Chips on My Shoulder

My Oldest, age 16: (walks in eating potato chips) “Hey, since when do you hide potato chips from us?”

Me: “SHHHHH!”

Me: (whispering) “I don’t hide them. I just… store them… strategically. And please be quiet before the others hear you.”

My Oldest: “This from the guy who tells us to not keep secrets. Nice.”

Me: “Hey, now. I only hide them because you kids snarf them up immediately as soon as you know they’re in the house. It’s one of my only treats, so I like to have some stick around in the house longer than 10 minutes.”

My Oldest: “Whatever. You can hide all the BBQ chips you want, I just want the plain ones.”

Danger Monkey, age 10: (from the other room) “We have BBQ chips! Woo-hoo!”

Me: (glaring)

My Oldest: (batting eye lashes) “Love you, Daddy.” (walks away)

 

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Quietly Humming

Little Miss Thing, age 7: “Mom told me to help you with dinner.”

Me: “Uh… I’m just heating up chili. Maybe you can make peanut butter sandwiches for everyone?”

LMT: “I’ve made a lot of them lately. I’m pretty good at it.”

Me: “I’m sure you are.”

LMT: (making sandwiches, quietly humming)

LMT: “Do I have to eat those carrots? We had them for lunch.”

Me: “You had carrots at lunch? Really?”

LMT: “Yes.”

Me: (glaring)

LMT: “We did!”

Me: (glaring intensifies)

LMT: “At lunch… about a month ago.”

Me: “That’s more like it. Tell you what, I sliced up a red bell pepper for Mom. You can eat that or carrots.”

LMT: “Ewwwww… I’ll take carrots. Definitely carrots.”

LMT: (quietly humming)

LMT: “Should I put butter on all of them?”

Me: “On the carrots?”

LMT: “No, the bread.”

Me: “Butter? Don’t you mean peanut butter?”

LMT: “I just call it butter now. I don’t know why.”

Me: “OK, sure. Whatever you call it, it goes on all the sandwiches. That’s why we call them peanut butter sandwiches.”

LMT: “Right, butter sandwiches.”

Me: …

Me: “Call it whatever you want. Just do it.”

LMT: (quietly humming)

LMT: “Do I have to eat chili?”

Me: “Yes.”

LMT: “Why? It’s a free country.”

Me: “Not when you’re a kid, it’s not.”

LMT: “That’s not fair.”

Me: “It really isn’t. Wait… Where’s the red pepper I just sliced?”

LMT: “I ate it.”

Me: “All of it?”

LMT: “Yeah. It’s my favorite.”

Me: …

LMT: (quietly humming)

That Can’t Be It

Me: (groaning)

Danger Monkey, age 9: “Why are your muscles so sore?”

Me: “I lifted a lot of weights at the gym last night, remember?”

DM: “My muscles don’t get sore like that.”

Me: “You’re young. And mine don’t hurt nearly as much as I thought they would.”

DM: “Why not?”

Me: “Maybe I’m more in shape than I thought.”

DM: “No, that can’t be it.”

Me: (glaring)