I am probably the nicest human being ever.

I would like it to be said that my petit brother's birthday is hereabouts. Unfortunately, as you all know, I am not going to be there.

So, I bought and gave him his present early.

Not to brag or anything, (don't you know what's coming now) but I got him the best birthday present ever. It may have been a bit expensive, but really, in the big scheme of things, surely that doesn't matter. Anyway, it truly was the best birthday present. Thoughtful and long-lasting and delicious. . . .

Yeah, I got him two packs of Trident-Layers gum.

I'm an awesome sister.

ONE HUNDRED POSTS!!!

If I was professional, I would have all sorts of cool stuff to give you all. Like, um. . . giveaways and statistics, maybe? (See. I have no idea what I am talking about. I am a disgrace.)

Unfortunately, I am not a professional blogger. (So. . . yeah, no personalized phone covers. Sorry.)

Therefore, I am going to look at my tenth, twentieth, thirtieth, etc. posts and choose my favorite sentences.

Try to tell me that this is not the best non-kitten picture EVER. I call it a "crack" because it sounded just like those rice cake things your mom gives you when you're a toddler to occupy you in the grocery store, as opposed to stealing samples. My little brother still pertains to his opinion that I need a favorite dinosaur. [. . . ]we should have a big USING UP SUMMER FOOD! party. IMPROV EVERYWHERE I'm off to look through the window, the wonderful window by the door. But until then, we shall wait (and drink tea and eat cookies and read magazines!) Off to buy sunglasses for mah kitties and me to hide our fame. [. . . ]my little sister and mother rented a video called "Kitten Party" which was just kittens running around being cute for 75 minutes.

A summary of my blog in nine sentences. Thanks to all of you for reading, commenting, and pestering me to post when I am (embarrassingly) trying to hide in my hovel, isolated from all mankind including my wonderful friends.

Barbie Says it All

My great-aunt was a first-grade-teacher. When she passed a away, we inherited a lot of her crafts because we were at the right ages.

This past week, we were organizing our 'party bin' into a 'party closet hanging thing', and we found an 80's Barbie Valentine, which says "You're fun to know!!!" (three exclamation marks not included but implied.) If anything from the 80s should be kept, it is the distinctly impersonal valentines. Even though what you really need is a valentine that says "Yay, free class, enjoy the candy." or "If you eat too much Fun Dip stay to that side of the room, away from me." or "I broke your lollipop. Whatever."

I distinctly remember a year when my little sister and I, having used up all the lollipops with non-attached feeling, gave all the "Hug me" and "Kiss me" lollipops to my four-year-old little brother. (This is why we stick with Dove chocolate now.) No wonder so many of his friends are girls.All that aside, though, who could resist extreme jazz hands, sparkly pants, and creepy braids?

Poisson d'Avril

It is the first of April. Not being a family for pranks and jokes (although my sister has been trying to convince me that I have a bug in my hair since eight) but feeling that we should do something, my siblings and I decided to do something French: drawing fish and taping them to people's backs. People being my aunt, with whom we are going to have frozen yogurt with at two.Oh no! I have mercury in me!

Help! I ate a plastic bag!

My name is Bob. Even if I tell you otherwise.

A Battle in Buy Mode

Before I turned on the computer......

Me: Hey, Peter and Laura, do you want to be on a blog post about your Sims?
Laura: Sure!
Peter: Okay, but you have to spell ten dinosaur names. This is a spelling test. Starting now. Spell 'Tyrannosaurus Rex.'
Me: *exasperated* Do YOU know how to spell that?
Peter: SPELL IT!!!
Me: T-y-r-a-n-n.......

