Heptadecagon

Sometimes, in the midst of utter chaos and devastation, you find moments of lightheartedness. Early last night, I poked my head into my parents' room. My dad was in the bathroom; Mom hovered nearby, in case Dad needed help. Me: How's it going? Mom: All right. Me: Has he done anything? Dad: A little. About an inch. Me: Great! I'd love to have that poop party tomorrow, Dad. Dad: Me, too. Me: Okay, well I heard movement [from the walker] from downstairs, so I came up to check. Dad: Ha. Movement. Me: You got that, eh? I bet you didn't know I was that funny. My dad claims that he hasn't had a bowel movement in just about a week, and now every dinner table conversation we have revolves around defecation. I find this fact especially interesting considering any talk of feces at the dinner table when we were kids was verboten. And now, here we sit, cracking jokes left and right. Just so you know, we've tried fresh fruit, scads of prunes, Colase, Miralax, a...

On Thursdays, I volunteer in the first grade classroom with math centers. I did the same when Aaron was in first grade. At that time, Melina was three years old. She stepped into the role of helper and learned some math to boot. Now, I go into the classroom by myself, as my sidekick is a part of the class. Which means I have no one but myself to help against any crimes that might be committed by the first graders. Yesterday's incident was a perfect example of what I see on a weekly basis: Mrs. W split the class into small groups. One of those groups meandered my way. I began to spread out the materials the children would need for the activity. "Okay guys," I said. "Here are the dice." I placed a die onto the carpet for each pair of children, and then prepared to explain how to play the game. "Uh, Mrs. C. He just called you poopy-pants," a little spectacled first-grader said. "C said 'Ooookaaaaay Mrs. Poopy-pants!' when you handed out...