Keen:  “Don’t worry, my body is just purging.  I’ll be fine now.”

Me:  “Oh, my poor guys.  I’m not even sick.”

Chance:  *raaawrrf*  *hysterical crying*


Keen:  “Crap!  You didn’t give him an Oreo, did you?”

Me:  “Um… this is not the right carpet cleaner!”

Chance:  “Somebody get this diaper off my butt!  IT’S COMING OUT MY BUTT NOW!”  *hysterical crying*


Chance:  “OK Mom, you hold me and I’ll just spew right over your shoulder, OK?  In fact, you don’t let go of me at all and this will all stop soon. Right?!”


Me:  “Do you want to give him another bath or swab the deck?”

Keen:  “Ugh…bath…but I’ll fold the last two batches of laundry.”

Me:  “Deal.  I’m going to start another load.  Got any pukey clothes?” 

Keen:  “Here.  Have another pair of ‘blow-out’ pants.”


Me:  “OK, stomach, if you’ll just let me drink this mocha I’ll eat bread for a week. I promise. I need this mocha.”


Me:  “Why am I even bothering to take a shower?”

Keen:  “Food Network, you’re dead to me.”


Chance, 4 days later:  *raawrrff… raawrf*  “Hey Mom, I need a new graham cracker… and maybe a new outfit.  Ooh, look, cars!”