ohemmaohkate

Oh Emma, Oh Kate.

Oh Emma, Oh Kate is a series of funny things my kids say. I jot them down in my phone then put them together in a blog post. Emma is 9 and Kate is 6. 

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Emma: Mom, I only missed 1 out of 20 on my Spanish test today! The test was on food.

Me: Mmmm, comida!

Emma: What does that mean?

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Kate: Let’s play would you rather.

Me: Ok.

Kate: Would you rather…lick the windshield with lots of bugs. OR lick daddy’s butt hole?

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Me: Emma, you look pretty tonight.

Emma: Do I now? (crosses her eyes and sticks out tongue)

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Me: You don’t have school tomorrow! Do you know who Martin Luther King, Jr. is?

Kate: He wanted a new law.

Me: About what?

Kate: To tell people to stop being weird about their skin color.

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Kate: Take a picture of me, driving.

Me: Ok.

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Kate: Put it on Facebook.

Me: WHAT? Do you even know what Facebook is?

Kate: Yes. It’s when you let everyone in the world see what we’re doing. Let them see me driving.

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Kate: Hey, let’s get sushi then watch some cat videos on YouTube.

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Kate: It’s “take your cat to school” day tomorrow!

Me: What are you talking about?

Kate: You’re supposed to bring your cat to school. We don’t have one, so let’s get one.

Me: You lie!

Kate: Fine. Let’s get a cat and put funny videos on YouTube.

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Kate was sick from school. I let her sit in the front seat in the school pick up line while we waited for Emma.

Kate: I don’t like those seats back there.

Me: Well, those seats are safer for you to sit in when I’m driving.

Kate: (looks back at the seats) Look at those twisted seatbelts. I hate them. Crooked.

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Kate and I were watching Michael Jackson videos.

Me: Kate, let’s try the lean. Here, I’ll hold you.

Kate: Ok!

Me: Here, I’ll stand in front of you. It’s just like a trust fall but forward. Go.

Kate: No. I trust no one.

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Me: Man, Scott my Michael Jackson costume really was unbelievable. I should do an encore appearance this year for Halloween.

Kate: Knock it off, mom.

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I was helping Emma with geography homework.

Me: Ok, capitol of Rhode Island.

Emma: Rhode Island?

Me: Yes, Rhode Island.

Emma: I didn’t even know Rhode Island was a state.

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Emma: Stop it, Kate! You’re being evil! DAD! Kate’s being mean!

Scott: Emma, have you ever heard of the term don’t throw a rock from a glass house?

Emma: No.

Scott: It means don’t judge others for things you have done too.

Kate: Glass house? I want to live in this glass house.

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Emma: 74 more days of school before summer break!

Kate: 74 more days of mommy making us cold lunch.

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Emma: Kate, what would you do if mom said you had school on Saturday and Sunday?

Kate: Punch her in the face and tell her she’s sick.

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Kate: UGH! Emma is being so annoying. I just want to pee on Emma right now.

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Kate: Will you do my homework?

Me: Ha! You’re crazy. I’m not doing your homework.

Kate: I mean I tell you my answers and you write them down.

Me: Won’t your teacher think I did your homework if it’s in my handwriting?

Kate: Use your left hand to write.

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In the car.

Emma: Mom, can I have your phone?

Me: Nope. You need to look out the windows and see the scenery.

Emma: That’s boring.

Me: Well, that’s what I had to do when I was your age. We didn’t have phones or iPods.

Emma: Oh yeah? But we don’t have a van with swivel seats and a table. You got to ride backwards. And you got to walk around and lay on the floor.

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We were driving to a friend’s birthday party. There was live exotic animals at the party.

Scott: Girls! This party will have real monkeys and kangaroos and a baby tiger!

Emma: Wow! I can’t wait to see the monkey!

Kate: I hope the monkey pees on Emma’s face.

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Kate: Do people leave their Christmas trees up all year?

Me: Ummm…maybe? I don’t know anyone that does that.

Emma: That’s only the crazy ones, Kate.

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Kate was getting dressed after a bath.

Kate: Look! My hands are all wrinkly.

Emma: That means you’re dying of old age, Kate.

Kate: (cries)

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I was quizzing the girls on family trivia.

Me: I was hospitalized for a week at Children’s Mercy when I was in 4th grade. Why was I at the hospital?

Emma: That scar on your lip from when Aunt JJ bit you.

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Kate: MOM! MOM!

Me: I’ll be in a second, Kate!

Kate: Mom! I need your help!

Me: Hold please!

Kate: Mom!

(I finally run upstairs.)

Me: What do you need? OH MY GOSH, KATE! Why are all your clothes that were hanging up on the floor? Did you do this?

Kate: You wouldn’t hurry up so I pulled them all down.

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Me: Kate, what would you buy if we won the $700 million Powerball?

Kate: A jeep.

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I was in Kate’s room, helping her get dressed.

Kate: I want to wear your shirt today.

Me: You want me to take off my shirt, give it to you and then walk downstairs without a shirt?

