Well, if that's the only way that gets results.

Miranda is sitting on the couch, working on a creative project involving a rocket.  Tucker comes over and takes the rocket drawing out of her hands, and says, "Rockets are for boys."  I overhear this, and come out of the kitchen, saying in a stern voice, "What did you just say?"

Tucker replies, stubbornly, clutching the drawing, "Rockets are for boys." Then, seeing my raised eyebrows, less stubbornly, and very fast: "And girls. And Mirandas. And Mamas. And anyone who can take away my priv-lid-ges." With a big smile at me.

And gives her the drawing back.

Sigh. Equality, at what cost?

Sometimes the good guys do win.

This made me cry.  Read all the way to the end.

Marine is awarded medal of honor.

Love. This.

It appeals to the part of me that used to sort my Skittles before eating.

Extreme Tidying Up

Tattoo tales.

This morning as we were getting ready for church, I realized Tucker still had the temporary tattoo on his arm from last weekend's Labor Day Hometown Fair.  (It is an inoffensive tattoo from the Park System with two wild animal cartoon characters, FYI.)  I said, "Tuck, I think we've got to take that off your arm before church."  To which he replied, lower lip jutting out, arms crossed over his chest:  "Jesus loves my tattoo."

Haven't taken it off yet.  Hard to find a good comeback to that...