Carl: Oh these look good.
Me [grins]: Mini tiramisu parfaits. You’re welcome.
10-year-old: Can I have one?
Me: You can have two if you want.
Carl [takes] huge bite]: Oh…
Me: Good, right?
10-year-old: You know what? I forgot I had more homework to do [runs away quickly before she can be interrogated].
Carl [mouth full]: Nothing.
Me: Don’t make me stab you. Spill it.
Carl: Ugh. These taste like feet.
Me: Why is it when you don’t like something you always equate it to tasting like feet.
Carl: Because feet are gross. Please don’t make these. Ever.
Toddler [throws spoon at me]: Mommy bad!
8-year-old: Hey, these are really good.
Carl: Did Mommy pay you to say that?
8-year-old: No [looks at me].
8-year-old: Can I get some money anyway for my good taste and for future comments?