Kate: (shrugs) Everyone has boobies.

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Emma and I were alone in the house, at night.

Me: Emma, what’s that noise? Hear it? Sounds like something is scratching the window?

Emma: Hm, I hear it. I don’t know.

Me: It’s freaking me out. Maybe I should go look.

Emma: Just turn some loud music on and ignore it.

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I walked into the kitchen. Kate was eating cereal at the table.

Me: Hey.

Kate: This is not a dream.

Me: What?

Kate: This is not a dream.

Me: Ew, you’re freaking me out.

Kate: (stares at me, continues eating cereal)

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Kate: Papa said you cried when you got your ears pierced.

Me: I’m sure I did. I was only two.

Kate: I didn’t cry. I just sat here, like this. (holds still, looks straight ahead)

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Scott: Girls, let’s buy a boat.

Kate: Or a yacht.

Scott: How do you even know what a yacht is?

Kate: …….

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Emma: Mom. Would you rather.

Me: Oh great.

Emma: Would you rather get run over by a car or get shot in the head like Lincoln did.

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Is your kid hilarious? Of course they are!

If you have any kid sayings that you would like to see here, please email me at: jbugbytes@gmail.com

Your child’s name will be kept anonymous.

Special Edition: Oh Kids.

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Kid: I don’t like puppy dogs but I sure do like their tails.

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Kid: Can I pet your dog’s eyes?

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Kid: Hey mom! The clouds look like water today. I bet God is fishing.

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Kid: (playing upstairs, yelling) You aren’t supposed to say shit in our house!

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Kid: Daddy drives with his knee all the time, mom. But I’m a better driver. I can drive with my face.

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The family was driving down the road and came across the smell of a skunk.

Kid 1: Ewww! It’s getting worser!

Kid 2: Worser isn’t even a word.

Kid: Sure it is. You just add an ‘r’ to the end.

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Rules of the game.

I’m going to piss a lot of people off in this post.

Good. That means you have passion. That’s the power of sports.

I probably won’t make any sense and I may snap at the word “relax” but that’s the power of being a woman.

The timing of this post is perfect because I’m not on a sports high or a low. My emotions are in neutral. My teams are out. The only thing I can hope for is the Denver Broncos to trip up and lose (again) in the Super Bowl and for KU to break some kind major NCAA rule and thrown out of basketball forever.

I have a rage. I do. I’ll admit it. I would call the Devil himself to sit down with me to bargain how we can make K-State win a National Title, the Kansas City Chiefs win the Super Bowl and the Kansas City Royals win the World Ser – well, wait a minute here.

This is how all sports fans should be.

My rules of the game*

*Please refrain from throwing your plastic rats at me. These are my rules. I won’t call you out for breaking my rules. This is satire. Mostly.

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You root for your birthplace professional team.

If you were born in Portland, Oregon, you root for the Seattle Seahawks. If you were born in Tennessee, you root for the Nashville Predators. If you were born in Chicago, congratulations! You get to choose between the White Sox and the ‘ole Cubbies. But you pick one – do not waiver. You were placed on earth in one spot. That spot determines your sports loyalties.

Exceptions: Take my husband, Scott – he was born in Wichita, Kansas but grew up in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. Under rule number 1, he should root for the Kansas City professional teams. But growing up, he rooted for Miami teams. This is called half-ass rooting. It’s acceptable to half-ass root for the city’s team you live in. Half-ass means no body paint allowed. A polite clap for a touchdown. And no trash talking because this is not where your loyalties are. 

You root for the college you attended.

This should be a no-brainer. You root for the thousands of dollars you put into your education. Did you go to a small, private college that no one has heard of? Good. Root for them. They need your support. If your college doesn’t have collegiate sports then you should have picked another college. By all means – do not jump on Alabama’s bandwagon. Roll tiding my eyes out of my sockets. There is a certain pride that comes with rooting for your own college. You have a history. The university will follow you on your career journey. It becomes blood family.

Exceptions: Your spouse and children. If you didn’t attend college but your spouse/child did, rooting for your spouse or kid’s college is acceptable. If you attended a different college than your spouse/kid, you always root for your own college. It makes conversations at the dinner table much more entertaining. If you went to two or more colleges, you pick one – do not waiver.

Another exception: You didn’t go to college. You are not married and don’t have kids. You pick one – do not waiver. 

How to handle rivals.

Never wear rival colors. Put it in your head that the rival colors are always out of style. Have you ever seen me wear anything orange? Gross. Have you ever seen me wear a red shirt with blue jeans? No. I don’t root for KU.

As psychotic as that sounds, I am still a nice person. I have family and friends that root for my rivals. And that’s fine. I love those individuals. I just don’t like their team and fan base as a whole. All you have to say it, “I love you Dan. I cherish your friendship – I just don’t like your Broncos.” 

How to handle the Ws.

