Overheard: Waiting for the Locusts

Now that Tanner is in kindergarten, he is very etiquette-conscious. A few weeks ago, he burped at the table and said, "Oh, part-of-me! That was very rude." We gave him a curious look, so he elaborated, "Now that I'm a big kid, I don't say 'excuse me' anymore, I say 'part of me.'"

All manners aside, it's been a week of various maladies at our home: Carter had strep throat, Tanner had pneumonia, and Quinn threw his back out while reaching for a file in his office chair. (What is he? 90?!?) Sydney has taken it upon herself to nurse the sick in our home, which sometimes gets interesting. I left her in the room for a moment and returned to find Tanner, burning up with fever, wrapped in a bedsheet, towel, and fluffy boa:



Later that day, Riley was sitting in the hallway, crying because I wouldn't let her watch SpongeBob Squarepants. Ever the maternal one, Sydney was concerned about her poor wailing sister, so she ran off and returned with a bottle of Johnson & Johnson's Baby Shampoo. "Look, Riley, this is the stuff for no more tears... that means no more sadness. Dump it on your head!"

And, after the SpongeBob debacle, I continued my reign of terror by only allowing Bailey to have one packet of Scooby Doo fruit snacks. She begged and pleaded for a second, but I held my ground, so she stomped her little feet and dramatically threw herself onto the couch. Between crying jags, she looked up at me and wailed, "You're ruining my whole darn life!"

Later that night, while tucking her in, she was back to her affectionate self. I couldn't help but ask, "So, am I still ruining your whole darn life?" She got a sheepish grin and said, "Oh... just kiddin' bout that."


Wow, the power I wield to be able to ruin entire darn lives by merely withholding fruit snacks and SpongeBob. To my poor, emotionally-damaged children, I have but one thing to say: part of me!