I’m pulling out of the Trader Joe’s parking lot when Rose asks what
happened to our shopping cart. "I didn’t see you put it away," she says.

"I didn’t have to! A nice man was heading into the store, and he took it for me. Wasn’t that kind of him?"

Rose ponders a moment. "Maaaybe," she says skeptically. "Or maybe he just wanted a way to get your fingerprints."

This one I Twittered yesterday, but in case you missed it: "Mom, is this correct? For men we say ‘fat,’ for women we say ‘overweight’?"

And this one was uttered casually during dinner cleanup by that same
dainty daughter: "Mom, do you know what I like best about girl
superheroes in comic books? The fighting. Because I’ve always wished I could just punch someone in the nose too."

Rilla: “No! I baby!!”

Wonderboy: “No, you ’weetheart.”

Rilla: “NO I NOT! I not fweetheart! I BABY!”

(Um, Rilla honey, I hate to break it to you, but…)

Rilla is playing with the toy phone. Wonderboy wants it.

WB: I have pone?

Rilla: Nuh.

WB: Gib pone!

Rilla: Nuh. NUH!!

WB (offers remote control in exchange): You hab?

Rilla: Nuh.

A brief silence. Wonderboy is deflated. Then, for no visible reason, Rilla holds out the phone to her brother.

Mom, coaching Wonderboy: That was so nice! She gave you the phone. What do you say?

Wonderboy: Dat MY pone.

"Honey, do we have an iron?"

Okay, I stand really, REALLY corrected. Have you been following the comments about dryer lint? Turns out this stuff is gold! Besides clay, you can turn it into paper, firestarters, stuffing, a source of income, and even art. (I love the little lint angels.)

My poor deprived children. No wonder they had to fight over it! Ha.

I also greatly enjoyed your stories about stupid kid fights that have taken place under your roof. The brothers fighting over who got to wear the garbage can on his head is a classic!

Anyone else got a Kids Fight Over the Most Ridiculous Things story? Send ’em my way!

Today’s unpacking marathon revealed treasure in the middle of one box: the small plastic shark and orca that Beanie and Rose love as dearly as if they were made of a precious material like, say, chocolate.

Of course this meant they had to take a bath RIGHT AWAY OH PLEEEEASE MOMMY. Since we’d spent an hour in the middle of the afternoon at a local park, where there was actual SAND on the ground instead of that spongy recycled tire product used on our favorite playground in Virginia, I enthusiastically supported the bath idea.

So there I was washing grit out of Beanie’s curls while her shark made shark-like lunges at Rose’s orca. Beanie was singing, and it took me a minute to realize I was hearing one of Scott’s favorite Beatles melodies.

"What did you just sing?" I asked Bean.

"It wasn’t me," she said. "It was my shark."

"Oh. Right. Could he sing it again?"

"He’d be delighted to!" When you’re Beanie, even sharks are obliging. She lunged him at the orca again, singing louder.

"I wanna hold your fi-i-iiin, I wanna hold your fin!"

“I did NOT hit you! I threw something at you and IT hit you!”