Ah. Your team won a huge game. You are given 24 hours to celebrate big. Buy the bar a round. Jump on your bed in PJs. Wake up the kids. Shoot fireworks off in your driveway. Trash talk the other team. Turn on SportsTalk radio. Call in – go ahead. Gloat. You deserve it.

And then stop.

Anything more than 24 hours of excessive celebration is annoying. And you are walking a fine line into a territory called sports karma. Your team will lose the next game if you don’t get your act together.

Exception: When it’s not just a big game, when it’s a championship title – your excessive celebration is allowed to continue until the start of next season. And then stop. We get it. You’re in the history books.

How to handle the Ls

With the highs, come the lows. You take it. You make good on your bets.

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You are allowed 24 hours of deep depression. Don’t talk to anyone. Snap at others. Don’t take a shower. Get your heart checked because you could have swore you suffered a mini heart attack last night. Vow to never watch sports again. Blame the refs. Often times, comfort can be found by talking with other fans in mourning. Sometimes your team will have losing streaks that last years. Don’t you dare give up – look at the Kansas City Royals and my impending death by the Devil.

Bandwagon fans.

There are two types of bandwagon fans.

Fan #1: Your team is out. There are two teams remaining. The nachos taste much better if you have a team to cheer for. What’s there to lose? This is fine to jump on a bandwagon. But only half-ass rooting.

Fan #2: Oh God. These people root for the winningest teams in all sports. They may be a North Carolina NCAA basketball fan and a Texas football fan and a New England Patriots fan and a New York Yankee baseball fan. This is not allowed. You will be written off by others as an asshole. There. I said it.

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I know, I know – this is a free country. You can cheer for whoever you want. But speaking of free country, I don’t know anyone that was born in the United States that cheers for, oh I don’t know – Mexico in the Olympics because you grew up loving the thought of 80 degree winters.

You cheer where you hail from.

I realize Scott is probably right in saying I’m going to be burned at the stake for this post. Ha! Sports witchcraft. My cauldron.

Good. We have passion. And this is satire. Mostly.

bob2

Bob. Part 2.

Hi, my name is Julie. My husband is Scott.

We have two school-aged girls, Emma and Kate. We also have two dogs, Belle and Stella. We are the Burtons.

Oh!

One more family member – Bob. We can’t forget Bob.

They say kids who have imaginary friends generally turn out to be highly creative adults. There’s nothing wrong with your child if they have an imaginary friend. In fact, “play along with them!” they say.

I would like to challenge the psychologists – but what if Kate’s imaginary friend is her fart, named Bob? There’s something wrong with my family.

This is a part 2. An extension of Bob.

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Kate: Mommy, will you cuddle with me in bed?

Me: Ok, but only for a few minutes. I have some writing to do. (I pull the blankets over us)

Kate: Oh! Ha! Bob get out of here. (waves the blankets)

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Me: Hey will you get me some scissors from the kitchen?

Kate: Sure. I gotta take Bob for a walk anyway.

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Me: Scott, did I tell you Bob called to have me text him a picture of Emma’s buck? His neighbors are impressed.

Scott: Ha! Awesome.

Kate: (jumps into doorway) Did you say BOB called you?

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Kate: WHOA! Bob is a big boy today!

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We were in the school drop off line. The girls started to climb out of the car.

Kate: Well, hold on a second. Let me leave Bob here before I go.

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Kate held out her two fists.

Kate: Pick one.

Me: Hmmmm. This one.

Kate: (opens her fist, nothing inside) Ha! That’s Bob! (put her hand under my nose)

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Me: Ugh. Kate. Your breath. Go brush your teeth.

Kate: I already did. Bob is standing right next to you.

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Me: Where’s Bob at today, Kate? I haven’t heard him lately.

Kate: In my butt.

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Kate: Ugh. I have a hair in my butt.

Me: What.

Kate: (pulls out a long blonde hair from her pants)

Me: Oh. Yeah that happens sometimes. It’s annoying when hair falls down your shirt too.

Kate: Bob was playing jump rope. Ha! Cute.

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Me: I need to run in the gas station really quick.

Emma: Can we stay here?

Me: Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll turn car off and lock it. Don’t open the door or the alarm will go off. I’ll be watching you the whole time so don’t start fighting.

(I go into gas station, make my purchase then come back out and get in car.)

Me: Were you guys good….OH MY GOD.

Kate: Bob snuck in!

Emma: Put the windows down, mom! I’m dying. I’m locked in here.

Kate: Bob smells good, Emma. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

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Kate: I just fluffed.

Me: WHAT.

Scott: What’s fluffed?

Kate: It’s a secret word.

Emma: She changed Bob to fluffed.

(I stare at Scott)

Me: SCOTT.

Scott: What?

Me: (whisper) Do you know what that means?

Scott: No, what?

Me: It’s something bad. Porn bad. I think…where did I hear this…50 Shades of Grey?

Scott: WHAT?!

Me: Hold on. Oh dear.

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owls

The owls.

Good morning!

The sun is up. The birds are chirping. You’re drinking coffee and dressed to perfection. Some might call you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Or some might call you a squirrel.

