Friday Fiction: It's Expensive to Eat Out

The whole thing started because it was my night to cook. Maggie set up a thing about a year or so ago that I would be the one to cook two nights a week. It started out being Monday and Thursday nights, but we quickly realized those were NFL nights, so she changed it to Tuesday and Friday nights. It didn't bother me any; I don't mind to cook. And it gives her a chance to have a night off every now and then. Besides, my meatloaf is better than Maggie's, anyway.

But, that particular Tuesday night I was late getting home from work. Winchester and Pierce had really botched things up with the Honeycutt account, and I had to stay late to get things fixed. By the time I got home I just wasn't in the mood or the mindset to cook anything. So, I decided to take the whole family out for dinner.

My next mistake was going to IHOP. Personally, I wanted to go to Chili's, because I love those honey-chipotle chicken fingers they have, but smiley-faced pancakes outvoted honey-chipotle. They showed us to a booth, and Maggie got in on one side in between Timmy and Tammy, while I got on the other side with Tommy. And then we set up Cassandra in her high chair at the end of the table. Since it was my night to cook, I was in charge of feeding the baby.

I thought the evening went pretty well. Tammy and Tommy enjoyed their smiley-faced pancakes. Timmy, of course, had to have the macaroni and cheese. Cassandra didn't cry the whole time we were there. Sure, she knocked half of her food to the floor, but it was mostly big pieces and we picked most of it up before we left. Maggie had the chicken fried steak breakfast meal for dinner, and I had the "Rooty-Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity" pancakes. (Hey, don't judge me! A man can have fruity pancakes if a man wants fruity pancakes!)

We packed up, paid, and left, and not a single word was said to us by them. I barely even noticed them at all, since they were sitting behind me. Later, Maggie said that she saw them come in and definitely noticed them, because she wondered what people dressed so nice were doing at an IHOP. But, we didn't hear so much as a peep from them that night.

We did, however, hear from them five days later. That's when we got the letter.

At first, I thought it was junk mail. It looked bigger and more official than all the other mail, but I still thought it was junk mail. Because, you know, how the junk mail people sometimes try to make their mail look more official so that you actually open it. That's what it looked like. Like someone was trying extra hard to get you to open their junk mail.

Well, Maggie did open it. It was from the law firm of Geller & Green. That's when we found out we were being sued. $1,000 for actual damages, plus $17,000 for emotional distress. I would have thought it was some kind of weird joke except they had pictures from the restaurant. Pictures of our table, pictures of Timmy's bowl, and pictures of a lone cheese-covered macaroni noodle on the shoulder of a $1,000 dress.

I still think it's all some kind of set-up. Timmy likes his mac and cheese way too much to fling a noodle over the table. He eats every last noodle! Besides, either Maggie or I would have seen him if he had flung a noodle, wouldn't we?

Still, we had no choice but to defend ourselves. We had to get a lawyer. All I could think of was the jingle:

Someone sued you for no reason?
Give a call to Gary Gleason!

So, I called Gary Gleason. At first, he said all the right things. "They have no case," and "We'll have this taken care of quickly." That was four years ago. In that time we've spent over $42,000 on legal fees to Gary Gleason to resolve an $18,000 law suit. And we're not even close to being done with it yet! They finally have a court date set for next March, but that will just add more fees. The only ones who have benefitted at all from this law suit are the firms of Geller & Green and Gary Gleason.

Never trust a smiling lawyer.
That, of course, is grinning Gary Gleason on the left, next to Geller and Green.*

In the meantime, in order to pay for all of this Maggie has had to go back to work, and I've had to pick up a second job. The days of going out to "fancy" places like IHOP are over. In fact, about all we can afford to eat anymore is macaroni and cheese. We've eaten it so often that I think even Timmy might get sick of it. Maybe.

THE END

Please choose a title that best fits this story.

O A. Dinner and Litigation

O B. Never Trust a Smiling Lawyer

O C. The IHOP Shuffle

O D. It's Expensive to Eat Out

O E. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

*Note: I have no idea who these guys are in the picture. I got the photo from the free photo website Pixabay. I went to Pixabay, did a search for "lawyers," and found this picture of these three smiling fellows. My apologies if I have offended any of the gentlemen. Please don't sue me.

The Bus Stops Here

We're lucky. The bus stop is directly across the street from our house.

