Overheard in the bathroom:
Junior: Look, cheese!
Junior: This is mine. Get your own.
Everett: No fair, I want some.
Junior: I found it. It's my cheese. Go ask Mom for more.
Everett: I found it!
Junior: No you didn't. You always do this. You always try to take things from me. I found it.
Everett: Give me the cheese!
Junior: I told you, I found it. It's mine! Moooooom!
Junior: Moooooom, Everett's trying to take my cheese!
Everett: Moooooom, I want cheese too!
Me, bursting into the bathroom: What the heck is going on in here?
Junior: I found this cheese. It's mine!
Me: What cheese? And we don't eat in the bathroom.
Junior: This cheese.
Junior: I found it, it's mine.
Everett: No, I did!
Me: Uh, guys, GUYS! That's not cheese.
Junior: What is it?
Everett: Yes it is! I want cheese!
Me: It's...it's....um....something you can't eat.
Junior: Why not?
Me: It just is.
Junior: What is it? Mom why can't we have it?
Everett: I want cheese! No fair!
Me: Guys, GUYS! Take a deep breath. If you want cheese I will get you some...from the refrigerator. Now please, hand over the...cheese.
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.