When I wrote about Paige heading out into the cold, cold world, my friend RB, who has four little boys, commented about the differences between our worlds. (Girls sound much different. Recently rehashed at our house when Noah body slammed Calvin: "uggg get off me! You smell like poop and jelly!")
Luckily, I've got two boys so I could have this experience trying to get all the kids into the minivan.
TATE (in his car seat on the kitchen): Waaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!
PAIGE (running up the stairs to tattle): Dad, Curtis punched Tate!
ME (frustrated as usual): That's it, Curtis. You're going in time out.
CURTIS (bawling): I don't want to go to time out.
ME (after his three-minute sentence had been served): Curtis, do you know why you had to go in time out? You punched your baby brother. We don't punch babies, Curtis.
CURTIS (now wailing): Yes, yes we do, dad. We do punch babies. We do!