Partly because of this fact, our kids have never been late for the bus. (Yet.) I can look out the window and see when the other kids are lining up at the bus stop and know that it's time to get my kids out the door.

It's fun to watch all of the kids from the neighborhood gathered together and playing as they wait for the bus. They'll chase each other and play catch and stomp all over my neighbor's lawn.

Another one rides the bus.

When I was a kid I had to walk all the way across town to get to the bus stop. Of course, Arimo was such a small town that "all the way across town" was basically about four or five blocks.

Actually, for first and second grades I didn't have to ride the bus at all. For those two years I just walked to the school itself. But, after I finished second grade they decided that Arimo was too small to have an elementary school on its own, so they started to bus us to the nearby town of McCammon. (McCammon was about twice as big as Arimo, with about twice as many stop signs, but the same number of traffic lights.) (Zero is a number.)

So, every morning I would start out for my long trek to the bus stop. On the way I'd have to walk past the house with the mean dog. It was usually on a leash, but not always. It was a big relief when I saw that Blue wasn't roaming free. (Yes, I knew the dog's name. In Arimo you knew the name of every person, all of the dogs, most of the horses, some of the cats, and even a few of the pet rocks.)

Once I made it past Blue it was free and clear to the bus stop. A lot happened at that bus stop. There were games of tag and hide and go seek. Every once in a while we would even get in a game of red rover. There were snowball fights. And, quite often, there were real fights. The real fights were usually about what place in the line you were to get on the bus.

Looking back, I don't know why it was always such a big deal. There was always plenty of room on the bus, and you never had to sit with someone you didn't want to sit with. As adults we get all concerned with taxes and mortgages and politics, but as kids there was nothing more important than what order you were in when you got on the bus.

The earlier you got on the bus, the better the chances were that you could sit where you wanted. The cool kids sat at the back of the bus. The not-quite-as-cool kids sat at the front of the bus. And all of the rest of us sat in the middle.

I look out across the street these days and it doesn't look like what order they get on the bus is quite as big of a deal to the kids today as it was back then. Oh, they'll run to get to the bus stop first, and they'll put their backpacks in their place at the line so they can go off and play, but I have yet to see any fistfights or pushing and shoving when it comes time to actually get on the bus.

So yes, I'm glad the bus stop is right across the street. And I'm glad all of the kids at the bus stop seem to get along with each other. I'm glad my kids have made friends with their bus stop mates. But mostly I'm glad that I don't have to take the kids to school myself. I prefer being in my pajamas at 8:30 in the morning.

Friday Fiction: Waiting For My Number

[Note: For those of you who are my regular readers (all seven of you), I'm trying something a bit different today. When I started writing full-time back in May, the idea was to do two humor blog-columns a week, and then also work on a fiction book. Well, the book hasn't been going very well, and I think part of the problem is that I've been focusing so much on writing these humor columns for the blog. So, in order to get my mind in more of a fiction mode, I've decided to change things up a little and try my hand at writing some short fiction occasionally on Fridays. I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know what you think.]




Jimmy looked down once again at his number. 423.

The now familiar buzzing sound went off again, followed by the unenthusiastic voice over the intercom saying, "Number 318. Will number 318 please move to the counter." The red LED light that hung from the ceiling flashed the number 318 on and off for seven seconds before settling in to its standard dull glow.

Jimmy looked down once again at his number. 423. He was going to be here for a while.

Jimmy sighed and looked around the room. It was pretty full, just as it had been when he arrived an hour and forty minutes ago. Oh, there were a few empty chairs here and there, but never more than two or three in a row, except for the four-chair buffer zone that surrounded the large smelly man wearing a Captain America t-shirt about two sizes too small. In his mind, Jimmy called him "Captain Stinky."

Jimmy had two open seats to his left. They had previously been occupied by Lady 309 and her two year-old son. She had been one of the most normal-looking, semi-attractive people in the room, which is why Jimmy had chosen to sit where he did. He hadn't said anything to her, other than, "This seat taken?" but he had enjoyed sitting next to her. (As much as you can "enjoy" anything in a place like this.) He had liked how she played toy cars with her son, and the way her cheekbone rose slightly when she smiled at him.

To his right was the old lady knitting. Jimmy didn't know what her number was. He tried to glance at it, but the lady had it hidden under the thing she was knitting. At first, Jimmy thought it was a scarf, but they had both been here long enough that it was looking more like a blanket. She hadn't said a word, she just sat there knitting. Was it knitting or crocheting? One of those. Jimmy didn't know the difference.

