about her eating lamb chops. She responds, "I happen to be a vegetarian."

Ethan thinks on this a moment. "Maybe... the t-rex... is a vegetarian."

The Hospital Would Have Been Pleased with a Non-Turkey-Related Injury to Fix

Did you know (and this is going to be a really big revelation here, folks) that if you inflate the tires on a dolly, it actually works better? Sam, father-in-law, and brother-in-law found this out the... easy way? I dunno, what do you call it when someone decides to make his own life easier rather than harder? This, of course, was only after they moved the first 300 pound tree stump up the hill. With flat tires. And swearing. That qualifies as the hard way, I suppose. The easy way almost turned Thanksgiving Day into ER Day when Sam was practically run over when they started up with the second tree stump, envisioning the same resistance.

Also, I helped. You know, in that way you see the wife on the sitcom "helping", making the husband repeatedly move the sofa around the living room in search of the perfect arrangement. Only I did it at the top of my voice from the driveway. Plus sarcasm. And some snark. And maybe the bent over at the waist laughing my ass off didn't help the situation. But, hell, someone has to oversee these operations.

This type of crap is an everyday occurrence.

Deep growly voice, chanting: Eat a tur-key-LEG! Eat a tur-key-LEG! Eat a tur-key-LEG! Eat a tur-key-LEG!
Connor, stalking after Emily. I don't know why. But it's stuck on repeat in your head now, too. You're welcome.

It's Called a Play on Words

From Connor in the back seat of the car, reading a sign on a store: Make your own sundae... If I could make my own Sunday, it'd be longer than any other day of the week.

From Connor when we get home: Help! I can't get out! *banging on inside of his own door* It won't open! Getting out after I have ignored him and gotten out myself, he finishes: You'd be a lot more fun if you were gullible.