Sunday, January 31, 2010


We sit at dinner. Max is at work, so it's just the remaining four of us. Dinner has pretty much wound down. "Does anyone want any more salad?" I ask. Of course, the answer is no. (I mean, salad! It's delicious, but they're children, inexperienced in the wonders of salad.)

So (remember, no Max, so I don't have to use Queen's lunch etiquette – because he's ALL about the correct fork), I grab the bowl and start digging in (with a fork. What? Do you think I'm an animal?)

Pepper: "ew!! Gross!! Mom cooties!"

Norah: "Mom put the salad together. She actually *touched* it all"


Me (deadpan): "You realize I gave birth to you"

Pepper: [blank stare]

Me: "Every *part* of you has touched ME" [effective pause & intonation when stating "me"]

Pepper: [turns slightly green]

Norah: "Yeah, Pepper. And you KNOW where babies come from, too"

Pepper: [turns *really* green & fakes retching into a garbage can]

Me: "Relax. You've taken at least 1,000 baths since then. You're clear. As am I."


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  1. I love the word cooties. You rarely hear it in Australia, I shall have to start using it more myself!

  2. My son won't touch the same fork as mine, so I too remind him of the whole birth thing. Doesn't seem to do the trick though. At least he loves his salad...