How Was Your Day?

My son, bless his little heart, struck up a conversation with me while I was making dinner. Well, it wasn't quite as June Cleaver as all that. I'll try again.

Dec was trying to distract me from the fact that he wasn't cleaning his room or doing his homework with a clever use of flattery. Which was easy to do because the damn frozen egg rolls weren't coming out of those annoying plastic wrappers.

"Sooo, how was your day, Mom? I'm really interested in what you did."
"Well, I taught some classes."
"Oh! That sounds great! About what?"
"Well, one was about tips to try to stay healthy during the holidays."
"Oh, I know that! Don't stuff yourself or get drunk on eggnog!"

*sigh*
If I had talked to him earlier, I could have saved myself a great deal of time not messing with bullshit about portion size and exercise. Where's my eggnog...

Levels of Catastrophic

Declan came home the other day really fired up to place a book order. I remember really loving book orders when I was a kid, and it gives me great joy that my kids do, too.
I looked at what he'd marked. One is literally called "Potentially Catastrophic Science Experiments for Brave, Young Scientists". 

My warm, fuzzy feeling waned. A great deal. He had apparently anticipated the reaction that was clearly written all over my face.

"No, Mom, it's not like blow-up-the-house catastrophic. It's on a much smaller scale. Don't worry!"

I am not greatly comforted, and better get a mention in the Nobel acceptance speech. If I'm not blown to pieces before then, of course. Wait, I mean especially if I'm blown to pieces. And if he doesn't I'll haunt his little ass.

What He Said

"Hey Mom, can I be Ke$ha for Halloween? "

For those of you who are unaware, Ke$ha is Emily's favorite singer. Which makes me very sad. She wears glitter with as light of a hand as I applied Aqua Net in the 80s.

"Uh, that would be a no."

"Whyyyyyyy?"

Declan (without looking away from the computer screen) responded.

"Because Ke$ha drinks too much and writes VERY inappropriate music for girls your age. Duh."

Word.

Can't Buy Me Love

Emily was chattering on about stuff she wanted. New bobbles for her hair, new clothes, remodel for her room - you know the basics in life. I wasn't really listening.

But, Declan took it upon himself to try to mold her character.

"Emily, money can't buy happiness. Even if you buy a puppy."

Indeed.

Young Men's Love Then Lies, Not Truly in Their Hearts but in Their Eyes.

Not only is my favorite Shakespeare quote beautiful, but true.

Declan came home the other day with a very well-guarded permission slip. It wasn't wrinkled or anything. He was really double super-secret serious about this one. He wanted to take orchestra. Yep. The violin to be exact. Really.

"I just want to find everything I'm good at."

I forgave the dangling preposition and took a look. Turns out, it wouldn't be as expensive as I thought - manageable for sure. His sisters were signed up for drama and ballet, so it was a reasonable request. We had a serious discussion about how it would take years to be good at it, how much practice it would require and the added inconvenience of hauling it to and from school on days they walk. He eagerly accepted all of the responsibility. He was determined.

So, we went to the music store and bought a violin. He is super excited. I thought it was an interesting direction for him to take, but it didn't all fall into place until a few days later.

"So, I haven't asked you yet - are there any kids in your class this year who were in your class lat year?"
"Yeah! There's a girl Mila."
"Mira?"
No, Mom. Mila. M-i-l-a. Mila"
"Oh! That's a pretty name. She was in your class last year?"
"Well, sort of. she was in TAG with me. I know her from that."
"That's great. Is she nice?"
He perked up immediately.
"Oh, yeah! She's really nice. She has blonde hair and she loves science just as much as I do. Basically, she's me but a girl."
"That's really great, Dec."
Then it all made sense.
"Are there any other kids in your class that are doing orchestra?"
"Yep. One."
"Who's that?"
"Mila."
Uh huh. I apparently do have an exceptionally smart boy.

On the Bright Side

The day has come. Despite The Husband willing it to never arrive, it has. Isa has a crush. We have been hearing for a couple weeks all of the wonderful attributes of the new boy, Rene, who moved here from Mexico. I have tried my best to give good advice and be as supportive as possible. Today, the inevitable happened.

