Plotting

Sometimes I think my kids have secret meetings where they plot how to mess with me, and prevent me from getting anything done. It's like they're the writers for MTV's Jackass, and it's their job to come up with bizarre stunts that might end in laughter or injury. I can imagine them saying things like "You pull all the knives out of the dishwasher and chase the dog, and when mom gets the knives from you, I'll run as fast as I can into the kitchen and crash/fling myself pelvis-first into the table. That will hurt, so I will cry. When she bends down to check on me, you shriek and babble and fall on top of all of us."

When we're out to eat at a Mexican restaurant, it's "You order a side of rice and a tortilla, beg and beg for your food to hurry up, and then gag when they bring it out and say that you don't like rice or tortillas anymore. I'll throw all my food on the floor, eat dad's food, and when mom takes me to the bathroom to change my diaper I'll secretly bring a serving spoon with me. Then later we can both splash in the trendy water feature. Don't forget to smile and wave at the other diners!"

They execute their plans, too. The other night when I was trying to cook dinner it was "I'll play that game where I see how close I can get between mom and the stove. When she moves, I'll go between her legs and laugh. You dance and chant P-I-Z-Z-A, even though that's not what we're having. Also, score us some pickles while we wait."

Let's just hope they can make a living at this one day. Johnny Knoxville's worth $75 million.