Teaching

Brain: If I was a tutor, I'd do it for free 'cause nothing pays like teaching a kid.

SuperD: And it doesn't pay the electric. Ask your mom.

Look!

The Brain: Look! I'm picking her nose!

Pinky: You're such a boy.

Tornado Alley

As I write this, the tornado sirens have sounded 11 times this evening. My family hasn't taken cover since all of the rotation has been well to the south of us. But the experts have to sound the sirens in the entire county, I guess. Nevertheless, we're watching continuous tornado coverage. Although I am incredibly sleepy, I can't go to bed until I know that the dangerous weather has passed.

When I first heard the sirens, I stepped onto my back porch to look at the sky. This is fairly typical for people who live in Tornado Alley. Meteorologists keep us "weather aware," so we know when it's truly time to take cover. I was so impressed by the heavy winds and the spooky sky that I began to film the trees bending back and forth. That's when The Brain found me and asked what I was doing. He, too, looked up and said, "It's actually kind of a beautiful day, if you don't think about it being apocalyptic."

Huh

The Brain pulled a ninja on me and suddenly materialized at the dining table. Every parent knows that silent children are usually up to no good.

Me: Brain, whatcha doin'?

The Brain: Origami.

Huh. Ninjas do origami, right?

Origami rubber band guns aren't standard issue for a ninja though.

Only a 12YO boy

The Brain wanted to play outside after school today, so I reminded him that he must complete his homework first, which includes practicing percussion. As I was sitting at the dining table with Pinky, we could hear him practicing rhythms with his drumsticks. We had a discussion about how good he is doing in band and how he's getting better. His band teacher (who is also Pinky's band director) told Pinky that he's been "kicking butt" lately in class.

So, being the good mom, I got up to go tell him how proud I am of him and how good he sounds. It's as I walk down the hallway past the bathroom on the way to his bedroom that I realize the sound of his drumsticks is no longer in front of me.

Me, at the bathroom door: I love that you're practicing, but not that you're doing it while on the toilet.

The Brain: I'm poo-ing!