As Jimmy watched the lady working the yarn there was a tap on his shoulder. "Is it okay if I sit here?" Jimmy turned and was disappointed to see a small, well-dressed man with an inquisitive look on his face as he awaited Jimmy's reply. Jimmy nodded his head and grunted in affirmation. He didn't want to. He had hoped that someone cute, like Lady 309, would sit next to him. This guy was not nearly as cute as Lady 309. But, at least he wasn't Captain Stinky.

The man sat down and shuffled his papers in his lap, the white tag with "503" in big, black numbers on top. "Well," the man said, "I'm certainly glad they are doing this, even though I don't really want to spend a lot of time here."

Oh great, a yapper, thought Jimmy. Even though the large room was full of people, there wasn't a whole lot of talking going on. Most people kept to themselves, quietly planting their faces in their phones. It had been eerily quiet for that many people. Until Yappy 503 started yapping.

"I see you are number 423," said Yappy 503. "You're probably up pretty soon." As if on cue, the buzzing sounded and the intercom droned, "Number 319. Will number 319 please move to the counter." Jimmy pointed at the blinking red number, shook his head, and gave Yappy 503 a discouraging look.

"Oh," Yappy 503 said, disappointingly. "Still," he said, trying to show a little enthusiasm, "I'm willing to wait a bit, because I think this is for a good cause."

"Good cause? Are you out of your mind?!" It was the first sound Jimmy had heard from Granny Knitty, and she was very fiery as she spoke. "This whole thing is ridiculous, and the biggest waste of time I've ever seen! Even a bigger waste of time than that Titanic movie! I mean, everyone knew the dang thing was going to sink!"

"Really?" Yappy 503 was showing a hint of indignation. "A waste of time? Tell that to the people of Wyoming! Do you really want another Wyoming Incident?"

"Good grief!" Granny Knitty, apparently a fan of Charles Shultz, shouted in reply. "What happened in Wyoming wasn't an 'incident,' it was one crazy person who went a little too far."

"A little too far?!" Yappy 503's face was getting red with anger now. "Four people were killed! Six more were injured! That's more than just a 'little too far' in my book!" Jimmy sat, his head turning back and forth between the two like a cartoon character watching a tennis match.

Suddenly, another voice broke into the conversation. "Yes, what happened in Wyoming was tragic," said Big Hair 399, "but I still don't understand how all those people died and got hurt. All he had was a butter knife." The lady in front of Jimmy had turned around and joined in. She was holding number 399. And she had big hair.

"Exactly my point," said Yappy 503. "It may have 'only' been a butter knife, but he still managed to inflict a lot of damage!"

"Only because they were idiots," said Granny Knitty. "How stupid do you have to be to let a guy kill you with a butter knife?"

"Sounds like victim blaming to me," said Yappy 503.

"It probably is," said Granny Knitty. "Their stupidity is the reason why I have to sit here all day and listen to idiots like you."

Yappy 503 clenched his fist and his jaw. Big Hair 399 broke in again. "It does seem stupid that because four people got killed in Wyoming that I have to sit here for four hours just to register all of my butter knives. I've never hurt anyone with a butter knife in my entire life!" (This was a lie. When she was 13 years old she had thrown her butter knife at her little brother when he had eaten the last bowl of Cap'n Crunch, which she had been saving for herself. The knife struck him in the shoulder, handle-side first. It didn't break the flesh, but it did leave a pretty good bruise for a couple of weeks.)

Jimmy looked down at the paperwork in his lap. He was there to register his 12 butter knives and 18 forks with the government. It did all seem rather silly.

"Maybe not," said Yappy 503 to Big Hair 399, "but once you've registered those knives, we can be sure you won't ever hurt anyone with them."

"That's so dunderheaded!" shouted Granny Knitty. "Just because they're registered doesn't mean you still can't hurt someone with them! I mean, if they actually were dangerous. All registering them does is mean they can track down who owned the butter knife after it's been used."

"Well, isn't that good information to have?" asked Yappy 503.

"That wasn't really a problem in Wyoming," said Granny Knitty. "They didn't have any problem finding the guy who killed those people with a butter knife. This whole thing is just stupid. And so are you," she added, pointing in the direction of Yappy 503.