Try again.

Good morning!

The sun is up and you want to kill yourself so you can sleep just a little bit longer. I’m kidding. No one is getting stabby. Unless I hear a rooster and a cock-a-doodle-do then I may just chop a rooster head. I’m kidding. I live in suburbia. There are no roosters in suburbia. But there are 8:30 am smiley teachers, 7 am trash truck drivers, and a puppy that needs to pee at 6 am. They’ve all gotten the finger behind their back.

I speak for the night owls. You’ll know one when you see one.

We’ll never grow up.

Quick – who’s the first one to wake up in the house? Your mom. That’s who.

Waking up in the early morning is called adult’ing. Owls are not good at adult’ing. We’re the eternal teenage kid. Jobs and kids may slow us down but we still get our full charge from the moon. We’re at the gym at 10 pm and showered by midnight. And, yes, that would be us sending you texts with gifs at 1 am – “r u awake?”

 

We look our best in dimmed lighting.

We look a little rough around the edges in the morning. I’m not even saying this to fish for compliments – we look rough. We don’t take morning showers, that means we have bed head. We wear sunglasses on a cloudy day. We’re usually missing a shirt button because who can think this early. And we don’t talk much in the mornings because we’re trying to be invisible. No, we’re not sick – our eyelids just won’t fully open until noon. All we can think about is – “how do all these people look so good this early? And why do they keep talking? I just want it to be night time. 

 

Our best work is done in PJs. 

Pajamas. Fluffy socks. Teeth are brushed. Face is clean. The house is quiet. Fireplace on. A nice glass of merlot. The creativity button – turned on. FIRE.

We take pictures of sunsets.

Or maybe it’s a sunrise. Maybe we woke up in time to watch the sunrise. You don’t know us, Instagram. Hashtag sunrise. Hashtag earlybird

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We’re sneaky.

You never hear us pee at night. You never hear us laugh at YouTube videos. You are probably wondering who exploded leftover pasta sauce in the microwave because it was clean the night before. You never hear us practice our dance moves.

We are the masters at making sure your sleep is not disrupted. We want the whole house to ourselves, in complete silence. No distractions. Wait, was that a ghost?

We’re terrible vacationers. 

The hotel cleaning staff hates us for our Do Not Disturb sign. The free continental breakfast is the world’s ploy to get us to wake up early. It never works. I know your tricks, cold eggs and crappy coffee. That’s why brunch was created by a night owl. Oh, and that first early morning flight – or early doctor and dentist appointments for that matter – well, that’s just not going to work out for us. Wheels up at sunset.

The true owls pass their owl tendencies to their children.

Our kids spread their little owlet wings in the night. They sleep until 10 am on the weekends. It’s incredible. The world will never know if this is nature or nurture. But our school-aged kids sleep in at teenage levels, maybe even college. Where’s our parent pride bumper sticker?

 

Are you a night owl or morning bird? Or both? Did adulthood/children change you? What about your spouse and kids? Are they the same or different than you? I don’t think night owls are much different than early birds other than we’re just on a different schedule. I have nothing against an early bird – it’s not you that gets the finger, it’s the morning. Let’s just agree that we all love coffee.

 

heartache-tonight

Heartache Tonight.

I don’t have a cool, concert story about David Bowie.

I don’t feel the heartbreak of the death of Professor Snape, also known as Alan Rickman, in Harry Potter. I’ve only read the books.

And I’ve never been to an Eagles concert.

I heard about the death of Glenn Frey in my car, on the radio.

Me: Oh no!

Emma: What?

Me: Glenn Frey died. He was one of the Eagles. Ok girls, what songs do the Eagles sing?

Emma: Um…wait. Don’t tell me…Um….

Me: Hotel.

Emma: Hotel California!

Me: Here, let’s listen. All these songs remind me of summertime.

Emma: Ha! Yeah, summer in January.

We listened to Hotel California. I skipped around through the classics – Desperado, Life in the Fast Lane, Tequila Sunrise and, Heartbreak Tonight.

Emma: Mom, can I see your phone?

She held her new guitar, the strap around her shoulders.

Me: I can put the Eagles on the speakers in the living room, if you want.

Emma: No, I want to look up the guitar tabs.

Me: The Eagles?! Emma, when the audience cheers during a guitar solo that means it’s really, really hard to do.

Emma: I want to try.

Me: Ok, here you go. Look up the guitar tabs.

Emma opened my phone. She started to strum the first few notes of Tequila Sunrise.

Emma: Does that sound right?

Me: Hey! Yeah, that’s Tequila Sunrise! That’s really good, Em! I hear it!

Emma: Can I take guitar lessons so I can read the notes? I want to play that Hotel California guitar solo.

Kate: How do you spell Tequila?

I couldn’t tell you what Glenn Frey looked like. I couldn’t tell you which lyrics he wrote or which notes he composed. I couldn’t even tell you which instrument he played. But my ears know him at the sound of the first strum.

