Saturday night I did not feel like cooking. I hate cooking to begin with, but I really didn't feel like making the boys anything to eat.

The thought of standing in front of the stove gave me hives and I already had a fever from the flu Trace and I had been battling all week.

So we decided to take the kids to Apple Betty's Buffet for supper, their favorite place to go.

It was busy as usual. Trace was in high form, hugging the waitresses when we walked in like he was a rock star or something. I hate to admit it but the kid is good for only being three years old at causing a room to stop dead and have all eyes land upon his blond curls and baby blues as he struts his stuff.

Anyhow, so we are eating when my little terror decides he's going to stand up on the booth seat and bug the people dining directly behind us, something all toddlers love doing. Cause and effect is real big with monkey (Trace). He absolutely loves the attention. And he had these people cracking up with his faces and questions he was asking, though I'm sure they couldn't understand a word he was saying because he talks too damn quick for anyone but myself and Cas to understand, and even we need a translator every now and then.

I turned to him and asked him to sit down, quietly but firmly of course so that good people behind us trying to enjoy their meal could eat in peace. Now bear in mind my monkey doesn't like to listen. In fact he does the complete but normal opposite as any almost three year would and completely ignores me until I'm red in the face screaming. And yes I do scream at my children, even for fun.

"Sit down!" I said again more firmly. That's when he paused and tilting his head sideways he cocked his jaw and looked at me, rolling his eyes.

"Mom, I'm talking to the humans," he said as though I were the dumbest parent on the planet and how dare I interrupt his exploration of our small and somewhat retarded race to which he was quite pleasantly gathering information to take back to space craft and share with his fellow alien brothers high in the sky.

Milk came out my nose. Yes I laughed. I laughed so hard. What else could I do? He's three. He has a way of making me feel five years old. It's a gift I know that is going to wind up biting me in the ass later, but right now I find it absolutely hilarious the shit he says. I can't help it. He cracks me.

Kid have their own language and way of saying things. Jake had Jakeneese, a version of made up words and meaning that used to cause Cas and I to crack up with laughter. Even now at nine he's coming up with new words, like PONED. Definition: when someone beats you at something and owns your ass. All the kids are saying it. Of course he doesn't say ass, Jake because I would make him brush his teeth with soap. I know you are saying (um-mm mom you cuss) yes I do but not in front of the kids, only you good folks here and occasionally at the odd idiot who can't drive on the right side of the road in front of us.

Trace has his own language, too. Trace Talk is what we call it and every day we look forward to the funny and (not so funny) things he says as he is learning and discovering. That's the fun of being a parent. To gather all the crap our kids do and say so we can torture them with it later when they bring home that girl they really like or introduce us to that teacher they want to impress.

I love my job!