This is why people drink and drive

An actual conversation from the back seat of my car yesterday, 20 minutes into what would be almost four hours of driving and 20 minutes after I told Noodle’s teacher that the kids are very good in the car (stupid, stupid):

Noodle: NO! MINE!!

Peeta: Noodle, no! You can’t take all the snacks!

Noodle: Mama! Peeta says I can’t eat all the snacks!

Me: Noodle, you can’t eat all the snacks. You may have half the snacks and Peeta gets the other half.

(Slapping is heard in the back seat)

Peeta: Noodle! Stop slapping me!

Noodle: MAMAAAA! PEETA SAID STOP SLAPPING ME!

Me: Noodle! Peeta is right. You can’t slap your brother. Stop it right now.

(Mumbling is heard from the back seat. I can make out “stinky” and “poopy”)

Peeta, practically in tears: Noodle! Stop calling me stinky poopface!

(More mumbling)

Noodle: Mama! PEETA CALLED ME STINKY POOPFACE!

Peeta: You called me stinky poopface first!

(Both children are crying)

End scene.

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Call me Hairy Potter

This weekend, we went camping. Peeta promptly met a little boy named Harry who had the same birthday, and they spent all day running around through the woods, talking on Peeta’s walkie talkies.

In the late afternoon, Peeta wanted to find Harry and play with him. As usual, he had forgotten Harry’s name.

Peeta: Mama, I want to play with that boy. You know who I mean.

Me: What’s his name?

Peeta: I don’t knooooooow, Mamaaaaa! I forgotted.

Me: Okay. I will remind you. My armpits are…

Peeta and Noodle, both gleefully screaming: HAIRY!!

Peeta, looking confused: Hairy? What kind of a name…ohhhh! Like Harry Potter!

Yeah, that might have been a better hint.