Various What-Nots, If You Care

It's been an interesting week.

It's actually been a difficult week for my family, but rather than write about that, I thought I would write about the little things. Those things that, for whatever reason, stood out as odd, funny or drove my husband crazy.

Wouldn't that be a great category on Jeopardy? I'll take "Things that drove my husband crazy for $200 please."

Starting with...

The bag of drycleaning that has been riding around with me in my car this week. It was overflowing in my closet, till Greg bagged it up and threw it in my car. I see it every day, and mean well, but forget to swing by the cleaners. I may just buckle it in, like a passenger that's going to lunch.

If you had walked in the break room at work Wednesday, you would have thought I'd lost my mind. I put $.75 in the vending machine, and watched my bag of M&M's get stuck in the metal swivel that pushes it out. I'm sure our receptionist could hear me shaking the machine with all my might, and saying "C'mon!" You would have seen me peering into the glass, staring longingly at the treasured bag of chocolates like a kid staring at puppies in a pet store, until the M&M's eventually tumbled out in slow-motion.

I poured myself a third cup of coffee to stay awake during the early part of our show yesterday, and mixed the cream and sugar with a stir. It's no different than any other standard-sized coffee stir, and I always leave it in the cup so I can occasionally stir up any sugar that settles to the bottom. And as I took a drink, the stir poked me in the eye.

And how was your week?

Talking to Kix and Ronnie

Two of our favorites are calling the studio next week.

Kix Brooks and Ronnie Dunn, of Brooks and Dunn, will be on the show Tuesday. They are always fun and unpredictable.

This picture shows one of their first visits to the radio station, where we raced remote-control cars. I was expecting my first child at the time, and Kix asked me if I was "a watermelon thief."

Tune in next week for some fun with two of the funniest guys in the business.

I See One Thing, He Sees Another

Raising children means getting to see how they interpret life.

My oldest certainly notices the small things. He has that unique perspective that I don't see. It's as if he got the better seat at the parade, and my view is blocked a bit.

Leaving Disney's Magic Kingdom recently, some of the castmembers were waving goodbye from the second level of a building, while donning large white "Mickey" gloves on their hand. 7-year-old Griff looked up and said...

"Why are they wearing the Hamburger Helper hands?"

I had to contain my laughter before I could answer. And then I realized...

...maybe the kid watches too much tv.

I'm Living a Book Title

If you're a parent, chances are you've heard of the book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

Cute book, and the concept is a fun one for any child to read. Ever wonder what it would be like if you translated the book in real life? Couldn't be more true, if you ask me. Here's my version...

If you give your son a piece of candy, you can bet your other son will say, "Hey, I want one, please."

And once you've given your other son a piece of candy, you can bet the first son with the sugary stuff in hand will say, "Hey, his piece is bigger than mine."

So, you do your best to convince him that you split the cavity-producer fair and square, so no more whining please. And you can bet son number-one will realize you mean business, but not enough to NOT ask for a second piece.

So you spend the next minute or so saying no to seconds, because it will ruin your appetite, and then another "yes, it will" when he tries to argue that very logical point.

And you can bet son number-two, who was only half-listening while watching an episode of Drake and Josh, will hear the request for seconds and say, "May I have another piece, too, please?"

And you will, again, repeat the speech about dinner being almost ready, while swearing you're having deja vu, and wondering where along the way you lost your sanity.

And so it goes...over and over again.

And if you're me, you'll read the book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie with your second-grader and think...

This is my life.

Give us a Table Near the Bathroom

What is it about kids and public restrooms?

My four-year-old ought to get a punch card for every time he visits one. Maybe every 12th punch his dessert is free. I'd take that.

Some nights, it seems as though we see more of the restroom than the table where we are eating. I've spent more time checking out the blue-colored foam soap in the dispenser than I have eating my meal. I've told my youngest "don't touch anything" countless times, and watched him use eight towels too many from the automated towel machine.

Hayden also turns into Mr. Obvious when other ladies enter the stalls next to us, and will say, "Who's that, Mom? What are THEY doing?" Same thing you are, I'm always thinking.

Last night, we dined at a restaurant where they offered face-painting for the kids, which gave Hayden another reason to run to the restroom. He said he had to go BAD, turns out he wanted to admire his tiger face and practice his "Grrrrr" in the mirror. Quite impressive, however, my food was getting cold.

