Catch a tiger ...

Me: "Conner, you can lay on my bed, on the couch or in your bed."

Conner: "Can we play eeny meeny miny mo?"

What I thought but didn't say: Yep, because no matter what, you lose.

Yes, he said that

There is a tradition in the preschool that the girls attended and Conner currently attends. During the last week of Febuary, the teachers hand out Mardi Gras beads. When Abbey was 3, she appeared in the doorway with a neck full of beads. An enormous amount of things flashed through my mind. Maybe flashed was a bad choice of words. Let's say raced through my mind. It took most of the day to get the idea of my daughter (much older) dancing around the French Quarter out of my head. I was not much better with it when Maggie was 3 and she donned the beads after school. Fast forward to today. Conner walks out of class this morning, and he has his beads on. Not a single OMG thought came to mind. I am thinking that he is a little confused as to how this works, but I am OK with it. However, when we got in the car I asked him about the beads and he said, "I want to give these to Mom." In my infinite wisdom, I told him to give one to Mom, and if you don't get in trouble I will give her the rest later.

It's not fair

Good Lord, is there anyone out there who wants an 11-year-old? I am completely sick of the meltdowns, hormones, questions and "I'm tired but I'm not going to bed early" crap. Here is an example. After dinner this evening, I asked Abbey to take her brother downstairs to help him play MarioKart. You would think that I asked her to cut her toes off with a butter knife. She actually told me that she had spent an hour with her brother over the weekend and she should be allowed to not have to deal with it during the weekdays.
The thing that drives me the most nuts is that she will finally give me a break from the Oscar Award-winning drama performance and take a shower. Once her shower is over, she waltzed her little butt downstairs and played with her brother. What the hell happens in there? Is she using some kind of special mood-changing water? I get nine miles of bad road before the shower, and he gets to play MarioKart with his sister after the shower. There is something terribly wrong with this picture. Why do I have to suffer?

Editor's note: Cathy takes offense at this

Why is it that the oldest child in the house thinks that she's the third adult in the house? She thinks that we, as parents, should take her advice on how to raise the younger ones. For Abbey, being an 11-year-old girl has a great many issues that I am not interested in understanding. She is always telling me what I am doing wrong with Maggie and Conner. I truly love it when she opens that pre-teen Pandora's box and irrationally explains that I am doing this parenting thing all wrong and I should change how I talk, walk, prepare dinner, do laundry and whatever else. What Abbey fails to realize is that I have a wife who tells me what I am doing wrong on a daily basis. This is not a position that needs an assistant.

Don't bug her!

Here's what happens when you give a 7-year-old a camera:

Who's the Boss?

During Springsteen's halftime show at the Super Bowl, Abbey winces and says "Oooh, this guy can't sing."

Then, to make it worse, "At least he's better than Neil Diamond."

Those are fighting words, and she knows it. You don't talk bad about Neil Diamond.

Picture this

In the middle of the Super Bowl, Conner is standing on a milk crate in the living room, hitting a balloon in the air. In his underwear.