All Rileyed Up

The other day, the kids were folding the laundry in the bedroom and ran to me in the kitchen, laughing hysterically, holding my underwear. They asked me, “Who’s big underwear is this?”

In other news, I’m adding squats to my exercise regimen.

Oh. And I’m also creating an exercise regimen.

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Little No Limit and I were cooking scrambled eggs this morning. She enjoys most of the egg-cooking responsibilties, “Me crack the eggs!” “Me stir the eggs!” “Me pour the eggs!”

I stand around and supervise, and when the eggs are poured into the pan, I hover about anxiously saying “Watch the fire!” and “Don’t touch the pan!”

Today, she was demanding more responsiblity, saying she wanted to scoop the cooked eggs off the pan and onto the plate, but the problem with her doing this is that she is more likely to miss the plate and scoop the eggs onto the range top, which is, by most people’s standards, not clean. When I did not allow her to scoop off the cooked eggs, and instead performed the action myself, she declared, “Mommy, I said ME do that — and you’re NOT me!”

Thanks for the clarification.

***

The Boy’s 100th day of school is tomorrow and his teacher sent home a note saying he needed to bring in a collection of 100 things. I asked him what he would like to bring a hundred of to school, and he said, “Can I have one hundred dollars?”

You and me both, Buddy. Now take your box of 100 paper clips and be happy.