Daniel: I think I wanna be Superman for Easter.
Raphael, on his desired decoration for his birthday cake: I want it to be a dragon who is breathing fire. And make it so the fire is going on a guy who is standing there. And all of his skin is melting off.
All in frosting, of course.
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.
“Not so much for me,” she explained, and I knew just what she meant.
“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.”
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?
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.