And with that first strum, the mood instantly changes to happy and carefree. The songs make me smile and sing out loud because, well, I actually know all the words. But I can also smell the lime in my beer and feel the hot, sticky air on my skin. That’s what happens when you listen to songs older than you.

Glenn Frey turned a grey, January day into summer again. And just maybe, he gave a new generation the power to recreate summer anytime she wants.

Have you ever been to an Eagles concert? Do you quiz your kids on classic rock? Did you grow up listening to the Eagles? Do you have a song or group that brings back memories? Emma is serious about guitar lessons – anyone know where I can send her in Kansas City?

 

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Bob.

We have an imaginary friend in our house. His name is Bob. If I had to hear about Bob all week, then so should you. My family is not normal.

 

Emma: Mom! Kate farted in my face!

Kate: I named him Bob.

Emma: Mom! She named her fart Bob!

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Scott: Kate just told me she named her fart Bob.

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Scott: I was laying in bed with Kate last night and she said Bob got out of his cage.

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Emma: Kate, you stink.

Kate: Mom, Bob is so addicted to Emma right now.

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Me: What stinks?

Kate: Not me. Bob’s sleepin’.

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Emma: Bob stinks.

Kate: Bob likes the fresh air.

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Kate: Oh! Did you hear Bob? Oh! And there’s his friend Scott.

Scott: WHAT?

Kate: Sometimes Bob brings his friend outside to play.

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Me: (pull up to Chick-Fil-A window)

Kate: (rolls down window)

Me: No, Kate. Put it up.

Kate: Does that worker know Bob?

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Kate: Bob is kinda like a sharpie.

Me: What?

Kate: You know, like the marker. Sometimes he stains.

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Emma: Mom! Roll the windows down!

Me: (roll car windows down)

Kate: Uh, Bob is still in here. Bob likes car rides.

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Emma: Do you let Bob out at school?

Kate: Sometimes on the playground. But sometimes he follows me. It’s like he’s on a leash or something.

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Kate: (gets in car after school) Finally! Mom, Bob waited all day to see you!

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Kate: (at the table, eating breakfast) Oh, Bob’s awake.

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Me: Kate. Stop. This is gross. Stop talking about Bob.

Kate: Don’t be mean to Bob.

Me: Did your dad teach you to name your farts?

Kate: No. Bob was born that way.

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Kate: My tummy hurts.

Me: Do you have to go to the bathroom?

Kate: Yeah, I think Bob wants out.

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I was changing Kate in bed, before school.

Kate: (opens her eyes) I’m so tired! Oh. Bob’s up. Now I have to get up too.

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Kate: Nana said Chipotle makes a lot of Bobs. Can we have Chipotle for lunch tomorrow?

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Me: Do you talk about Bob in school?

Kate: No.

Me: Do you talk to your friends about Bob at home?

Kate: No. Bob’s shy.

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Kate: Why does that say Bob?

Me: I’m writing about Bob.

Kate: NOOOOOO!

pillow

Pillow Talk.

I made a promise to myself.

Yes, I happened to make a promise to myself in January. But it’s not a resolution. I’m back on my feet again and here we are – in January.

I’m back to writing something, anything, every Monday. I’m forcing myself to write once, maybe twice a week. It might be funny. It might not. It might just be me saying hello and that’s it.

So here we go.

… you guys, I got nothin’.

To the draft folder! I wrote this a few days before my niece had emergency surgery to stop bleeding on her brain. I never published this post because, at the time, my world paused. This conversation hid in my drafts for over two years.

Until today. Because this is much funnier than saying hello.

*Notes: Scott isn’t on Twitter anymore. I’m 34 now. My clothing choice reflects the warm night, not January. But I still hold true to my argument – sleeping in lingerie sucks.

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Scott: Can I tweet I hate sports bras?

Me: I don’t care what you tweet. What do you mean you hate sports bras? Do you want every guy at the gym to ogle women?

Scott: No. I mean I hate that you wear sports bras to bed.

Me: Um, my boobs are still perky after two breastfed babies. And I’m 31. You’re welcome. Perky-ish.

Scott: And they also shrunk. What are you wearing? A onesie?

Me: It’s called a romper. It’s comfortable.

Scott: It’s a onesie. With a sports bra. Take off the sports bra!

Me: No!

Scott: You’re like Fort Knox!

Me: Fine. What would you like for me to wear to bed, sweet husband of mine?

Scott: Lingerie.

Me: No. I mean to sleep in. I get the whole lingerie thing. Whatever. But I’m not sleeping in that. I get cold. And the girls would see me in the morning and they’ll be all “Oooooo. Pretty lacy red dress. You look pretty, mommy! Can I try it on? It’s my size!”  Next thing you know they will be showing their friends their new dress up clothes in my closet drawer.

Scott: You have a lingerie drawer?

Me: Yes.

Scott: Never knew that.

Me: I just want to be comfortable when I sleep. Sports bra. T-shirt. PJ shorts.

Scott: Wait, where is this red, lacy lingerie?

