Danger Monkey, age 9: “What is this?” (pokes with fork)
Me: “Those are grilled onions, my son. I noticed you’ve been eating raw onions for the last few weeks, so figured you should try them the way they should be eaten: slowly fried until they are golden, caramelized and delicious.”
DM: “But, now they don’t give me a breath weapon.”
Me: (slow blink)
Me: “Noted.”
At tuck ins.
Me: “You are a really great kid. You’re good at gymnastics, and spelling and math and reading and writing, and you’re funny and smart and hard working – when you want to be. I’m very proud to be your dad.”
Little Miss Thing, age 6: “Yeah, I thought so.”
I can’t decide which is my favorite part of breakfast at a small country diner – the rustic home fries, the unbelievably fluffy pancakes, or the big table of racist old dudes loudly discussing how brilliant Trump is.
Very Vocal Viking 