Now I believe in Bigfoot.

  "Mooooommm! Con-noh hit me! eh heh.. eh heeeeeeehhhhhhh"

 In a moment of spectacular parenting I yell from the kitchen to the bedroom, "COONNNNOOORR!"

  "Sorry Mom."

"Tell Max you're sorry, not me."

"Sorry Max."

"Okay."

"Okay"

"Okay"

"Okay"

 "Con-noh, you can't say okay, I say okay, okay?"

"Okay"

"MOOOMMMM!"

    Or how 'bout this gem... Boys in the bathtub. They're getting along great until I hear splashes followed by both of them wailing and yelling "STOP HITTING ME!! NO STOP HITTING ME!!" Only they don't stop. So it goes on and on. It was after a few minutes of this that I found myself on the floor of the kitchen with a gallon of vanilla ice cream. And that bottle of chocolate syrup? Yeah I just dumped the whole thing right on top. At what age exactly does logic kick in?

    This is stuff of legend. But before you have kids, that's all you think it is. Folklore. Old wives tales. Memories expanded into imagination.

  But it's real.

  Oh, it's real.