Greg and I often take turns during bathroom duty, but I still manage to make 2-3 trips at a time. Bathroom monitor, that's me.

If you see me, be sure to say hi.

Did He Say What I Think He Said?

It's no secret that I've got big feet.

I'm ok with admitting that. It is what it is. I may have big feet, but I don't have gray hair. Well, not a lot anyway. Thank goodness for highlights.

While in Disney, one of the sponsors for the press event, Hanes, gave the morning show some free pairs of socks. Who can't use a new pair of toe covers? So, tonight, I slid a pair on, then handed my husband a pair, figuring he could use an upgrade. I asked, "You think you could fit into my socks?" His response...

"Wilt Chamberlain could fit into your socks."

A Bunch of Favorites

I am often asked a question that is tough to answer.

People want to know who has been our best interview on the radio. The person we've enjoyed talking to the most. As simple as it appears, it is actually a difficult question.

I can think of many favorites. Usually because of some little gem that we walked away with after chatting. That defining moment where we learned something new, or the artist surprised us by letting down their guard.

Like Kenny Chesney, who told us that best buddy Peyton Manning took wife Ashley to McDonalds on their first date, and he thinks Sugarland will one day beat him out for Entertainer of the Year.

Or Alan Jackson, who told us he goes to the grocery store about once a year.

Or Carrie Underwood, who admitted to getting a tattoo, (won't tell us where it is,) but did say her daddy didn't speak to her for three months.

Or Trace Adkins, who said his 4-year-old grabbed his leg when it was time for him to leave Nashville for a visit at WFMS, and said, "take me with you." Trace said it broke his heart.

Or Jessica Simpson, who really seems to be misperceived. She was sincere and down-to-earth, and struggles with people thinking she only wants to be famous. Prior to the interview, she laid on the floor with her dog, and there was no entourage.

Or Wynonna, who told us she will often stop and chat with fans while shopping at Target, and sign autographs. Wynonna shops at Target!

Just a few who made an impression.

Can I Start Over?

If the first 15 minutes of this day are any sign of what's ahead, maybe I should go back to bed.

I woke up to my 4-year-old standing at the side of my bed asking, "Do you want a piece of me?" and ready for a wrestling match. Then walking downstairs, I stepped off the last step and into a puddle of urine. The dog. Apparently, she couldn't wait.

Luckily, we have wooden floors, not carpet.

Next, I went to grab a couple of eggs out of the fridge, and dropped one on the floor.

I'm lucky if I make it to lunch.

What Do Second-Graders Talk About?

What is it about parenting that makes you want to roll your kids in bubble wrap so they never get hurt?

Only this time, I'm talking about their feelings. My oldest came home from school today and told me that a boy at school told him his lunch box was 'lame.'

LAME?

It's camouflage, how's that even possible? It's not like I sent the kid to school with something too childish for his age, like Winnie the Pooh. He certainly wasn't sipping soup out of a Barbie thermos, for cryin' out loud. I had to laugh when I caught myself ready to put on my protector cape and fly off to defend my 7-year-old son and his hardly-lame lunchbox.

Yet, kids have to fight their own battles.

They can't have their moms and dads donning masks and capes and saving the day like the Incredibles. Not that I wouldn't, but that's not realistic. Instead, I gave him the talk that sometimes these things happen, and how to handle it in the future.

By the way, Griffin's Aunt Shel got him his so-called 'lame' lunchbox.

And I happen to love it.

Feeling Better, Tasting Nothing

My husband told me last night that he can tell I'm on the mend.

"How so?" I asked." He proceeded to tell me I was talking more, and back to my old self. Upon my further questioning, aka interrogation, Greg told me that I had barely mumbled an audible word for three days, and now I hadn't STOPPED talking.

I'm sure somewhere in there was a compliment.

My body feels a bit better, yet I couldn't taste my Frosted Flakes this morning. Four spoonfuls in to it, and I put the bowl back in the sink. In fact, I think I can chalk today up as the first day ever I've had a cough drop for breakfast. Yum. Nothing wrong with a little coffee and menthol.

In the meantime, I've managed to swallow pink-colored pills that closely resemble the size of a tube of deodorant. Not a fan. Yet, they're working.

Just ask my 7-year-old, who is glad to see my big, fuzzy robe hanging in the back of my closet.

Not to mention my husband.

7 Things I Did

I've been sick.

