Dinnertime at the Broadbents

Wow, how time flies when you're  watching t.v.. I love t.v., it's lame, and looks even lame-er in print, but at the end of the day, I don't want to think, or record precious memories, or preserve anything for posterity, I just want to watch Hoarders and be glad, that at least my house isn't that dirty.

Last night, at dinner, I was proudly sharing the details of my new pink boxing gloves with Daveskins, when Dyl piped up with, "What you even got old lady?" That got everyone laughing and so I calmly walked around to where he was smirking, and gently put pressure on the back of his head, forcing him face-first  into his dinner plate.

There was a moment of silence as the other hecklers absorbed what I had just done, and then Dyl's little face popped back up, and with ranch dripping off his forehead, he said, "Ah, that's all you got old lady."

It's funny with kids, how you can be so proud of the brains, or wit, or keen athletic ability, they might stand to inherit from their parents, (obviously those last examples would be Dave-traits) and then something happens where you clearly see yourself in your spawn, and wish you could just erase that specific gene entirely.


Today, Emma's preschool teacher, Mrs. Mindi reported to Dave, that Emma was playing dinosaurs with a little boy named Brogan. They started to get rough and were fighting their dinosaurs together and crashing them against each other, when Mrs. Mindi intervened and told them they should stop because someone was going to get hurt. Apparently, Emma never missed a beat and said to Brogan, "And I'm bettin' it's going to be you."

Oh, boy. Here's hoping to channeling her aggression towards positive things. Maybe I should invest in some mini pink boxing gloves.