Stabbing Pains



Me: “Ow! What was that?”

Danger Monkey, age 10: “My elbow.”

Me: “Then no more elbows.”


Me: “Hey! I said no elbows!”

DM: “That wasn’t my elbow.”

Me: “Then what was it?”

DM: “My fist.”

Me: …

Me: “That’s worse than an elbow.”

DM: “You didn’t say no fists.”

Me: “I didn’t say no knives either, but that doesn’t mean you can stab me with a giant knife.”

DM: …

DM: “What about a small knife? How big is giant?”


Catch my drift

Me: “You know, honey, having the same BFF for the last five years is nice, but keep in mind that you and she will probably drift apart someday.”

My Oldest Girl, age 13: “Oh, it won’t be a drift. There will be a boy involved, and it will involve knives and restraining orders.”


Tonight My Wonderful Wife taught our son, Danger Monkey age 7, to wash and chop celery with a full sized chef’s knife.

It took a little bit of practice and I was so nervous I couldn’t even watch.

After a few minutes, I hear the Mama announce he has it down.

He shouts “Achievement unlocked!”

His Geeky Viking dad is so proud.

Is it dusty in here?