"Oh, shut up, you old hag!" shouted Yappy 503. That's when Granny Knitty took her knitting needle and swung it in the direction of Yappy 503. Yappy was surprised, but he reacted quickly and deflected the blow.

That's how the knitting needle came to rest in Jimmy's thigh, several inches into his flesh, and several inches out.

And it's why, six months later, Jimmy was sitting on a bench in the big hallway, awaiting his turn to testify in front of Congress concerning the Knitting Needle Registration Act.

THE  END

Now please choose a title that best fits this story.

O A. Waiting For My Number
O B. Yappy 503 vs. Granny Knitty
O C. The Wyoming Incident Revisited
O D. Butter Knife Rebellion
O E. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

Birthdays Are the Best (Usually)

What do you get the woman who means everything?

Today is my wife's birthday. I never really know what to get her for her birthday. She's not really into possessions. She doesn't really like "stuff." Oh, she'll buy "stuff" fairly often, but when she does, it's almost always stuff for our kids, or the kids she teaches, or me. She hardly ever buys stuff for herself.

She can always use clothes, but it's awkward for a guy to get clothes for a woman. Guys are guys, and we never really know what size to get. If we get the size too small, the clothing won't be of any use. If we get the size too big, we've horribly insulted our wife.

And, even if clothing did come in "one size fits all" so there would be no size-guessing snafus, there is no such thing as "one style fits all." So, if you manage to navigate the size dilemma, you still might end up with an outfit that "looks like something your mom might wear." And you don't want that. (Sorry, Mom.)

She likes shoes. Unfortunately, shoes have all the same problems attached to them that clothes do. Still, one year I decided to go for it anyway. I triple-checked her shoe size and I studied the styles of shoes she already owned and liked. When I found a pair that I thought for sure she would like, I bought them for her. But, unbeknownst to me, that was the year that her mom also happened to buy her two pair of shoes as well, making it The Birthday of Six Shoes.

I've gotten my wife a lot of useless junk for her birthday over the years. I've gotten her cookie sheets and other equally lame kitchen stuff. I've gotten her books that I thought she might like. (I've also gotten her books that I thought I might like. Oops.)

Sometimes I do okay. On the first birthday that we knew each other, shortly after we were engaged, I got her a couple of framed pictures that I took on our hike at Mount Timpanogas on our second date. They still hang on our wall.

A couple of years ago I thought I'd get some points by getting her something totally unexpected. I got her a welcome mat for the front door. My wife never uses the front door. She usually does a pretty good job of feigning excitement for what I get her, but that day, despite her best efforts, all I could see on her face was, "What is this? And why did you give it to me?" It turns out "totally unexpected" won't get you any points if the gift is totally useless.

Having said all of this, it's not really as difficult as it sounds. My wife doesn't ask for much on her birthday. She doesn't need fancy gifts, or big hoopla and falderal. Mostly she just wants a birthday cake and to spend some time with her kids. They get her things from the dollar store, and she loves it! Sometimes those dollar store gifts are the best because they come with love.

We'll go out to dinner tonight as a family to celebrate her birthday. And she'll love that the kids are happy and excited for her birthday. And she'll be happy with whatever I get her for her birthday. (As long as it's not a welcome mat.)

We Held Hands, and Then There Were Fireworks

The fact that there even was a third date was huge.

I was not very good at dating. First dates weren't very common. Second dates were rare. But third dates were almost completely unheard of. I was 40 years old, and up to that point I think I had only been on a third date with the same girl twice, and in both of those cases it was because I was either desperate or delusional. (Or both.)

This was different. I was neither desperate nor delusional. I was interested in her, and it felt like she was interested in me. Things were going to happen on this third date! (I previously wrote here about our first date, and our second date.)

For the date, we planned to go to the Clark Planetarium in Salt Lake City. We were going to go to the planetarium and watch one of their movies. On our first date, my Not-Yet-Wife had placed her hand perilously close to my knee, as if offering it up for some hand holding. I wasn't ready for it then, but as I got ready for this third date, I was a bit giddy in the anticipation that I was going to get to hold her hand. (Remember, there is a reason they call me "Slow Joe.")

So, we met up and went to the planetarium. I don't remember what the movie was, just that it was something about space and that it was narrated by Harrison Ford. What I do remember is that the Not-Yet-Wife once again put her hand perilously close to my knee, but this time I reached down with my own hand and soon we had interlocking fingers resting on our legs. As Han Solo told us about the possibility of life on other planets, I was finally discovering life on this planet!

