A friend sent this to me and I cannot stop giggling:

A boss wondered why one of his most valued employees had not phoned in
sick one day. Having an urgent problem with one of the main computers, he
dialed the employee's home phone number and was greeted
with a child's whisper.

"Hello?"

"Is your daddy home?" he asked.

"Yes,"whispered the small voice.

May I talk with him?"

The child whispered, "No."

Surprised and wanting to talk with an adult, the boss asked, "Is your Mommy there?"

"Yes."

"May I talk with her?" Again the small voice whispered, "No."

Hoping there was somebody with whom he could leave a message, the boss
asked, "Is anybody else there?"

"Yes,"whispered the child, "a policeman ".

Wondering what a cop would be doing at his employee's home, the boss
asked, "May I speak with the policeman?"

"No, he's busy ", whispered the child.

"Busy doing what?"

"Talking to Daddy and Mommy and the Fireman,"came the whispered answer.

Growing more worried as he heard a loud noise in the background through
the earpiece on the phone, the boss asked, "What is that noise?"

"A helicopter "answered the whispering voice.

"What is going on there?" demanded the boss, now truly apprehensive.

Again, whispering, the child answered, "The search team just landed a helicopter."

Alarmed, concerned, and a little frustrated the boss asked, "What are they searching for?"

Still whispering, the young voice replied with a muffled giggle...
"ME."

I got my hair cut recently and since then have had two people tell me I remind them of Katie Holmes.

Hmmmmm.

I'm trying to decide if this is a compliment.

On the one hand: cute, talented actress, adorable daughter.

On the other: FREAK SHOW HUSBAND. Questionable judgment.

Thoughts? Have you ever been compared to a celebrity that maybe wasn't the most flattering?

Yesterday, I saw the Sex and the City movie and I also finished the book - March - by Geraldine Brooks.

Even though these stories could not be more opposite - Sex and the City is about 4 women friends in modern day New York City and March is about a husband/father serving as an army chaplin during the Civil War, there were some striking similarities between the two.

In both, male and female characters miscommunicate, get angry at each other and must learn to forgive transgressions both big and small. They must also deal with their own imperfections and try to be better people.

Which makes me think that when it comes to relationships, men and women have been dealing with the same issues since the beginning of time. Oy. Someone pass me a cosmo please.

Yesterday, my kids were having the most ridiculous fight over nothing.

Literally.

I was in the kitchen cleaning up breakfast when Loaf ran into the kitchen at top speed followed by a screeching Peanut.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHH! Mommmmy! She took my pink crown!”

I looked over at Loaf, who appeared to be clutching an invisible ball. She smiled wryly then moved her hands over to one side.

“MINE!” she retorted, the smile never leaving her lips.

“NOOOOO!” responded Peanut.

Completely baffled, I looked over at Loaf, just to be sure I didn’t miss anything, but her hands were still empty.

Just then, Peanut lunged forward and “snatched” a ball of air from Loaf’s hands.

“That’s my pink crown,” she yelled. “Mine!”

Loaf responded in turn by snatching the ball of air back. “My crown!” she said triumphantly.

“Holy moly, what is going on here?” I asked impatiently.

“She keeps taking my imaginary crown,” Peanut said with her best “can-you-believe-that?” inflection. Which, quite frankly, I could not.

“OH. MY. GOD. Are you two for real? Are you really telling me you are fighting over an IMAGINARY crown?”

“YES!” responded Peanut in an entirely different “mommy-I-cannot-believe-how-dense-you-are-sometimes” tone.

“That is the MOST ludicrous thing I have ever heard. Seriously. Why don’t you just imagine another one? If you are imagining crowns, you can imagine as many as you like. We can all have them. Look,” I said, pausing for dramatic effect and raising my hands to my head, “now I’m wearing one too.”

“AAAAAHHHH! NOOOOOO!” she hollered back jumping up and trying to retrieve it from my head.

Seeing that tactic going nowhere, I turned to Loaf. "Why don’t you just imagine your own crown? Maybe you’d like a blue one?”

Loaf considered this for a moment then happily agreed. “OK!” she said, cheerfully skipping out of the room.

And just like that, the crisis was over. I daresay that future fights over real clothing and actual car keys will be far more difficult to negotiate.

With the warmer weather, we've been spending a lot of time outside. Recently, my daughter unearthed a small, red, rubber crab from somewhere in the yard. It was a pool toy last summer, and it was coated - completely - in black mildew.

Despite that, Loaf brought it inside and deposited it in the bathroom sink.

"You wash my crab?" she asked hopefully. "Peas."

I gave it my best shot, but after copious scrubbing, the icky black mildew was still caked all over it and worse, when I squeezed it, a giant blob of slimy, greenish black gunk came flying out of the bottom of it.

"Oh my God, it just shit in my sink," I thought. Knowing that mold is not exactly a health food, and knowing that my kids love to put stuff in their mouths, I gave up and while Loaf was distracted, tossed Mr. Crab into the bathroom wastebasket.

"Why did you do that?" asked Peanut.

"I'm sorry, but it's never going to be clean and that black stuff can make you sick."

A few minutes later, distraction over, Loaf came looking for the crab.

"Where my crab?" she demanded. "Where it go?"

Feigning stupidity (and wishing to avoid a huge meltdown) I pretended to look as baffled as she.

"Hmmmm. I'm not sure. I just don't know," I said looking around the bathroom. "Want a cookie? How about finger paint?"

But it was no use. I have known for a long time that Loaf is not one to be easily deterred, and this was no exception. I offered up a number of bribes, but none could take her mind off that stupid crab.

"I want it! I want my crab! Where is it?" she stammered. Now, this was precisely the scenario I was hoping to avoid, but at this point, there was no going back, especially since Mark had come in moments before and emptied the contents of the bathroom wastebasket into the bigger trash bag, which was now sitting in a barrel outside the house.

Just then Peanut came sauntering back into the bathroom. "Mommy, you know where it is. You threw it in the trash."

I shot her the stink eye, but it was too late. The damage was done.

As Loaf processed this information, her face slowly transformed from confusion to fury.

"MY CRAB! I WANT MY CRAB!" She peered into the empty wastebasket. "YOU GET IT! YOU GET IT NOW!"

"No," I said. "I'm sorry, but it was really dirty and now it's gone."

I had the next 10 minutes in which Loaf lay on the floor, kicked her feet against the wall and screeched bloody murder to think about what I'd done. And I'm proud to say I've learned my lesson.

I will not lie to my children again.

Unless I am really, really, REALLY sure there are no witnesses. Lesson learned.