The mind is a terrible thing to waste

Lucian has not blinked in 45 minutes. Upon literally jumping out of the shower (in which he whistled, screamed and sprayed nearly all of my shaving cream on the walls) he shook his wet head like a dog and spoke...wildly, of course.

"My mind feels like it's going to blow up!" Shake, shake, jump.
"Um, well, what did you have for dinner?"
"Just pizza." Shake, shiver, shake, dum-dee-dum.
"What did you have to drink with your pizza?"

His eyes lit up like an Iraqi oil well.

"Oooh. I had root beer."
"I thought so." He darted off naked into his room where he then emptied the contents of his dresser, throwing each and every pair of boxers into the air.

Thank you, daddy-o, for giving them root beer. The last time he took them out Lucian came home holding his guts, greener than the Hulk. Guess what. Two cans of Coke. Again, thanks. I want to exact a sweet revenge but I feel like it would be cruel to the children. He doesn't have the patience to deal with the fall out if I did finally decide to give the kids that giant slab of flourless chocolate cake.
At least I have a sense of humor...sort of.

Even Anna was being defiant about the shower, which is alarming because the child gives off a pretty strong scent, even for being nine.

"Anna, if you don't go take a shower now, I swear, I will beat you senseless."

Long, contemplative pause.

"Well, you can beat me, but you still have to pay your taxes."

Thanks for reminding me, babe.

Oop, gotta run, I just heard a chair being dragged across the kitchen floor. Lucian must've spotted the cider donuts on top of the fridge.