Me: In. My. Lingerie. Drawer. This is like me asking you to go to bed with a tool belt on and nothing else. You can’t sleep in that.

Scott: You want me to wear a tool belt?

Me: Oh my God. It doesn’t matter! Tool belts, lingerie, sports bras and t-shirt, WE END UP NAKED ANYWAY. Gah!

Scott: Don’t hate on Victoria.

Me: Who the hell is Vic-oh my God. And don’t hate on her secret too?

Scott: Don’t hate on Victoria.

Me: I love Victoria’s Secret. They sell sports bras. And let me tell you something – every advertisement for Victoria Secret is photoshopped. The real Victoria wakes up with a boob popped out of the lingerie, a string stuck up her ass, like way up. And that ass is far from clean the next morning because Victoria farts in her sleep. She has no make up and morning breath. Morning breath that will make you turn away. But you wouldn’t know this because she stole the giant comforter from you and has it wrapped twice around her body because she’s freezing. And don’t get me started on wearing heels to bed.

Scott: Sorry, I’m a man. I just want to see my beautiful wife in lingerie.

Me: Look all you want, take it off, wear it yourself. But when it’s time to sleep, I’m changing to something comfortable. You shouldn’t care what I’m sleeping in because you will be sleeping too, dreaming of me.

Scott: In a onesie and a sports bra at Fort Knox.

Ladies, tell him I’m right on this one – we’re freezing when we wake up the next morning. Do you enjoy wearing lingerie? Do you enjoy actually sleeping in it? Do all men agree with Scott? Do all men want to see their beautiful wife/girlfriend/lover in lingerie? Or do you want to see her in whatever makes her happy?

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50 happy things.

I don’t watch TV.

I don’t have a reason why. I would rather spend my time doing other things – like cruising the Internet. Blogs are my TV shows. My entertainment. The beauty of reading a blog post is that you can respond and, most of the time, the blogger will respond back to you. It’s interactive.

Meet Samara. I couldn’t tell you how I found her blog. I was flipping through the channels one day and I stopped. And well, I let you read about her. But to sum it up, I’m Kansas and boring. She’s New York and has better stories. I’m trying to think of two TV shows that can show our differences but I don’t watch TV.

But she definitely wins the Emmy.

Through Samara’s blog I found a string of bloggers writing 50 Happy Things: Bloggers Unite in Flood of Gratitude. 50 things that brought happiness in 2015 – but written in ten minutes.

Here’s Samara’s. 

And here’s mine. 50 things that made me happy in 2015 in ten minutes (I added pictures later, blogging is more time consuming than you think):

1  The Kansas City Royals. World Series Champs 2015. After years of watching a losing baseball team, I’m still shocked at reading this. Wait, what?

2  The Kansas City Chiefs. I love football more. And I love my city.

3  K-State’s head football coach, Bill Snyder. Considering his age, I’ll take every year I can get.

4  Scott Burton. My husband. This list is in no particular order.

5  Screenshots.

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6  Luke Bryan.

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This list is in no particular order.

7  Texting with gifs. 

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8  Nashville, Tennessee.

9  Tennessee whiskey.

10  A new house. It’s beautiful. You should see it sometime.

11  A new puppy.

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12  “A new puppy” with clenched teeth, a new house, and air-quotations.

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13  You know what, I lied. I do watch TV. A show called, Sherlock on Netflix. I watch it everywhere: in bed, in the kitchen, in the pantry, the closet. Benedict Cumberbatch follows me.

14  Google search: Benedict Cumberbatch.

15  A convenient ride of shame at the top of a mountain. The story here. 

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16  Yellowstone National Park.

17  Roadtrips. Well, at least the asshole cop that asked me to leave my car and sit in his gave me a good story to tell.

18  Fishing for yellowfin tuna in the Bahamas. (Translation: that’s good sushi, Kansans.)

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19  Being one of the guys. Farts. Burps. Cussing like a sailor. Peeing in a bucket. I do it all.

20  Watching the United States Coast Guard be on its A-game at midnight. A silent helicopter, a silent boat and BOOM! GIANT SPOTLIGHTS. “GIVE US YOUR PASSPORTS.” I would post a picture but I got my toe stepped on when I tried to hold up my phone.

21  Brett Cannon. Without Brett, I wouldn’t be able to tell my tales on the high seas. And avoiding arrest by the United States Coast Guard for attempting to take a selfie with a helicopter over my head in the middle of the ocean.

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22  Palm trees in November.

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23  Frequent flyer miles.

24  Admitting when life gets difficult. Coming up with 50 things is hard.

25  Admitting when you’re repeating the same story over and over. Like a drunk person. Or repeating a years worth of old blog posts in a list of 50 happy things.

26  Oh Emma.

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27  Oh Kate. 

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28  Oh Emma, Oh Kate.

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29  Cul-de-sac living. More Suburbia Ave. stories coming in 2016! My neighbors don’t know this yet. I’m waving.

30  Good music.

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31  Born in the USA.

