I can't even begin to try to title this one

The scene: After finishing supper, Laura and Garrett decided to pull out the markers and paper while they had our full attention. After drawing several lines and circles, Laura wanted our input on her creation.

I'm M (mom), Seth is D (dad). You must envision Laura's commentary with very serious facial expressions and sweeping hand gestures. However, I know this story still won't make you dissolve into unstoppable laughter like it did to us. I don't even know why I'm writing this, really. But if you just stay with it, you'll be rewarded with a giggle in the end...promise.

L: Now see my picture, but you can't laugh. It is my PICTURE.

D: It's very good!

M: So beautiful, Laura!

L: Now, you tell me which paf to draw on.

D: That one.

L: Okay. I will draw on that paf. Now mom. Which paf do you want?

M: This path.

L: It's just a PAF.

D: A "pass"?

L: Yes, a pass. NO, NO. A PAF.

M: What is a paf?

L: It's THIS (pointing to a line). And this is a PEOPLE, and he has a hot air balloon hand. And this is a SLIDE, with this on it. It's like a SANDWICH. It tastes like burger.

D: Hmmm. Okay. Are you sure you don't mean a "path"?

L: NO, NO! NOT A PATH (enunciated perfectly). A PAF! DON'T LAUGH.

We're still confused.

So then, I tell Garrett to show Daddy the special picture he painted at Granny's today. See, I left the kids at Granny's while I went to lunch with friends. When I returned, G couldn't wait for me to see the special picture he painted for our friend "John" at church.

Now, you first have to know that John is the only African-American person that Garrett has ever known (we don't live in a very diverse area, to say the least). Garrett has been slightly afraid of John since he began attending our church. We have tried to be very non-chalant about it, and have been doing our best to show Garrett that John is our friend, and that we ALL have different skin colors.

So he shows me the picture he's painted, and tells me he would like to give it to John on Sunday.

It's a perfect painting of a person, head, arms, legs, body, painted entirely in brown paint, with huge white eyes and a huge white mouth. I thought it was so innocent and sweet, and a good sign of Garrett becoming a little less intimidated.

He pulls out the picture tonight to show it to Daddy, and Daddy makes a shocked face, then laughs. "Seth, he worked really hard on that," I say.

And then I see what Garrett has added.

A huge green penis.

God help us.

The Great Escape

Oh, fine. A bunch of you asked for it, so here it is...

...The Story Of How My Children Could Have Been Abducted Or Run Over Because Their Negligent Mother Was Not Watching Them Like A Hawk.

A few weeks ago, I had a monstrously big cake week. Needing some time to work, I sent the kids out to play in the backyard, where I can watch them from the kitchen window.

About ten minutes later, Garrett comes running in yelling, "We got the car in, mom! The car is in the house!" (He has one of those big, battery powered Jeeps in the backyard, which is currently without a battery).

I yell, "Get that car OUT of the house! That is an outside toy. NOWWWWW!" Then I say, "Wait - is the car UPSTAIRS or DOWNSTAIRS?"

"It's downstairs!" Garrett replies.

I can't figure out how in the hell he got the car into the downstairs, because there is a child doorknob lock on the downstairs door, and to get into the backyard, you have to go through the fence, which is also locked. I'm stumped.

So, I call my husband, who is working in his office downstairs, and tell him to check the doorknob and fence locks.

Husband eventually figures out what happened. See if you can follow:

1. Garrett gets the lock off the fence.

2. G pushes his Jeep through the fence and up to the back door.

3. G realizes he can't get the downstairs door open...it's locked from the inside and out.

4. G comes back in the house, through the unlocked kitchen door, and goes downstairs.

5. G undoes the deadbolt on the downstairs door.

6. G goes back outside, through the now open fence, and opens the now unlocked downstairs door.

7. G pushes the car inside the house.

But the story is not over. About the time we're realizing just what has happened, Laura comes running, pink and sweaty, yelling, "Daddy! I have your truck keys!".

We open the garage to assess the damage.

While Garrett was attempting the Great Escape from the backyard, Laura had taken advantage of the open gate.

We found toys out in the front yard, handprints all over the truck, and the keypad to the garage was opened up.

They both got spankings after we explained that they could have gotten hit by a car ("But we didn't go in the ROAD, mom!"), or that someone could have taken them ("But that guy on the bike didn't take us!" - great...witnesses to my negligence).

Please understand that this ALL took place in the space of TEN MINUTES. And the scary part is, when I looked out the window to check on them every few minutes, I could always see or hear one of them. They obviously knew to "cover" for each other so that I wouldn't know what was going on.

Finally, to our question of "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING???", Garrett said, "I just wanted to get in the garage to get our bikes," and Laura replied that she "wanted that candy from Daddy's truck." (there was a candy bar wrapper on the floorboard)

Is anyone else seeing a 16 year old Garrett stealing our car from the garage, in order to drive a 15 year old Laura to the gas station for a candy fix?

Because I am.

Uh-oh.

Looks are deceiving...

Now THAT'S more like it...

Time to clean up my act, damn it.

For the thousandth time of the morning, I tell Garrett we are NOT getting out the paints.

His reaction?

He smacks his hands to his thighs, growls, stomps off, and yells at the top of his lungs, "DAMN IT!"

My reaction?

Giggling inside, shock on the outside. I gasp, "GARRETT, we do NOT say those words."

Laura helpfully responds, her eyes wide, "We don't say 'damn it'."

Garrett, distracted from his anger, says, "Yeah, 'damn it' is not good."

Laura replies, with a smirk, "'Damn it' is bad words."

Garrett continues, laughing, "We can't say 'damn it', mom."

Me? "ONE MORE TIME AND I AM WASHING OUT MOUTHS. YOU'RE DONE."

If they can figure out how to work in curse words five times in a 30 second conversation at ages 3 and 4, I JUST.CAN'T.WAIT. until they're 14. That should be fun, damn it.