For Sale, Eleven Year Old Boy

FOR SALE: Eleven year old boy, cheap.

Full disclosure – he sings all day about farts and snot. He fights constantly with his sister and tracks in mud. His room looks like a tornado just hit.

Also, he’s very geeky. He loves gaming, dressing like an elf, and digging holes out in the woods for hours.

But he can also be quite charming. And kind, I guess, sometimes. He’s industrious, wicked smart, and incredibly loyal.

Very snuggly.

Beautiful.

Brave.

Nevermind. He’s not for sale.

Sulking

(wakes up)

Wonderful Wife: “Good morning.”

Me: “Good morning.”

Lump Under Blankets: “Good Morning.”

Me: “Bah! Who is that?”

(throws off blanket)

Little Miss Thing, age 7: “It’s me!”

Me: “When did you get into bed with us?”

LMT: “I had a bad dream.”

WW: “Let’s snuggle a little and then it’s time to clean our rooms and finish packing for our trip.”

LMT: “I don’t want to clean or pack. I’m not going!”

Me: “Well, you can’t stay here.”

LMT: “I’ll run away. I can live in the woods.”

Me: “That escalated quickly.”

WW: “Let’s just snuggle and we’ll talk about it later.”

LMT: “No! I’m going to go sulk in my bed.” (stomps off)

WW: “She might need more sleep.”

Me: “Did she really just use the word sulk?”

WW: “Yes. That’s our girl.”

Me: “God help us all.”