---

Laura: You're obviously going to make this funnier than it is.
Me: *types*
Laura: Emma!
Me: *typing*
Laura: And you're probably going to make up lines.
Me: *sigh* No. Okay. So. Um, Peter.... tell me about the Pop Stove family.
Peter: First of all, their middle name is not "Pop" all the time.
Me: So their permanent last name is "Stove"?
Peter: Yes. Second of all, the mom and the dad are aliens.
Me: But their son is not.
Peter: He is not because, well, he landed on a car out of the spaceship.
Me: But he's Caucasian.
Peter: What does Caucasian mean?
Me: Fair-skinned. Wait...how does landing on a car mean that he doesn't have green skin?
Peter: Well, if an alien falls out of a spaceship and they don't really want to, they become a person. They keep their alien traits, though.
Me: And his parents let this happen?
Peter: No! They never knew they had a son!
Me: Oh-kay..... So they adopted a son when they bought their house. Do they like children? Even though theirs is human?
Peter: Yes, because he has a lot of fishing skill, and they like fish. And, they really like that they can finally have somebody that's a Couch Potato in their family.
Me: And that's a good thing?
Peter: Yo, like totally!
Me: Okay. Let's talk about where their son got adopted to in a few minutes. I want to ask Laura about her families. Which is your favorite?
Laura: The artist one I just made with the lady and the guy I made to be her husband.
Me: Yes.... and they are nocturnal?
Laura: Yes. The guy is a Ghosthunter, so he has to get up at all times of night, and the mom is an artist (that's her job) and she works at home. So she can sleep whenever she wants, and stay up as late as she wants. They're going to have kids soon.
Me: Twins? Triplets?
Laura: Singlets!
Me: Oh. What about your other families?
Laura: Oh, well, which one? Do you want to talk about the celebrity one?
Me: There's a celebrity one?
Laura: Yes. She's a five-star celebrity and lives in a cool house--
Me: The one with a dance floor, pool, hot tub, and lots of windows?
Laura: That's the one. She loves to paint and she loves music and she has a butler.
Me: *gasps* Bertram Plunkett?
Laura: No. But, maybe, actually. Um, she is not married (yet) and if there were pets on Sims 3 she would have pets.
Me: Any other families?
Laura: Uh, yes. Well, there's a family with a mom and a dad and the dad is a Police and the mom is an Investigator. Their kids include a child boy and a toddler girl. I think the boy's name is Walter.
Me: And they live in a very small apartment.
Laura: No, I moved them.
Me: Really?
Laura: Yes. Now their apartment is the whole floor.
Me: Ooh.
Laura: Their whole family is good at Logic.
Me: Cool. So, Peter, tell us about the family your guy was adopted into.
Peter: Huh?
Me: The 'naughty boys' household.
Peter: Oh, yeah! Well, the Naughty Boys were pretty naughty!
Laura: Tell them about the nice mom.
Peter: Later. And the baby was a fighter in crime.
Me: Didn't he sleep outside?
Peter: For just one night!
Me: I think that's illegal.
Peter: Let me tell you about a different family.
Me: *sighs* You may talk about the Ninjas later.
Peter: *sigh* Not the Ninjas!
Me: So, what?
Peter: The family that, you know, created the Smasher!
Laura: You mean the Chinese family? Then I get to talk about it too, because I made a character. I made the girl.
Me: Please. Let's move on either to elaboration on the Naughty Boys or your architecture techniques.
Peter: Well, the Naughty Boys *sigh* I don't really know where they live.
Me: *sigh* Let's move on to architecture. I know that both of you like excessive lighting!
Laura: I like lighting!
Peter: Well, I make graveyards a lot! I accidentally made one when I tried to make an outdoor sleeping place.
Laura: He had the graveyard statue.
Peter: Hey! I put Stonehenge in too! I think. But now I'm sure I made beds, too.
Laura: Yes, you did.
Peter: I also put in an outdoor grill.
Me: Do you like basements?
Laura and Peter: Yes!
Me: Do you ever make nine-story-tall houses?
Laura: Five and three, yes.
Peter: No. I can do only three stories.
Me: Do you 'Edit Town'?
Peter: I delete the school. And the Criminal career. I turned it into a nice park, aka accidentally a graveyard.
Me: I thought you did that to the school, too.
Peter: No.
Me: On the Ninjas.
Peter: No, both of them were parks.
Laura: *leaves*
Me: Go get her!
Peter: No. I'm leaving, too.
Me: *dejected*

I don't know these people. . . .

Let's cut to the chase. I've been saying my sibling's names wrong.

At eight o'clock, which is pretty late, I came downstairs and lay on the couch. Peter was already downstairs and he jumped on me. "PETER," I yelled, "GET OFF." Except that, instead of saying "Peter" I said "Peder".