When you're sick, you look for ways to survive the chills from fever, or raw sore throat, and inevitably, you find yourself lying in bed with more time on your hands. When I realized whining wasn't getting me anywhere, and furthermore sounded annoying, here's how I spent my time.

Though, not proudly.

I watched a marathon of "Keeping Up with the Kardashians" reruns. Why I never turned it off after the end of each episode is beyond me. This family is down-right dysfunctional, but hey, aren't we all?

I ate half a box of popsicles in one day.

I quizzed my son on his flashcards, and literally could not bring myself to lift my head off the table to check his answers. Luckily, he's good at math.

I wore my big, fuzzy robe all day, even to the mailbox, and when I greeted my oldest at the door when he came home from school, he said, "Are you wearing THAT because you're sick?"

When I asked the doctor how long till the meds will kick in and I will feel better, she responded, "Three days." I'm pretty sure I cried in a fetal position and told her I can't wait that long. Or something like that.

When the Kardashians episodes were over, I watched 'Dog, The Bounty Hunter.' Enough said.

I wanted my Mom. I don't care how old I am.

And there you have it.

From My Journal: 'I Remember'

Dear Dad,

It's been six months since I've seen you, yet I feel your presence. You live on in my memories, and everything I do is often with the hope that you are watching from your special recliner sitting atop the brightest star in the sky.

I picture you there, smoking a cigar, laughing when the boys are clowning around as you so enjoyed, and smiling when we talk fondly of you and glance upward.

I picture your glasses that have fallen down your nose, and I can see you working the crossword puzzle from the newspaper. You always came close to completing it, and now I love to do them, too.

I envision you wearing slacks and a sweater, since you rarely wore jeans, or your baseball hat that you never pulled down tightly on your head.

I picture all of this.

Mostly, I remember a father who was stubborn, like myself, and a man who nurtured his family in ways your daughters hope to emulate. I remember a Dad who put extra scrambled eggs in his fried rice, and a Dad who would be in trouble if he didn't wear a belt with his pants.

I remember.

The Things We Do

Observations.

Whether I'm traveling to Disney or Tennessee, I always observe several useless facts while visiting these destinations. Here's my list of observations from last week's trip to see the world's most-popular mouse:

My 4-year-old insisting he was too old for a stroller, while sucking his thumb and carrying a blankie.

My oldest hates graham crackers, yet he loved those graham-like Biscotti crackers served on the plane.

Despite my protests, all 3 of us fit into the lavatory, though not comfortably.

The cap of a pen really can unlock a hotel's bathroom door, which my 4-year-old locked and shut WHILE BATHWATER WAS RUNNING.

Even as an adult, I still have fears that the monorail doors will shut before my entire family is on board.

It is impossible to apply sunscreen to two energetic boys as they are walking.

Someone in the group will always want to do something different than everyone else. You can count on it.

My youngest will play with Army men at home, but you won't get him to pose for a picture with the lifesize Toy Story characters. It just won't happen.

I hate my alarm waking me up at 3:00 am, but I'm ok with a wake-up call from Mickey.

Finally, the emotion I felt while watching my youngest stand in front of the height chart and being tall enough to ride the bigboy rides. Another first.

It's the little things.

Carrie on the 'Blue' Carpet

We are back from Disney.

The morning show spent last week broadcasting from the 'happiest place on Earth' and hanging with the Mouse.

One of the events we attended was the world premiere of the American Idol Experience, a new attraction at Hollywood Studios.

Prior to the show, we watched the celebs make their way down the blue carpet, including Carrie Underwood. She was all smiles, though host Ryan Seacrest wasn't overflowing in the friendly department as he rolled the carpet in a convertible.

More pics of the event coming soon.

Walking off the plane, my four-year-old said, "I wanna still be at Disney. Home is boring."

Good to know.

Don't Try This At Home

All parents know the familiar glance we all exchange.

You know how it goes, you see another parent out with their child, who is adorable, and you smile at them, then at their mother or father. Or maybe the child is acting up a bit, and you give their parent a sympathetic look. Or maybe the little boy or girl said something cute, and you laughed out loud, smiling at the child’s parent. You get the point.

I was getting a lot of those glances when standing in line for the teacups at Disney World with Greg and the boys. Yet, I wasn’t sure why. The kids weren’t really doing anything cute, per say, and fortunately they were behaving as well.

