Daniel (after I finished cleaning him up after a seriously messy accident): Time for my potty treat!

I’ll be heading to Connecticut in the morning and won’t be back until Friday evening, so as an act of mercy to my husband, today’s trip to the grocery store was heavy on convenience foods.

As I as checking out, the cashier ringing me up paused over an enormous bag of frozen chicken patties.

“I love these,” she told me.

“Me too.”

“Not so much for me,” she explained, and I knew just what she meant.

“Me too.”

“It’s just that they’re so … easy,” she said.

I smiled and nodded.

“I always wonder, though,” she went on, “when I make something like that, did I actually cook dinner?”

I did not hesitate. “Yes,” I told her. “Yes, you did.”

And now it was her turn to smile. She gave the bag an affectionate pat before sending it down the conveyor belt.

“You’re absolutely right.”

The moment it came on the car radio, a dozy 3-year-old Daniel snapped to attention:

“Turn that up really loud, Mama.”

3-year-old Daniel is flinging toys down the stairs again. We have been working on this.

“Danny, no throwing things down the stairs!” older brother Ambrose reminds him. “Papa says.”

“Papa’s not home,” the small one dares to answer.

“Yes, but Mama is. Mama is home. No throwing.”

Daniel considers this for just a moment. He holds a stuffed puppy in his hands and looks thoughtful.

And then he hurls the puppy down the stairs … full force.

Boy (eying a stack of paper plates): Are these clean?

Me: Yes.

Boy: Will I think they are clean?

When we parked at the ocean today, I stuffed a nearby backpack with some snacks, drinks, sunscreen, and changes of clothing for the smallest kids.

I was already going to be lugging my own bag plus doing some hand-holding on our short walk to the beach, so I thrust the backpack toward Ambrose.

“Here,” I told him, “You carry this please.”

“Uhhh … are you kidding me?”

Startled by his unwillingness, I thrust it yet again in his direction.

“I am not kidding. You carry this.”

He backed away from my hand. I looked at the backpack.

The hot pink Dora the Explorer backpack.

He was off the hook.

Imagine the swooning when a gaggle of little old French Canadian ladies at our parish asked Stephen what he would be requesting for his birthday dinner …

“Pâté chinois,” came the answer.

It’s raining again, so I let the kids watch some TV this afternoon.

After only a few minutes, Daniel left the room and came to me in earnest. With a serious expression, he — slowly, deliberately, and with painful concentration — said something.

“I …. want … somefing,” he said.

“What do you want, sweetie?”

“I want … cookie … cwunch.”

Thank you, Nickelodeon.