While I draft a few new essays, here are some random ramblings from the week, from my mouth to the ears of my son and husband. (Neither seems to have much of a talent for retention. I might as well keep a record somewhere.) I don't provide context, but not much is needed in most cases.
To husband: Don't worry. I don't even like my OWN ass right now.
To son: Quick, get your camera.
To husband: I don't care whose barf it is; I just don't want to step in it again.
To husband: No; I really love those videos. I meant to subscribe. Yeah. The one with the two old guys together.
To son: Of course the spider is still alive. I'm sure Dad missed.*
To son: Good! You're supposed to freaking poop in the bathroom! Get out here before another twenty minutes is up or no Bakugan!
To son: Grab YOUR camera.
To husband: I'm not sure about that one. Hand me the good guide. No, the good one. With the vinegaroon on the front.
To husband: Hang on; let me see if the pee smell gets stronger over there.
To son: Because I'm using my camera, that's why.
To husband: Because I AM smarter.
To husband: (In front of an open window and a neighbor): No; I really don't think it would bother me. I wouldn't even notice I was nude after a few days.
To son: I don't know where fresh batteries are for your camera. Maybe you shouldn't wear them out following the cats to the litter.
To son: If you want to go outside, you'd better do it while it's still raining.
To husband: Feet. Feet are way worse than crotch.
To son: No, I don't know where your (interminably long and convoluted) Quidditch board game could be. We'll have to play something else; gosh darn it.*
To husband: Oh, good. X-Men is on.
To son: Fine! I'll drop everything I'm doing and come look at your game. It'd better not just be R2 falling off a ledge! I've seen that a million times!
To husband, seconds later: Fricking R2. Fricking game.
To son: Fine. You can use my camera. Just give it back before the sunset.
*Factual accuracy not guaranteed.