"Mom, I got heartbreaking news today."
"Yeah? What happened?"
I knew exactly what had happened. Some little jerkface has hurt my little girl. No, it doesn't matter in the least that he had no idea any of it was going on. That is not the point.
"Well, it turns out that Rene has feelings for Leslie."
"I'm sorry, honey. That really sucks."
"It does. I knew this might happen, but... Leslie?!?! I didn't see that coming."
"Well, I know it doesn't help right now, but this happens to everyone. Try to make the best of it and move on."
"I will. On the bright side, Oscar is really cute!"
Holy shit. I'm obviously going to need to up the pars on the alcohol we keep in the house.

Worth it. Almost.

It's no secret to anyone who knows me that my time as a high school English teacher was, well, let's say trying. I really miss my students and the actual teaching part, but I just didn't have the constitution to shrug off the non-stop abuse from the parents. I just could never bring myself to accept that getting yelled at was a part of the job.

I was a tough teacher. I was tough because I cared very, very much about my students. I was there to do a job. Not be their friend, or their enabler, or their ego boost. My job was to teach them English. When they moved on to 10th grade, they would be better readers, better writers, better speakers, better testers and most importantly, better thinkers. And, I was good at my job.

This was not met with universal joy from the students, and even less from their parents. My basic attitude was that they could kiss my ass. If they wanted English to be easy, they should have not signed up for an honors class.

Well, long story short. Sticking to my principles and high academic standards was hard. After four years, my choices were to start handing out "A"s like candy at Halloween or to find a different job. At the end of the day, I felt I owed it to my students to try my best, so I quit. It took me 10 years to work my way through college to earn my teaching degree. It took the system four years to make me quit. I'm more than a little bitter, if that had been abundantly clear.

Well, the other day some of that bitterness abated.

I was in the public classroom at work preparing to cook for our Team Members. The room is separated from the cafe only by a glass wall. Very fishbowl-like. Well, a girl in her early 20s walked in. Customers do that sometimes, looking for condiments or the public class schedule. But she was there to see me. She had been in my English class in my second year.

She just wanted to tell me that she appreciated my effort in her education. She just graduated from college, and said that her writing was often complimented - and that she believes it is because of me. She still reads Shakespeare. For fun. Also something that she gives me credit for. Before she left to rejoin her family, she said that she just wanted to thank me for everything I did for her.

I wish I had words for how this warmed my heart, but I don't.

I do, however, have words for the sadness that came along with it. The fact is that too many teachers who have high standards aren't doing it anymore. Every parent who has mistreated a teacher can go fuck themselves.

No Problem

Emily and I were watching the Olympics. She showed a great deal of interest in the gymnastics and the 100 meter hurdles. I know, a natural pairing right? Then, she saw her first medal ceremony.

"Mom! Is that what you get when you win the Olympics?"
"Yep."
"Is the gold medal really made of gold?!?"
"Yeah. It's gold-plated at least."
"What?!?!? You mean that the winner gets a real gold medal?"
"Yes."
"So, all I have to do is win the Olympics and I get one of those?"
"Sure."
"Oh My God!! Wait. Mom, is it okay if when I'm a little older I go play in the Olympics?"
"Yes. If you qualify for the Olympics you have my permission to attend."
"Yeeeeees!"

She spent the next, well I have no idea how long, running around the dining room doing a combination of attempted hurdling and floor gymnastics. It was totally gold-medal calibur in my book!

Anxiety

Apparently our cat is a bit of a slut. Two months ago, she clawed her way out of a basement screen and now we have six kittens. The kids, of course, can't get enough of them.

The other night, The Husband went upstairs and found Isa singing a strange little song, gyrating all over the place, with a kitten in each hand. I asked her about it the next night.

"Hey Isa, I heard that you were dancing with the kittens last night."
"Yes. It's true"
"Why?"
"Well, it appeared to me that two of them were a little anxious. Strangely, my singing and dancing didn't do anything to ease their anxiety."

Huh. Weird.

Space

Isa was spending the week at Girl Scout camp. Emily recovered from her sadness very quickly. She descended onto Isa's room, setting up a little dressing table with some decorations, fingernail polish and her hairbrush.

"Mom, you have a very rare opportunity! I'm renting out Isa's room for the week. It has added items to help make you beautiful. I even cleaned it a little." (She didn't actually do the cleaning part.)
"Um. Do you think you should be renting out your sister's room while she's not here?"
"That's what hotels do. It's a dollar a night. Do you want me to get you your purse?"
"I think perhaps you should respect Isa's space while she's gone."
"Mom! She's all the way at camp! How much space does one girl really need?!?"