Me: Peder.
My mother: No, Peter.
Peter: Yes. Peter.
Me: PEE-ter.
Peter: PeterPeterPeterPeterPeter!!!
Me: Pete-er.
My mother: Good.
Peter: Goodgoodgoodgood!!!
Me: Pete-er. Pete-er.
Peter: Or you could call me Pete.
Me: I refuse.
Me: (time has elapsed, during which I practice saying Pete-er.) What about Laura? (Except that I pronounced it Lorra.)
My mother: Emma! You can't pronounce Laura's name!
Me: I can so too pronounce it! Lorra!
My mother: No, it's Lahruh.
Peter: Lahruh!
Me: (long painful time has passed, with un-typeabale pronunciations) I'm going to go ask Lahruh.
My mother and Peter: Good!
Me: *runs upstairs* Say your name!
Laura: Lorra. . . .
Me: Uh-oh. . . . Say Peter.
Laura: Peder. . . .
Me: Why don't you come downstairs. . . .
Laura: Uh. . .okay.
Laura: (after briefing) I'VE BEEN SAYING MY NAME WRONG!?!?!?!?! And Peter's?
My mother: I think you learned it from Emma.
Me: But what about Peter?
My mother: You were at school, not teaching him.
Me: Bah.

People. This will take practice. (And we have to correct all of our friends, whom we taught to say their names wrong.)

Solstice and Perry

Every winter Solstice, my family gathers in the living room by the lit fireplace and eats cookies, receives an ornament, and writes poetry about the year gone by. It's nice, rather quaint tradition, and according to my mother it originated when I was little, because right before Christmas is when toddlers start to go a little bonkers. Solstice is a nice quiet holiday to calm down. My little brother wrote short three-lined poems with the last lines as questions, my little sister did an acrostic and writing couplets, my mother wrote an eerie winter poem, I wrote poems about the Amnesty Inc. pen that I kept breaking and our tree angel, and my dad wrote a narrative poem about how he gave $20 dollars to a needy man with the requirement that he spend it on his infant son, and then later saw him buying diapers. We each received an ornament and enjoyed s'mores.

Then, Wednesday morning, I called the cats for breakfast and Perry didn't come. I finally found him in his hut by the window, but he showed no interest in eating. He vomited several times and meowed whenever anyone tried to pick him up, so my parents took him to the vet. The vets thought he had swallowed thread or floss, so my dad drove him to a specialty vet an hour or so away. Then we went through our usual business, watching the telly, trying to write this blog post (it's been three days), and cleaning. (My room currently leaves much to be desired.) So they went into surgery, opened up his stomach, and lo and behold. . . PERRY HAS A HOLE IN HIS INTESTINAL WALL! It was something he was born with, but that did nothing to prevent my mother from removing all the tinsel and obsessively picking up fragments. All in good reason, of course. Perry is recuperating and is expected home today--we hope. If not, we go visit him with chicken baby food.

Happy Holidays!

The Great Telly et al

As you all may have heard, I have a new television. I find this very exciting (free cable for a month!). I have not watched television at my home in three whole years.

Us watching television on the first day:
Me, Laura, and Peter: *watch television*
Laura: Ah! This is different!!!
Me: (calmly) No, Laura, it's not.
Laura: But it's all weird!
Me: Laura, when was the last time you saw this show?
Laura: Uhhh....
Me: Precisely.
Laura: Hmph.
Me: Just watch it, Laura.
Laura: *watches silently*
Laura: Ha! Aha! Look! It's different!
Me: Psh! No it's . . . *looks closely* not...no! I mean, yes! It is different! Aw, it's all 3-Dy.
Laura: *nods smugly*

The story of how this came to be is rather funny. Laura and I were banished to the dining room to play Sims. Laura likes to make dysfunctional families. She started off with a mother, a father, and a baby named Virgina. Then they had another baby, a boy, named Maine for the state--but she forgot the e, so his name is Main. Bored with the game, Laura divorced the parents but then made them remain friends. The mother then married a ready-made character: Christopher. The mother's name is Christina. No confusion there, of course. The dad, a misspelled Ghram, continued to sleep in the master bedroom with his ex-wife and her new husband, who soon had a baby girl named "Saraphina". Laura then put the toddler Main and the infant Sophronia in the same room as the teenage Virgina so that she could wake up every hour or two to change diapers/feed/snuggle/play with them. Laura also wanted Virginia to have a boyfriend, but the highest person with whom she was very close was her old babysitter, the kleptomanic non-aging gold digger Davie. However, right after Ghram's marriage to Jamie (now all the adults sleep in the same room), a vain snobby doctor who required us to add another bathroom for her, I made Virginia break up with Davie. Directly afterward Laura aged up Saraphina and Main, so that they were now, respectably, toddler and child. Unfortunately, since one of Christopher's dreams had been to "ask the newspaper boy to hang out", he came to our party, too, which was at 9am, and stayed, playing with our dollhouse, until 12am. Such as it is.