We're holding hands!!!

After the movie ended, we wandered around the planetarium for a few minutes and made a couple of jokes about the planet Uranus. Then we left, looking for a place to eat. As we walked, I reached again for her hand. It's one thing to hold hands in a darkened theater. It's another thing altogether to do so in public in front of other people.

I was a bit giddy. Walking hand in hand, I turned to her and said, "So, does this mean I have a girlfriend?" She replied, "I don't know. Do you want a girlfriend?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

We walked to Applebee's, because nothing says romance like Applebee's. I successfully made it through dinner without burping, farting, or spilling much of my orange chicken on my shirt. (Don't underestimate how improbable that was.)

Then, it was time to go back to my place. Since we lived about 45 miles away from each other, she had driven up and met me at my house for the start of our evening. So, that's where we were headed now. But, on the way I drove her past an old apartment of mine, and while there I pointed out an apartment complex across the street that had a big sign on the side of it that said, "The Harvey." (I did this as a bit of a test, because if she didn't laugh at the fact that there was an apartment complex named "The Harvey," I would highly question her sense of humor.)

When we got to my house it was time for some dessert. It had been an enjoyable date to this point, so I got the good stuff out of the freezer; she was worthy of the Haagen-Dazs. The ice cream I had was a limited-time flavor called "Sticky Toffee Pudding." It was the best ice cream I have ever eaten! (In the years since, every time I walk down the ice cream aisle at the store I glance at the Haagen-Dazs section in hopes that they bring that flavor back. No luck yet.)

As we were eating our ice cream we started to hear some explosions in the distance. At the time I lived about a half a mile away from the Olympic speed skating oval in the Salt Lake suburb of Kearns. Every August, Kearns has a community celebration called "Fire, Water, and Ice Days." It just so happened that our third date coincided with the fireworks show.

We left our ice cream and went outside into my backyard. From there we had a pretty good view of the fireworks. It was quite a scene. We held hands, and then there were fireworks! I even got so bold as to take things beyond hand-holding: I put my arm around her shoulder!

We stood there in my back yard, shoulder to shoulder, watching fireworks explode in the night sky. If I had had any brains or guts or whatever other innards most people have, I would have kissed her right there and then. But, alas, I am Slow Joe for a reason. I was still too giddy from holding hands and having my arm around her to think of anything beyond that.

We held hands, and there were fireworks!

Still, it was a glorious and wonderful night! And, even to this day, whenever I hear the voice of Harrison Ford I want to hold hands with my honey. And whenever I see fireworks I want to put my arm around her. (And maybe even be so bold as to kiss her!)

Adventures From Salt Lake Comic Con 2015

Over the weekend I went to the third annual Salt Lake Comic Con. (That's #SLCC15 for those of you who speak in hashtags.) I've been to all three of them, and I've had a better experience each time. (You can read about the first two here: Year 1, Year 2.) Here are some thoughts (and pictures) from this year's convention:

Iron Man sure has a big head.

As we walked into the building, we were greeted by a large banner featuring a man opening his shirt to reveal yellow tights with the letters "SJ." Then the banner declared: "Siegfried & Jensen, Injury Attorneys, Welcome to Comic Con!" Because there's nothing quite as heroic as a personal injury lawyer, right?

His super powers? Faster than a speeding ambulance! More powerful than a legal motion! Able to plea bargain in a single bound!

You run into good guys and bad guys at Comic Con. Here's the bad guy from the movie Big Hero 6.

Spoiler Alert: It's Professor Callahan!

I've been to Comic Con three straight years, and each time I'm absolutely amazed and entranced by the carpet at the Salt Palace Convention Center. It's hypnotic!

You are getting sleepy. Very sleepy.

The celebrity guests are usually very entertaining. The highlight for me this year was Marina Sirtis, best known as Counselor Troi on Star Trek: The Next Generation. She was witty, energetic, and a lot of fun! Unfortunately, the picture I took of her during her presentation is an excellent demonstration on the limitations of camera phones. This picture, of Walter Koenig, best known as Chekov on Star Trek, is twice as good as the one of Marina Sirtis, and it's not very good, either.

Ensign Chekov is now a short, bald, old man.

This year, since I'm attempting to be a full-time writer, I took full advantage of the many entertaining and informative panels at Comic Con. This panel featured published authors telling us how to write a book series. (For me, I think the first step would be to write one book before I worry about a trilogy.)