Reason Number 632 Why I Love My Husband

The boy is attending an astronomy day camp at the local university's physics department. They have a shitload of kids attending about 10 different camps, all in the same building at the same time. It is clearly stating the obvious that retrieving your child at the end of the day is a bit of a clusterfuck. And, it is so because people are assholes.

The Husband signed the paper promising that he is Dec's father and not a deranged kidnapper, and was waiting in line for staff to bring the astronomy campers to the staging room. Of course, some overdressed woman who clearly can't move past her high school Saturday night slut make-up days pushed her way in.

"I'm looking for ..." I don't remember her kid's name. Which is no doubt how the poor little fucker prefers.

The husband didn't miss a beat.

"Yeah, well what you should be looking for is the back of the line!"

I love him, and I'm pretty sure some of the parents and staff and camp do now, too. 

My Friend Rick

"Mom, is it legal to own a dolphin?"
"Well, Dec, I'm not sure if it's illegal, but it would be difficult logistically. You'd need a heck of a big tank."
"Oh."
"Why?"
"Well, I've always dreamed of having a pet dolphin. Named Rick."
"Huh. Why 'Rick'"?
"Because that's an awesome name for a dolphin."
That it is.

Quote of the Day

"Mom! I've totally wasted my life!"
"Em. You are seven."
"Oh.  So I still have some time, then?"
"Yes."
"Whew! Well now that's sure a relief!"

Anger +1

Declan came downstairs, unaware that I had come home from work.
"Oh hey, Mom. You look angry. What happened?"
"Oh, I just had a very frustrating day."
"Oh. I thought maybe you had your period or something."
"What!?!?"
He quickly vacated my space, muttering to himself.
"And now she looks even angrier."

Fuck Participation

Declan decided to try cross country camp this summer. It's a four-day, free little clinic in the morning sponsored by our school district. Unfortunately, not only was he one of the youngest kids, he also was the only one who wasn't on about four track teams. Apparently, my kid was the only one in the district who thought cross country sounded like something fun to try...

Despite these obstacles, he very much enjoyed the experience. On the last day, they participated in a competitive run of a mile and a half. He came in last. By a whole, whole lot. He was bummed.

"Mom, I couldn't catch anyone."
"Well, what did your coach say?"
"He said that he was really proud of me and that it was good that I'd finished and that he really hoped he would see me again next summer."
"Well, that's very encouraging!"
"I guess. He gave me this stupid green ribbon. It says 'honorable mention'. What most kids don't know is that when you get something that says 'honorable mention' what it really means is 'do better next time'.

Online Shopping

My son just asked if I could buy him something online. I asked him what he needed. "Iron shavings and a neodymium magnet". 

ps - I know that I correctly spelled neodymium because he left me his periodic table so that I wouldn't get confused. He's a nice kid...

Quote of the Day

Conversation on the way home from a Sonic ice cream run between Isa and her dad.

"We were playing this trick on Ptara. It was so hilarious..."
"Wait. Who was there?"
"My girl scout troop. At Great Wolf Lodge."
"What's Ptara?"
"The girl we played the trick on."
"What's her name?"
"Ptara."
"What? Say it again. Slower."
"Pa Tar A"
"Her name is Ptara?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, Dad. Ptara."
"What does she look like?"
"Well she has blonde hair. And a very round head."
"A round head?"
"Yes. Very."
"Do I have a round head?"
"Well it's rounder now than when you were younger."
Indeed.

Quote of the Day

"Hey, Mom. What's that on facebook?"
"Oh, hey Dec. It's the Omaha Astronomical Society's picture of the day. It's the Andromeda galaxy."
Oh. that's the one that's going to slam in to our galaxy in 50 million years and probably destroy us."
Well, he certainly has the eternal optimism of a scientist.

Quote of the Day

Emily was helping me plant flowers.
"What are those pink ones named, Mom?"
"Impatiens."
"Does that mean that they take a reeeaaally long time to grow?"

The Bullshit Nobody Tells You

There are quite a few girls at my work right now who are expecting, or who very recently had babies. First and foremost, I'm super glad it's them and not me. But it did get me thinking about when I was having my little bundles of joy.

I was not one of those women who liked being pregnant. I like being a Mom, and love my kids beyond measure, but being pregnant sucked beyond words. And nobody told me it would. All I heard was how great it was. Your hair gets long and luxurious. You feel like more of a woman. You can eat whatever you want. The most dire warning was from my mother, who claimed things to get uncomfortable after about 10 centimeters.