32  Now that I think about it, Scott should totally be Bruce Springsteen for Halloween.

33  Honesty.  “You have a spice in your tooth.” “Your fly is down.” “You look way better with long hair than short.” I need more people like this in my life.

34  A job I love.  I write for Simply KC magazine. I interview the people of Kansas City. I like telling their story to a large audience without having to actually stand in front of a large audience.

35  This blog.  I write about my life as it happens. But without an editor. Typos are all me.

36  You fine people reading this blog.  The ones I have never met in person.

37  The people reading this blog and shaking their head because they actually know me.  Stop it or I’ll write about you.

38  Moving.

39  Along.

40  Dead coyotes.

41  Epidurals. For Scott, not me.

42  Finally accepting my big hair. I used to hate it. Now I can rock a night out in Nashville like no one else.

43  Accepting that I’m only human.

44  Carbs.

45  The gym.

46  Sculpted shoulders. 

47  3.

48  2.

49  1.

50  Time’s up.

 

What made you happy in 2015? You don’t need to be a blogger to tell me. 

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I took the Christmas tree down on Christmas.

Last night –

Scott: You are the only one on earth taking down a Christmas tree on Christmas.

Me: Doubt it. Hold on a second.

Google search: current time in Australia

Me: Me and the people in Australia where it is 3:11 pm, tomorrow.

Scott: You’re insane.

Me:  And the Type A people. Wait.

Google search: type A personality

Scott: You’re not Type A. Get off your phone.

Me: Look at you on the couch with your phone! You’re not even helping me!

Scott: I’m not helping taking down a Christmas tree on Christmas.

Me: The holidays are over.

Scott: It’s still Christmas.

Me: I’ll be overwhelmed tomorrow seeing all this Christmas stuff up.

Scott: Leave it until New Years.

Me: No, that’s way too long. Your dog keeps drinking the tree water. This tree is dead.

Scott: It was dead when we bought it. I’m going to bed.

Me: Fine. I’m done anyway. This tree is ready to feed the fish.

Scott: The fish don’t eat it. It’s a hiding place.

Google search: why do you throw a christmas tree in a pond.

Me: Damnit. Whatever.

Scott: Get off your phone.

In bed –

Me: You know, I can think of several people we know that will have Christmas decorations put away by tomorrow.

Scott: Goodnight.

Google search: when to take down a Christmas tree. 

 Me: What the hell is this. Sometime in between January 1st and January 15th. Some celebrate the 12 days of Christmas. Who celebrates the 12 days of Christmas? Never heard of it.

Scott: Told you.

Me: The 12 days of Christmas are just an excuse to be lazy. Ah! FOUND IT. Before December 31st – take your tree down before the bells toll at midnight. Otherwise, it’s said you’ll be dragging all your baggage and bad luck from last year into the new year. BOOM. There we go. My people. Checking off my list of crap to do.

Is your tree down? Will it be down before December 31st? Or will you wait until January? You don’t want to be carrying that bad baggage over, do you? Are you on your phone a lot because you’re winning arguments with your spouse by google? 

 

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Oh Emma, Oh Kate.

I took Kate to a public restroom. I walked inside a stall then turned around and waited. Kate walked in.

Me: Wait. There’s no more toilet paper in that one. Wait for another.

Kate: I just won’t wipe.

Me: I don’t think so. You will wipe.

Kate:  Ugh, fine.

We wait for another stall.

Kate: Got a turtlehead poking out now.

Me: DAMNIT, SCOTT!

Kate: Why did you say dammit, Scott?

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Kate: I hate school assemblies.

Me: Why?

Emma: The principal just talks and talks.

Kate: Yeah. And she never claps for herself. She just stops talking and waits for us to clap.

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Me: Kate, do you want a croissant sandwich for lunch tomorrow?

Kate: I hate them.

Me: I’ve packed them in your lunch before.

Kate: Well, I accidentally drop them on the floor at lunch. All of them.

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Emma: I love ice skating.

Scott: I do too. You know what it reminds me of? Charlie Brown!

Kate: Remember the part in the movie when Charlie Brown gets naked?

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We went to Crown Center in Kansas City. We ice skated outside then walked around the “mall” part. Inside, a kids choir was singing Christmas carols.

Scott: Let’s watch the kids sing for a little bit.

Kate: What is this, like church or something?

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I tucked Kate in bed and walked out of her room.

Kate: Mommy!

Me: Yes.

Kate: Will you come back later and take a picture of me sleeping?

Me: What? Why?

Kate: I want to see what I look like.

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Kate: Simon says touch your nose.

Me: (touch nose)

Kate: Simon says touch your cheek.

Me: (touch cheek)

Kate: Simon says fart.

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Me: Are you done murdering your sister?

Kate: Yeah.

Me: And what do you say?

Kate: Sorry.

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I brought the girls to a pet store to get the dogs some food. We stopped by the puppies and a store employee asked if we wanted to hold one. The girls picked out a puppy to play with.

Kate: I want to take this puppy home with us!