Even shirtless men with battle scars want to know how to write a book series.

There was a lot of cosplay, and it wasn't all Deadpool and Harley Quinn, even though it may have seemed that way at times.

Obscure Sesame Street characters? Yip! Yip!

Even the parking garage beneath Nordstrom wasn't safe from cosplay villainy.

Transformer vs. Dr. Octopus!

Do you want a super-hero t-shirt? Comic Con is the place for you!

So many t-shirts! Unfortunately, none of them are in my size.

And yes, there actually are comic books at Comic Con!

Of course, they're all sealed in plastic bags so you can't read them unless you buy them.
(This is a Comic Con, not a library!)

I really enjoyed the writing panels. Here, Richard Hatch from the original Battlestar Galactica expounds on how to get your book published.

Who knew Captain Apollo wrote books?

Did I mention that the Salt Palace Convention Center carpet is a bit trippy? It looks like something Steve Ditko would have drawn for one of Dr. Strange's alternate dimensions.

I dare you to stare at that carpet without getting dizzy.

Over the course of the three years they've had the Comic Con here in Salt Lake, they've greatly improved upon how much time is spent standing in lines. I spent very little time standing in lines this year! Unfortunately, however, there is still some work to be done about the lines in the parking garage.

Parking garages are fun!

Maybe next year I'll just arrive via jet pack.

Kiss It Better

It was a typical day. The Boy, The Baby and I were sitting down to have lunch. The Boy had just returned home from kindergarten, and I made him his favorite: macaroni and cheese. The Baby was sitting in her high chair having some chopped peaches and some chopped avocado. (I chopped the peaches, but The Wife chopped the avocados because she knows I wouldn't touch those yucky green things if they weren't pre-chopped and ready for The Baby.)

The Boy was sitting at the counter eating his lunch, and I was sitting in the living room in the big chair eating mine. Then, suddenly, the boy started to cry. As a parent, it is my duty to be concerned. And I was concerned.

My first step when The Boy is crying is to assess the damage. Is anything broken? Is he bleeding?

Nothing broken. No blood.

The next step is to figure out what happened. My first guess was that he smashed his finger with his chair. The chairs at the counter have a wonderful swivel feature, enabling the kids to twirl back and forth while eating, and, on occasion, smash their finger or thumb between the chair and the counter, something that had happened a time or two before. (Or seven.) (Or twelve.)

Me: "What happened? Did you pinch your finger between the chair and the counter?"
The Boy: "No!" (Continues to cry.)
Me: "So, what happened? I can't help you feel better unless I know what happened."
The Boy: "I bit my finger!" (Continues to cry.)

Yes, that's right, he bit his finger while eating macaroni and cheese.

Me (dripping with sarcasm): "You know, you probably wouldn't have bitten your finger if you would actually use your fork!" (Then realizing sarcasm might not be the best approach with a five year-old): "Come here, buddy, and show me which finger it is and where it hurts."

He walked over to me and showed me his hands, which were both covered in a layer of cheese sauce from his macaroni and cheese. He showed me the bitten finger; I couldn't see any bite marks on it, although it was difficult to make out the finger through all of the orange goop stuck to it.

Me: "Would you like me to kiss it better?"
The Boy: "Yes." He held up his hand. I kissed the finger in question, then pretended to lick the cheese sauce off of a couple more of his fingers.

Me: "Yum! You should bite your fingers more often so I can kiss all of this tasty macaroni and cheese off of them!" His crying immediately turned to giggles, and he forgot about the pain of biting his finger.

He went back to the counter and ate the rest of his macaroni and cheese, occasionally even using his fork. When he finished I had to remind him three times to not touch anything until he washed his hands. (And then I had to follow behind him and wipe down all the things that he did touch.)

I realize now that going back after the fact and staging a picture with The Boy with me kissing his finger better is a bit awkward. (Plus, his hands were no longer covered with macaroni and cheese.)

The whole incident got me thinking about the idea of "kissing it better."

It's magic, isn't it? The simple act of a parent "kissing it better" can make all kinds of injury, pain and other maladies just disappear.

I'm wondering how long I'll have this magical parental power? My two oldest are ages 7 and 5, and it still works on them. Will I still be able to fix all of their problems with a simple kiss of the finger when they are teenagers? Does this magical parental power extend throughout their entire lives?

It would be great if it would be that easy to fix their pain so easily forever.