So why all the stares?

My husband figured it out before me, when he tugged hard at the back of my tank top, where a large pricetag was still attached.

The bad news? I didn’t set any new fashion trends that day. The good news?

I got the top on clearance.

Here One Day, 'Grown' the Next

Walt Disney World.

It’s the happiest place on Earth.

There's something magical about seeing a mouse with big ears and a bowtie, or standing with your family while fireworks color the sky above the most-recognized castle among kids.

The morning show is here in Disney this week, broadcasting live from the various parks. Of course, I couldn’t come to Disney without my family. That’d be like bread without butter, or salt without pepper.

Yesterday, Greg and I took the boys to our favorite park, the Magic Kingdom. We had only been inside the gate three minutes when it hit me…

Hayden was growing up.

We last visited in June, when Hayden was three. Now, at four, he didn’t want a stroller. Of course, he is long past the stroller days, yet I was thinking his little legs would turn wobbly by lunch. My oldest was ok with lounging in a stroller at four, and maybe even five. But, not Hayden. I even tried a little pleading, knowing full-well I may be carrying the little guy by lunch.

He wouldn’t budge.

Of course, I want him to be a big boy, independent and mature. And we definitely didn’t mind saving the money we would have spent on the rental. Yet, it was our first time not needing a stroller for one of my kids. Which means…

…they’re getting older.

P.S. He made it to the castle before asking his Dad to pick him up.

Can He Be Reprogrammed?

I would like to think all parents have moments when we don't recognize our children.

By that, I mean, you know you've taught them better than they are acting. Sort of a "Who are you and what have you done with my son" moment. That's been my life for the past few months when it comes to my youngest.

Cute he is, shy he's not.

His mouthiness has certainly been the source of several trips to time alone. Hayden is independent, feisty, and stubborn all rolled in to one shaggy-haired boy with eyes that melt my heart. One day, I will smile fondly at his less-than-stellar moments. Until then, here is a list of remarks that took him out of the running for Kid-of-the-Year.

"You are NOT in charge, Dad," when told to turn off the movie.

"You don't say that, little Ma'am," when I told him to get his coat on for soccer practice.

"I don't want to hear you talk," when told to not stand on the couch.

"I'll pour this milk on your head," when told it's time for bed.

And the most recent one I'm too embarrassed to admit came out of the mouth of my child.

He will one day realize these remarks are not allowed. He may be 30, but the day will come. Until then, I blame Greg.

It's easier.

Nintendo DejaVu

Here we go, again.

Another Nintendo DS is lost in our home.

You may recall when Griffin lost his DS just before Christmas, and we did everything short of calling the Police to find it. I later discovered the trance-enducing gadget sandwiched between two couch cushions.

Hayden announced last night that his DS is on the lam. In other words, he laid it down where he last played it, and can't recall just where that was. So, we went on another massive hunt, looking through toyboxes and under beds, in bedsheets, and the kitchen junkdrawer, which I can no longer shut.

Still nothing.

How does this happen? When did it become my responsibility to keep track of these things? How many more hours will we spend discovering that we aren't as tidy as we thought we were?

I searched last night, and again, this morning at 4 am before leaving for work, then gave up.

When I find it, I just might be tempted to start renting it out. On the flip side, I DID find that pair of scissors I've been looking for. I always keep them in the kitchen, yet they were in the bathroom closet. Why?

I can't answer that.

In Search of Page 131

I believe I have a new pet peeve.

I realized this while reading an article today in my Entrepreneur magazine during the first few minutes of free time I've had in awhile. It helped that the weather was warmer than usual, and the boys had gone to a neighbor's house to play instead of yell my name eighteen times in a row to get my attention.

The article wasn't one that I couldn't put down, but interested me enough to want to keep reading. Hey, it was better than folding laundry. At the end of the page, I was directed in small print to continue reading. It said, "Continued on page 131." I checked the page I was on. Page 128. And oddly enough, this was the back page of the publication.

There WEREN'T ANY MORE PAGES!

Where was page 131? How was I supposed to know how the article ended? It's not as if someone had ripped them out, like the tattered magazines at the doctor's office. This was a magazine that I subscribed to and is mailed to my home.

In the grand scheme of things, it's not THAT big of a deal. But, I was hoping for more of a finish. Needed a little closure. It'd be like going to a show and leaving at intermission. Or french fries without ketchup. Getting dressed for prom, then staying home.