First of all, my mother was hospitalized for weeks before she bore both of my brothers, which has to measure pretty darn high on the suck scale. Second, being the skeptic that I am, I found a damn ruler and looked at just how far 10 centimeters is. There is no way in fuck that is only "uncomfortable". I had no idea what I was in for.

I couldn't believe the bullshit that nobody tells you. While the result is undoubtedly the most wonderful, there is nothing about growing another human inside of you that doesn't suck. Nothing.

Yes, the prenatal vitamins do make your hair pretty great. Mostly what happens is that you stop losing your hair at the fairly rapid normal pace. Which, by the way, ceases the moment you give birth. Yes, that does mean that a bunch of your hair falls out. Sexy, huh? What's even better is that nobody tells you that all of your hair gets long and luxurious. All of it; leg hair, armpit hair... You even start growing hair where you didn't before, so you end up with long, beautiful belly hair. Nothing screams sexy like cornrows to cover your stretch marks.

I'm pretty sure my internal organs will never be the same. It's not as if there's a cavernous space in a woman's innards just waiting for occupancy from a little bundle of joy. Every little bit of room that the baby grows into displaces something. Your stomach can't hold much of anything without it coming back up in the form of heartburn. You can't breathe deeply anymore because your diaphragm can't get down very far. Your pelvis literally spreads out from the extra weight, which is every bit as uncomfortable as it sounds. And don't even get me started about the bladder.

Sleeping is a joke. You can't sleep on your back because your fetus will crush your kidneys. Seriously, that's what my doctor told me. Sleeping on your stomach is obviously out, unless channeling a high-centered turtle is relaxing to you. That leaves your side. But, you can't just roll over and doze off. Your fetus sticks out so much that the weight of it pulling down toward the mattress will actually strain your back muscles. And, don't forget that spread pelvis. So, what you end up having to do to avoid excruciating pain is to stuff pillows underneath your belly and in between your legs to support all of the extra weight. All of which must be repeated if you have to get up to pee, which you will about every two hours, or if you need to turn over, which you will. Then, right when you are drifting off, your little darling will start to kick you.

The first few times the baby kicks, it's magical. By the end, it's much less so. My doctor said that the reason they are much more likely to kick frequently at night is that during the day when mom is moving around, the walking motion rocks the baby to sleep. So, at night when you aren't moving around, it's soccer time for junior. If you are lucky, none of your organs will be close. Getting kicked in the bladder when you are trying to not get up for the sixth time that night to pee is awesome. By the end, it looks very much like one of the Alien movies. You can see a hand or foot move across your belly. Or walk around all day with a lopsided baby bump because the head is sticking out to one side. Not creepy at all.

Everything that you have come to know about your body is wrong. Your center of gravity is completely off. And it goes without saying, that you stick out further than you think. I was a classroom teacher during all three of my pregnancies, and I would occasionally misjudge my distance, take a corner a bit too sharply and whack a student with my fetus. There just isn't a good way to apologize for that, especially to a 14 year-old boy. Hopefully the therapy was limited.

Then there's the fun stuff unique to you. My oldest spent her entire time in my uterus with her feet cocked right near my sciatic nerve. So, every time she would kick it I would at best loose my balance and at worse pass out completely. Which happened twice in the bathroom at school. I also would puke at the taste of toothpaste. Think about that one for a second. I would get up, brush my teeth, puke, have to brush my teeth because I just puked, puke, and so on. Because starting your day pulling up your pants to the bottom of your boobs doesn't suck badly enough.

That was horrifying, when I learned how maternity pants worked. Yes, they actually go all the way over your belly. So does the underwear. It's hot. It is true that your boobs get big. But, between the belly hair, the complete loss of balance and the constant peeing it doesn't really matter. By that time you have come to the grim realization that your condition is completely the fault of the guy who is interested in your boobs, and you really aren't motivated to reward him at that point.

In fact, the only thing saving him is that you can't waddle fast enough to catch him to administer the beating he so clearly deserves. Sure honey, I don't mind if you have that beer with dinner. I don't miss it at all. In fact, I'd love to be the designated driver when you go out with your friends. 

Oh, and by the way, after you give birth your boobs point down for the rest of your natural life. Sad little balled up sweat socks. With stretch marks. Goodbye Victoria's Secret bras forever.

