I Get No Respect

Oh, look. How cute. My five year old started writing a story. What a budding genius. Remember, I taught her everything she knows. I found the first line on the floor last night. Let's take a closer look.

"Mom had gas."

Oh. Never mind.

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Last night as I tucked the girls in, Caroline asked, "Mom, where does the word 'strawberry' come from?"

Me: "I don't know. It's kind of a funny word, isn't it, since there's no straw in the berries. Maybe we can find out by looking it up in the dictionary."

Caroline: "No, I think we can just ask God."

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Caroline, with utter certainty: Mom, Pongo [our puppy] is a Christian.

Me: Oh, really? How do you know that?

Caroline: Because he has a cross on his belly!

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I found the following text messages on my phone this morning.
Me [or should I say, a message originating from my phone]: I love pizza.
Tim: Hi Ian.
"Me": Ian?
Tim: Oh you mean this isn't Ian? I'm sorry. I thought he had your phone. He's pretty tricky that way. Do you want me to order pizzas tonight?
"Me": Yes that would be nice.
Tim: OK. Please call me to discuss raising allowances for the kids.

What can I say? I  married a man who wasn't born yesterday.
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