I got nothin'.

Laughin' In the Shower

This is sad.

It’s been one week to the day since my dance competition. A competition that required a little double-sided tape, considering the top that I wore exposed one shoulder.

And would you believe that I stepped into the shower this morning, and discovered a small piece of that tape still attached to a hard-to-reach spot on my back? You know, one of those places you can’t scratch, and you have to ask someone to get it for you?

My co-host, Kevin, wants to know how I haven't stuck to the bed.

He Barely Came Up For Air

Nothing worse than when your kids don’t feel good.

Hayden is four, and announced yesterday that his ear hurt. After a few tugs on it, and more cries of pain, we headed to the doctor.

On the way there, I asked Hayden about his day, what he made in art class at school, etc, and I got no response. He eventually said, “Mom, I don’t wanna talk.” Hayden NEVER says that, which meant the boy was truly sick.

Once the doctor began his exam, Hayden instantly turned on his charm and decided this was his chance in the spotlight. Here’s how the conversation went:

H: What’s your name?

Dr: Bill

H: Do you have a Mom?

Dr: Yes, I do have a Mom.

H: What’s her name?

Dr: Well, her name is Irene. She lives in Ohio.

H: Well, my Mom’s name is Deb. But, I call her Momma.

Dr: I see…

H: And my Dad’s name is Greg, but I call him Dada.

Dr: Really? Let me see in your ear.

H: Oh, brother. I’ve had this done before. Hey, did you see my Mom’s purse? She has a lot of stuff in there.

Dr: (Laughing) I see that.

H: Hey, Bill, I’ve been coughing a lot, too. Did you know that? I have. And you know what else? I’m four. Four years old. That’s this many. (Holding up four fingers.)

Dr: Wow! I don’t think I have enough fingers to hold up to tell you how old I am!

H: Yes you do! My Mom’s 36, aren’t you Mom? That’s a lot.

Dr: Oh, I’m still older.

H: Hey, Bill, do you have suckers?

Dr: No, buddy, I don’t…but I have stickers. I’ll give you one just as soon as we are done. Ok?

H: No, thanks. I don’t really like stickers. I don’t like the stamps they give us at soccer class either. So, I don’t hold out my hand.

Dr: I see. Hayden, I’m going to give you some medicine to take and make your ear better, ok?

H: (Throwing his hands in the air) Oh, brother. Can it be orange? I like orange.

Dr: Well, this one tastes more like strawberry.

H: Awwww, darn it. Ok, Mr. Bill. I like strawberry, too. And I don't even need a drink with my medicine, like my brother.

You get the idea. And that was just the first TEN minutes. He didn’t miss a beat.

I was worn out by the time we left. As we walked out the door, Dr. Bill laughed and told us Hayden is destined for acting. I agreed. The boy's a talker.

I suppose he gets it honest.

Surprise Yourself

Growing up, I can remember my sisters rolling their eyes when I would tell stories about my school day at the dinner table. They were less than patient with my long-winded stories that sounded similar to "Then one day, at band camp..." and on and on and on.

Ok, so I talked a lot. And now I talk for a living. But, dancing is a different story. Unchartered territory.

Until last Saturday.

The charity event I participated in proved to be more than just a dance competition. For me personally, it was an escape from the emotions of losing my father. The journey started in November, when I began rehearsing with my instructor. He seemed unfazed by the fact that I can fall going up the stairs, or smack into walls that suddenly "appeared." Mike had a front-row seat to my clumsiness when my bag bumped a heavy weight off its rest at the gym where we rehearsed. Yet, he seemed to believe we could pull this off.

And we did.

It was an emotional night for my entire family, who couldn't help but notice that my Dad was not seated at their table. Yet, I know he was watching. He never missed a chance to support his children.

The night could have turned out differently had I gone with my original outfit, a backless top held together with a thin silver strap. It broke as I tried it on in the dressing room. Not sure that's how a contestant should go about trying to score extra points. No wardrobe malfuctions here. I packed a backup outfit, thanks to the advice of my mother, and thanked my lucky stars the strap didn't break mid-performance in front of an 80-year-old man. Dad, you must've been looking out for me.

A big thanks to Mike Tinder, my instructor and friend, who listened to me complain on bad days, and still taught me how to dance. More importantly, I learned to venture out and try something new.