The really crazy ones are those who want to do "natural" childbirth. These are batshit crazy women who plan to turn down drugs. I'm totally down with the natural lifestyle thing. But, as I said, I have looked up 10 centimeters and if there exists something to make that hurt less you should take it. Since we have the technology that we don't have to crouch in a hut and chew cocoa leaves I don't see why the fuck we would do that to ourselves. Yes, we women have been successfully birthing babies for millennia, and I'm willing to bet that any woman even 100 years ago would cut off an arm for a decent epidural.   

As I said, it's all worth it. Really. But anyone who claims that being pregnant is a beautiful experience is on drugs. Literally very strong hallucinogens. And the bitch isn't telling any first-time moms why her world is really full of rainbows and unicorns.

Opposite

Emily was rattling on, immersed in some game about which we were all supposed to interested and actively involved. From what I could gather, she was describing various family members by saying the most opposite things possible, and we were to guess which one of us it was. It wasn't the most fun game she'd ever invented, but I was doing my best to be a good sport. I did not go unrewarded.

It was my turn to be described. I was a very small, two year-old black woman with blonde hair. Further, I was a terrible cook and married to a husband who was... wait for it...

blonde and rich. The Husband stopped playing. I didn't.

Priorities

"Hey Mom! Today is an awesome day!"
"That's an unusual sentiment for you this early in the morning. Why is it awesome today?"
"Because Mrs. Jackman is moving our seats around, and I'm sitting right behind Ronnie."
"Wait. Isn't that the kid that you don't like because he's mean to you and Jesus?"
"Yep!"
"But why..."
Declan interrupted me with a huge smile.
"Because if I'm right behind him I can throw stuff at his neck!"
"You know that if you do that you'll get in trouble, right?"
"Mom. Totally worth it!"
Sigh.

More glitter!

I was hanging out in my office with the daughter of one of my friends yesterday. She wanted to do some crafts on the floor, so I got out my bin of supplies. Googly eyes, pipe cleaners, puffy balls, markers... It's a pretty cool box. Much to her dismay, none of my glitter pens worked.

"That's another one! In the trash!  If none of your glitter pens work, what do you use instead?"
"Well, you know, I really don't use any glitter in my job."
She looked at me with a mix of disbelief and pity.
"You don't??"
She paused for a moment.
"You really should, you know."
She is totally right. I don't use nearly enough glitter at work. Think of how much more interesting a statistical training report would be if it were in purple glitter pen. I've decided. More glitter.

No. For reals.

My side of a conversation today with my son.

"No, Declan. You may not have the laser you found online that will light things on fire."

"Yes, it would be convenient to light the grill from your room. Still no."

"I'm pretty confident that you are NOT the only kid on the entire earth whose Mom would say no."

"My suspicion is that even if I say no, you will ask me again tomorrow anyway."

Something tells me that I will be having this conversation many, many times in the near future...

On Building a Successful Business Model

Perhaps because we are a bit nuts, our family often talks about starting our own diner-type food establishment. We think it would be fun, and frequently discuss the details. The Husband, Declan and I were discussing menu the other day.

"Oh! Mom! We should have ice cream! And... what do you call those things that beer comes in?"
"Pints?"
"No, no... Kegs! That's it! We should have ice cream and kegs of beer!"
That we should, son. I think we are off to an excellent start for our business plan.

My Sister Ron

Emily was attempting to have a detailed discussion with her older sister about middle names. Isabella was less interested, so Em was making up the gap by bombarding her with questions.

"Well Isa, what's your middle name?"
"Guess." Isa said without even breaking her gaze at the tv.
"What does it start with?"
"R"
"Is it Rachel?"
"No."
"Is it Ron?"
Em got her sister's attention.
"Ron?!?! Why the hell would my middle name be Ron?"
Emily beamed. She had achieved the engagement she wanted from her sister.
"Why wouldn't it be Ron? Do you have a problem with the name Ron?"
Isa looked at me.
"Why is she so weird, Mom?"
"Probably because she takes after her older sister."
After Isa eye rolled and huffed off, Em and I snuggled up and shared a giggle. Maybe I should change Isa's middle name to Ron...

What???

Emily has found a new online game. It's basically a sim game, and the point is to run a disco. You can decorate it, play music, etc. She was bubbling on about it this morning, when I caught that she was excited because she had condomized her disco.

