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.