Emma: Kate, they turn into monsters like Stella. Don’t let them trick you. Believe me, you DON’T want this puppy.

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Emma has allergies that makes her cough. It gets bad at night. I was giving her medicine before she went to bed.

Emma: I hate this medicine.

Me: Here, drink it fast then drink something you like right after. It’s called a shooter and a chaser.

(I get her some chocolate milk)

Emma: Ok. Got my shooter (holds up medicine). And I got my catcher (holds up chocolate milk).

Me: CHASER. The shooter and the chaser!

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Emma: If you get hurt, sometimes you will get another person’s blood.

Kate: WHAT!

Me: She’s right. If you lose enough blood, a hospital will give you someone else’s. People donate blood. Kate, you have some weird blood type. Emma and I are normal.

Emma: What do you mean?

Me: There are different types of blood. Emma and I are O negative. We can give blood to anyone, it doesn’t matter what their blood type is. Kate, I think you and daddy are A negative or something. You can only give to people with your blood type. It won’t match with everyone. Something like that.

Scott: Kate! We’re like blood brothers!

Kate: Blood sisters.

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Kate: AH! I have a paper cut!

Me: Are you bleeding bad? Do you need a band-aid?

Kate: I’m at about 10%.

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Kate: I drawed you something.

Me: Cute! Wait, who’s it for? You wrote ‘to mom or dad or question mark.’

Kate: I couldn’t decide who to make it for.

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Kate: Look at my toy I got from school for being good!

Me: Oh, that’s kinda cute.

Emma: It’s made in China. (walks off)

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Kate: If you work at McDonald’s, you have less money.

Me: Who told you that?

Kate: I made it up.

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I was listening to “Linus and Lucy” on Christmas radio. It’s all instrumental.

Emma: Hey, this is Snoopy!

Me: It’s called Linus and Lucy.

Kate: Ugh! Just start singing!

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Kate: You jingleberry!

Me: What did you call her?

Emma: Daddy told us what a dingleberry is and she keeps saying it wrong.

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The girls and I were jogging in the parking lot towards the gym doors because it was cold.

Kate: Let’s have a race!

Me: Ok.

Kate: (takes off, yells over her shoulder) LAST ONE IS A ROTTEN FISH EGG!

Me: A rotten fish egg?

Emma: Mom, she makes up random stuff.

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We were eating at a Mexican restaurant. A waiter put Kate’s water down in front of her.

Kate: NO ME TOQUES!

Waiter laughs.

Me: What?

Kate: Spanish. Means don’t touch me.

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I told Kate to brush her teeth.

Kate: You’re not the boss of me.

Me: Uh, yes I am. I am your mom.

Kate: (scrunches nose) Then you can’t control me.

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Emma was picking up dog poop in our back yard. Our neighbor was outside in back.

Neighbor: Hey Emma!

Emma: Hi!

Neighbor: Will you come pick up my yard too?

Emma: (laughs)

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Me: Do you want me to put on the jets in the tub?

Kate: No, I only have the jets on when I’m at Nana’s.

Me: My tub does the exact same thing.

Kate: But I can only really relax at Nana’s.

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Kate called Emma into my bathroom while she was taking a bath.

Emma busts open my door.

Emma: MOM!

Me: What?

Emma: All she wanted was for me to come in there to watch bubbles float to the top from her farting.

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Kate: MOM! The book fair was today! You didn’t give me any money!

Me: It goes all week. I’ll give you some money tomorrow.

Kate: I’ll just tell Nina (grandma) to give me money from the bank she works at. One hundred dollars.

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We were racing Scott home from the gym.

Me: Good thing you stayed with me! We beat daddy home!

Kate: FO SHO.

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Me: Hey, will you bring me a candy cane?

Kate: Nope. Sorry. You have braces. No hard candy.

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Emma: Mom, did you know my gymnastics teacher is 16?

Me: Yeah, she looks it.

Emma: Yeah, she does. SO OLD.

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Me: Who wants marshmallows in their hot chocolate?

Kate: Me!

Emma: Not feeling the marshmallows today.

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Kate: Who lives in apartments?

Me: Lots of people. It’s cheaper than buying. Or if you need to live somewhere for a temporary amount of time. Like when you go to college, you’ll probably live in an apartment.

Kate: YAY! I can leave at midnight whenever I want!

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I was quizzing Kate on her spelling words.

Me: Spell but.

Kate: Y-O-U-B-U-T-T.

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I was in Florida with the girls and we stayed at a hotel. Our TV kept turning on and off by itself. I called the front desk for a maintenance guy. Maintenance shows up.

Me: It keeps turning on while we’re sleeping and now it won’t shut off.

Maintenance: Sometimes these TVs short out. If you unplug it, it should take care of it.

Me: Or it’s a ghost.

Emma: MOM. STOP.

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Me: What should we get daddy for Christmas?

Kate: A box of macaroni and cheese.

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Merry Christmas! Love,

Scott, Julie, Emma, Kate, Belle and Stella Burton