"I'm sorry, what? You condomized your disco?"
"Yep!"
"How exactly does one 'condomize' a disco?"
"Oh, you know, you can add decorations, and change the outfit of the DJ, and.."
"Oh!! You mean you customized your disco!"
"Yeah. that's what I said."
I decided to agree and save the "how one would condomize a disco" discussion for another day. A very distant day.

You're Welcome!

So the other night Emily rolled up on The Husband with an empty plastic bottle and her best teacher voice.

"So. Dad.  I heard you last night asking Mom about recycling. I can help you! It's really easy. See this triangle of arrows right here on the bottle? Well, if it has that, it can go in the recycling. And look. The very same arrow is on the recycling bin. It's just like the match game!"

She paused for a moment, but received no response from her stunned father. She was unfazed.

Right before she turned on her heel and sauntered off, she cheerfully responded to what she was convinced her dad was thinking.

"And, you're welcome!"

Quote of the Day

Emily was trying to get me to hang out in the basement. She mistook my having other stuff to do as an aversion to the basement itself.
"Come on, Mom, it's great down here! There's not an alligator problem or anything!"
Good to know.

Nuts and Penises

Shortly after the kids went back to public school, we had to sign a permission slip for Isabella to take health class. You know, the "health"class. We signed it, and explained to her a bit about what she could expect.

Today, I called her from work to ask about her day.
"Oh, it was pretty good. I had my first health class."
"Oh yeah? How did that go?"
"Well, I was expecting it to be all about gross stuff, like balls and penises and stuff, but all we talked about were genes. So, I dodged that bullet today."
Immediately, I could hear Em start chanting in the background conga-style.
"Penis, penis, pe-NIS! Penis, penis, pe-NIS!"
Isa sighed.
"Mom, I really hope she doesn't behave this way when she takes health class."
Me, either. I don't need the phone call about my daughter adding to health class with a penis chorus.

Arks and the Elderly

Declan and I were out running errands and I insisted that he report on his first few days back at public school.
"Well, I had music for the first time Thursday. The teacher is pretty nice, but I didn't know the words to any of the songs so I didn't really sing. Oh, and one of the songs was about that Christian story. You know, the one where a senior citizen builds an ark and has two of everything? Which totally isn't even possible. The song was okay, though."

Moon Disposal

"Mom!!!"
"Yes, Em?"
"Our new calendar says there's a new moon on January 23!"
"Yes."
She rolled her eyes in the back of her head, and held her hands out in front of her as if she were ready to catch an anvil.
"Well, what are they going to do with the old moon?!?!?"

On the Good of Goblets

Isabella was telling me how much she liked living in Omaha, while enjoying a refreshing drink of water from one of our new glasses.
 "I mean, seriously Mom. We're much closer to the art museum and the zoo. The house is beautiful. I mean, I'm drinking out of a freaking goblet here!"

Takes One to Know One

Declan and Emily were arguing. Declan was insisting that Em was lying about something. I don't even know what about, mostly because I wasn't paying attention.

"I'm NOT!"
"You are. You are totally lying. I should know; I lie all the time."
What? I started listening a bit more closely.
"I'm TOTALLY NOT lying, Declan! I SWEAR!"
"And there you go. That's what I say every time I lie."

Great. Just great.

Parental Controls

This morning I found my son going back and forth between the computer and the Wii. He would watch a little bit of You Tube video, then click a few times in the settings section of the game console. I asked him what he was doing.

"Oh, I'm getting rid of the parental controls on the Wii."
We bought our Wii used, and so many of the settings we didn't put in place. We wouldn't have put them on in the first place, but hadn't gotten around to taking them off. So, I wasn't upset at all with him, but curious.
"Yeah? Why are you doing that? Is there something it won't let you do?"
"No, not at all. I'm doing it for Dad."
"Really?? How so?"
"The parental controls were annoying him, so I'm fixing it for him."
The eight year-old fixing the parental controls for the adult. Probably not exactly what the good folks at Nintendo had in mind...

The Simple Life

Declan informed me (as he has done before) that his pretty sure when he gets older, he's not going to get a wife or kids.
"Yeah? Why not?"
"Well, they are very expensive. If I have kids I have to buy them stuff, like beds and stuff, and if I don't have any kids then I can spend that money on stuff I want. Like motorcycles. ...I just want to live an uncomplicated life."