Anyway, Laura and I were disposed of while Peter played on the computer. Which is. . . ? Right by the television. So, while my parents loudly removed our old television, received the new one, unpacked it, and hooked up the new one, Peter played games. He even once looked at my mom as asked her what she was doing. "Working on the television." "Oh." He then commenced to resume playing on the computer and did not look up again until Laura and I were dancing around gleefully. His only comment was, "Where's our old television?" Such is the magic of technology.

Off to buy gifts! (I haven't bought any yet. :-o)

Guilt: is not refreshing. Stupid nonexistent proverb.

Does anyone remember that time I accused you lot of going on vacation without a computer? And it was (widely) true? I now realize how annoying that is. (No, not me, the non-electric trip.)

In school I made a plush penguin. It's blue and pretty cute. Of course, since I had to go on my trip, all I did was drive home from school, "HeyPetetakethisandfamilymissyoulove
youwherearemybooksonfashionablefeminismandAgathaChristieohthereseeyabye--",
drove to my friend's, walked around, and then drove for a good long while. More on that later. (Very, very long posts this week.)

So I text home to catch up and find that Peter has named my neat cute penguin Senor Penguin (again, photo cord) and takes him everywhere, from breakfasts of sardines to forgetting him in bed/in the couch/at the mercy of Perry. I then came home at 5:12 to find the much loved Senor Penguin pilled and smudged, but he did accompany Peter everywhere, so.

How's that for the (grateful) Christmas Spirit?

Teletubbies' Salvation

What show have we been watching in our spare time? Hmm, I have no ide-TELETUBBIES, due to Peter's recent reminiscences. When Laura was little, Teletubbies was literally her salvation. Laura was small and pliable, and the overlord sun-infant was always there to help her. Not that she was obsessed--thank goodness no--but an hour or so of Teletubbies always helps, yes? Unfortunately, we can only find A Teletubbie Christmas I & II and "Blue Sky" where they explore colors. ('And that's important, it's like their race,' says my mother. MOTHER, says me.)

Of course, I am the one searching for our Disney Princess computer games. Cinderella castle design and find-the-object-that-links-to-clothes-princess-game are TOTALLY FUN.

I have become weirdly fascinated with my blister. It irks me, but I don't want to do anything to it. Ugh.

Ta-ta and teletubbies! (BEST GAMES EVER!!!)

Why I Haven't Been Posting; Also, Peter's Talisman

As you know, my posts have been far and few these last few weeks. Why, you may ask?

Because our stupid computers got amnesia.

1. My mom's laptop. Her story, her Sims games, gone. Very sad for all parties involved. Now it is fixed, though, and she has new Sims families.
   
2. Upstairs computer. We did get it fixed, but I have no bookmarks or favorites or ANYTHING. It. Was. Appalling. Also, Sims 3 only works for half an hour. Since Laura and I made a family with a musical teenager, three British-schoolgirl-esque triplet daughters, and crazy Cousin Arnold, who owns two cars and a motorcycle and has a huge mohawk, this SIMPLY DOES NOT SUFFICE. I mean, one can spend half an hour making Cousin Arnold live underground in a garage, and it WILL NOT SAVE.
3. This computer--downstairs. Last night, after lots of restarting, we clicked on my mom's name only to find that Everything was Lost. It is VERY maddening.

When I woke up this morning, figuring that I should explain this, I walked into the hallway to see Peter holding his "talisman"--a plastic squirt bottle to shoot Perry. In his other hand, he clutched a Playmobil Roman soldier-prince. The talisman in question was to protect him and make him feel safe from Jason, a hockey-mask-wearing, chainsaw-carrying character on a Halloween special for Roblox.

I have a coupon for Sims 3 Late Night--but we need to fix the computer first.

Periwinkle is an adult! On October the 19th, he finally switched to adult cat food.

Blog-o-sphere and French R's

Bored, I began clicking "Next, blog", hoping that I would find something amusing. (I accidentally made a typo. . . abusing. . . oops. . . .) I was very discouraged and had vowed never again to click said button, because all I found was twenty blogs about motherhood, twelve marketing art, and five posting random articles of writing.