Hey, isn't that what life is all about?

All of Those Talks Backfired

Funny how becoming a parent turns you into a part-time nutritionist. Just without the credentials.

When having kids, our pediatrician told me, "Be sure to give your kids veggies early-on, and they will eat them when they're older." That advice holds true today.

Hayden loves broccoli.

Griffin loves cooked carrots.

Both love green beans, peas, and corn. Hate to admit it, but I can't stand some of those.

To this day, I still bargain with the boys. "How about a side of fruit, instead of fries, if you're getting dessert?" Or "Get the grilled chicken...not the corn dog." I drop subtle hints. You know, little things, such as, "Any more candy, and your teeth will fall out." Or, "You've had enough junk for the day, pick a healthy snack." It's made an impression.

As we left last Saturday morning for a friend's birthday party, Greg and I planned to take the boys for doughnuts first. Surprisingly, Griffin didn't want 'em. The boy who can put away chocolate doughnuts faster than my shower loses hot water didn't want them. He told us we would be having birthday cake at the party, and "that sure is a lot of sugar." The kid had a point, and I was certainly proud of his good judgement, however...

Momma really wanted a doughnut.

I'm Lucky

Here is the letter I recently wrote to one of my boys.

Dear Griffin,

You're my oldest, and as you grow, I admire your strength. I admire the way you face obstacles in life, but they don't hold you back.

I love to quietly observe your gentle ways. Sure, you and your brother have your moments, just like any other set of siblings, but I never want to lose sight of the things about you I love the most. Last week, you asked me to lay down with you, something you never ask. As I put my arm around you and listened to you breathe, I remembered how lucky I am to have you for my son.

Lucky because you told your younger brother to "come sit on my lap and I'll take care of you," when he bumped his head on the table at Max & Erma's.

Lucky because you always offer to rub my temples when Mommy says she has a headache.

Lucky because you ran to grab a band-aid from the bathroom when I said I cut myself in the kitchen.

Lucky because on a day I wore my hair differently, I tucked you in and walked away, only to hear you say, "And Mom? I like your hair like that."

Lucky because you always tell your brother to go first when we discuss the "Favorite parts of our day" at the dinner table.

Lucky because you admire babies as much as I do, saying "Awwwwww" when you see a little one in their stroller.

Lucky because you realized the new girl in your class would need a friend, so you asked her to sit with you at lunch.

And finally, lucky because you always offer me a bite of your ice cream sundae, knowing I won't order one for myself.

These are the traits I hope you always carry with you. May you always be thoughtful, always be the one to put others first, and always have a smile that could tell a million stories. I'm proud of you, Griffin.

And lucky.

Loved It

Haven't forgotten an update on my dancing event over the weekend. It was probably the most fun I have had in a long time, and definitely a much-welcome escape from the recent difficult months since losing my father.

I plan to post photos tomorrow, along with details, including why I didn't wear my original outfit. Let's just say it could have been a wardobe-malfunction.

As for now, we have two boys who are rough-housing in the basement, and could EASILY shatter glass with their noise decibels.

Night.

Love His Honesty

Hayden is four.

Four is a funny age. Throw in that he was NOT born with a filter that prevents him from saying things that may be inappropriate, and you’ve got instant entertainment.

Yesterday morning, my little guy came to the side of my bed wearing his Pirates of the Caribbean pajamas and put his face on mine. He skipped the good morning greeting, and instead mumbled something about wanting to play a game on the computer. He was bound and determined to play a basketball game his big brother had played online the day before.

That’s all well and great, though I had no idea how to find it. So Hayden impatiently began to explain the process.

”Mooooooooooom. You just go to the top of the screen, and click on the blue thing, and then you go over to the bottom of the screen and click on the red box, and then you go over to that one thingymajiggy where it flashes on and off and click that too, then click on a little boy with an orange ball in the right corner. That’s all, Mom.”

Hey, seemed easy enough.

So, I rolled on to the floor with bedhead and sore legs from dancing the night before, then sat down at my computer. Would you believe, Hayden’s instructions were dead-on? Sure enough, it took me to a kid’s online game site! Then Hayden blurted out, “Oh, by the way, Mom…”

...You have a booger in your nose.”

Oooooookay.

I guess it's not all bad. The boy will give great directions when he’s older, and you’ll never wonder if you have spinach in your teeth.