Tidbits

Last night, we could hear Sis and Bud while they cleaned their room, part of their getting-ready-for-bed checklist. Sis said to him, "Zero talking, one hundred cleaning."

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Calling her bluff: Sis often says to Bud, when he isn't cooperating, "If you don't do this, I'll never play with you again!" Today, he turned to her and retorted, "Sis, you say that a lot, but then you always play with me anyway."

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One of the twins' new favorite games is called, "Kid." As in Mommy, Daddy, and Kid. And I'm Kid. That's not "the kid." Nope, Kid is my name, as in "C'mon, Kid," or "Sit here, Kid." Not in some disrespectful, off-handed way, but as my name. (Note, while I refer to them as the kiddos here, I don't often do it in person. I think. Maybe more than I think). And I've been to the doctor's, flown on an airplane, had a birthday, gone to the first day of school, had kung fu class, and the like. It just tickles me to no end that practically every object in this house has a name, from Tango the penguin and Amy the bunny, to "Tick," which is what Sis calls bits of fuzz (he's a pet of hers sometimes), and I'm just Kid. I guess Shirt is "Shirt." It works for them . . .

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Apparently there is going to be a slumber party soon: the kids arranged it all on the bus. I understand that they arrange playdates on the bus everyday, with everyone participating. It's us parents who fall down on the job and don't see it through. So, I just called the mom whose daughter volunteered them for the sleepover and said I'd be glad to drop off the kiddos anytime!

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We made chocolate-chip blondies to give to Mrs. Director, who had three deaths in her family a few weeks ago. But upon seeing the finished dessert, Sis declared, "There isn't enough chocolate." And so we "iced" them by sprinkling them with chocolate chips when they came out of the oven and then smoothing over the melted chips. Voila!