I was appalled. I know that each child is individually special and unique, etc., but twenty whole blogs out of thirty-seven? I feel that, if your child really is special, you will not NEED to have a blog with 15,000 followers (seriously, not kidding) proclaiming his uniqueness. What they NEED is a superblog! on which they can all post about how darling little Susie is excited for the new baby/dear little Todd drew a picture/charming little Dahlia broke all her toys. I suppose being famous for motherhood is better than being famous for other things, but I personally would rather be viewed as a good mother and not a good blogger--but if that makes you happy, I shall send Susie a photo album, Todd a paint set, and Dahlia a toy store.

As the title proclaims, Peter has been saying all his R's Frenchily. I have had serious trouble comprehending him, because he has a small lisp, but once I realized that he was imitating a Japanese Nutty Ninja! I, um, went to brush my teeth.

3!

Ah, the number three. I recall a PE class in which, after surviving torture, you had to write something that fit into a subject--the subject being "multiples of 3". I was very pleased. While the other team stubbornly put "3, 9, 12, 15, 18, etc.", I put "0.03, 0.003, 0.0003, etc." It was almost as fun as the logical hula-hoop game.

Or 3 as in: "3.1415926535897932384626433832795028841971693993. . . ", that is to say, pi. March 14, 2015, 9:26:53!

3 as in the amount of murders in my most recent novel--the passengers being, respectively, a jewel thief, an alcoholic, an illegal weapons smuggler, and the murderers and murderees.

3 as in "The Sims 3", which I got the newest addition of and appalled the dude at the counter by knowing which day the next add-on comes out. (October 26!)

3 as in the number of muffins Perry has stalked, perhaps because he finds them "easy prey". He will pick one up in his teeth and carry it to the living room to devour and play with.

3 as in the amount of tall onions that Daisy has munched the leaves/stems/whatevers of. She has SO much better breath than Perry.

3 as in the amount of Trident Fruit Stripe Gum pieces that I have given to my siblings. It is 6 months old. (Ssh!)

Most importantly, though, it is the number of months I have posted on my blog! Yay! *throws confetti into air*

Sun-day

Today I woke up at the lovely late time of oh-seven hundred hours. And nineteen minutes. This means only one thing. . . .

Kitty feeding time!

Perry was delighted, Daisy was mildly pleased, and I was disgusted.

Then, seeing that there was absolutely no one else up, I went back to my bed and read my murder mystery. Every character was a criminal, I think. Except for two. There were many triple-negatives. But what truly made my reading experience lovely was that my neighbors a football field or so away were playing their eight-a.m. concerto. The rest of my family slept until nine.

Peter went to his friend's birthday party yesterday.

Peter: *walks up steps*
(One of many of) Peter's friend(s): PETER!!! *giant hug*
Peter: Ack! *goes inside*
(From inside)Peter! Peter! I love you, Peter! It's Peter! I haven't seen you in forever, Peter! PETER!!!!

Yeah. . . .

A (not-so) lovely walk in the neighborhood

The little brother is occupied with the occupying task of selling popcorn for Scouts. This causes me much amusement. He's really quite adorable in his Scout suit. I'm sure he'll have made a killing by the time he gets back.

Which brings me to my topic: I was hungry. I wanted a sandwich. I was too lazy to make it for myself. I wrote in unfluent sentences with made-up words like "unfluent". So, I did what any normal person would do: I went to my mom. Except that she was with Peter, accompanying him as ordered by Ye Old Boy Scout Manual.

So, I trekked into the neighborhood to look for them. Unfortunately, my neighborhood is not a straight line. It has trees and swerves and cul-de-sacs. Finding people you are looking for is not easy. Finding people you are not looking for IS easy.

Evidently, all my neighbors had made a decision to go out and stand in their yards. This appalled me, because I felt that they were staring at me. I wasn't doing anything queer. . . except, maybe, ya know, twisting my head around rapidly, walking in circles, muttering to myself, and glaring at everything. Yeah. . .

. . . then I fast-walked home. . .

. . . only to find that my friend with whom I have been trying to get in touch with for a month had called. When I frantically called her back, she reported that she was trying to cut a nickel with a pair of scissors. Needless to say, I gently and regretfully ended the conversation.

Then my dad came home, but when I asked him to please please please make me a sandwich, he replied "I'm off to see where Peter has gotten to."

I shall make my own sandwich.

I cannot spell "asthma".

I think our dog is asthmatic. Not in a hypersensitive, oh-my-goodness-he's-breathing way, but because he WHEEZES. I have taken on the now-loud burden of taking Scout on a walk every afternoon, and the steep hill by our house provides a lovely rhythm that perfectly complements our-neighbors-who-play-classical-music-at-all-hours-of-the-day, I-think-even-when-they're-sleeping's current selection, whilst everyone else makes darling flower arrangements. . . oops. Got off-topic. As I was saying before, Scout may be asthmatic. And I am definitely not buying him an inhaler. I love you, Scout, but I think you'll be fine.

When mentioning this to my mother, I asked why it seems nowadays that EVERYONE has asthma. My friends, the weird people who play sports, random people in the hallway. . . yup. My mother then suggests that some people think that it is because children are not exposed to enough dirt. To which I answer, at least Peter will never get asthma.

For you see, back in the days of toddlerhood, Peter would take a shovel, tighten his spit-bandana, and go down to bang on the "smokedirt". Also known as "whacking your shovel into dry clay by our basement". As a wee lad of two, he prevented the house from being remodeled by wailing "Nooooo! My smokedirt!"

This befuddles me, of course, because Scout goes outside for many hours. Every day. For his entire life. He shouldn't have asthma.

I have an addiction. . . .

To what? Chocolate? Club soda? Murder mysteries?

No, but good guesses. My addiction is to. . . reading the next books in series that I despise. I can't help it. And whenever I don't read the book, I feel really guilty. ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGG. . . why does there have to be such annoying literature?!?!?!?!?!

I mean, seriously. I'll read the worst book EVER and read its sequel because I just can't help it. IT IS SOOOOOOO annoying.

In other news, only my little brother would receive two cards with hearts and flowers on them and "Dear Peter, I love you"s. Sigh, how we slightly envy the famous.

Perry has just lapped up a tablespoon or more of syrup. Shame, piddums.

We dressed out THREE times in three minutes on Monday. Please don't get confuzzled again, teacher dahling.

Calendaro Ordero

I mapped out everything I want to do so that it will happen. Much easier than manipulating. And it works 99.9% of the time! So, today, for example, we are going to a store in the mall that carries parasols. Very exciting, yes?

The other good thing about my calendar is that I can color-code it. Usually I keep everything in my head. This has lead me to a theory of why I spout out random facts: all the other things that I remember shove them out. I don't mind it, though; I still remember everything. Take that, brain.

In other notes, yesterday my siblings and I had a great deal of fun doing electric stuff. We made a fan, doorbell, etc.

Sorry for all the shortness of late, but I've not been in my best moods.

Hodgepodge and MURDER MYSTERIES *shriek*

I do not remember what I did Saturday. This saddens me.

*mulls*

I went to the library and have since been reading. . . MURDER MYSTERIES!!! Just a tip: it's usually the guy or his wife. Or the guy pretending to be his wife. That was a weird story.

I also found shampoo with trivia on it! So happy! My family has just accepted it as "another of those weird things Emma does." Sigh. Oh well, still happy. :D

Am also wishing that I had an extra $48 lying around. Make that $70. . .no, $93. . . I might need a lot more. Must. . . close. . . tab. . . .

As I am feeling rather hyper and have thus zoomed through my hodgepodge subjects, I shall get a quote from Peter.

"Velociraptor means "swift thief."

There, y'all learned something. And now for Laura's quote:

"Paper towel."

Have fun with your new knowledge.

Bribes

As an older sister with a brother five years younger than me and a sister two years older than him (do the math, y'all, you know how old I am, 72, of course) I have found bribes to be essential in everyday life, especially since one is very, very, popular and the other has her ears pierced. My only claims to in-charge-ness/big sister rights are a) I'm taller than them and b) I'm older than them. Here are three few such scenarios:

Me: *plays on computer*
Peter: *whines* EMMA!! GET OFF!
Me: Make your cute face!
Peter: *makes cute face*
Me: Aww, he's so adorable!!!
Peter: *continues making cute face*
Me: You are the cutest wittle Petew in da whole wide world! How about I find a game for yooou and I'll play it for you in case it's hard!
Peter: *smiles and makes cute face*
Me: *celebrates internally*
(Note: Unfortunately, the game Peter chose is this: http://www.youdagames.com/Zoo-Escape-game-info-4497 Click "Play Online" and turn on the sound.

Me: *steals chocolate-chip cookie from top shelf of pantry*
Laura: *catches me* EMMA, what are you doing?
Me: *thinks fast, puts finger to lips, hands her a cookie*
Laura: *munches away happily*

Me: PETER!!!
Peter: No.
Me: I'll give you a gummy worm!
Peter: An orange one?
Me: Sure. . . .
Peter: Yippee!!!


Et cetera. Do with this what you will.