Look! A post that actually coinsides with the name of my blog!

After attending my nephew's birthday party on Saturday, I got in the truck after everyone was loaded in. When I was geting in, I realized my niece, Kayla, was in the back seat.

Me: "Oh, I didn't realize Butt-Head was coming home with us." (She's my girl. I use 'Butt-Head' lovingly toward her, so no hate mail.)

Jake: "Dear, I live with you. Of course I'm coming home with you."

Hey! He said it, I didn't.

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Jake and I are ministry leaders (scary, huh?) at our church, so we have to get up at the crack of crack every Sunday to be at the church to get set up in time. Kale was completely disinterested in getting up this morning (or should I say yesterday morning, with it being after midnight and all), but can you really blame the kid? I am NOT a morning person and I highly value my sleep, and so does Kale. Jacob is like his dad and gets up when it's still dark (PHSYCHO!), while Kale and I love to hide under the covers until about 9:00. This particular morning he was highly irritated that we dare try to remove him from his puppy dog dreams and Mom and Dad's fluffy down comforter (sly dog likes to sneak in our bed in the middle of the night ~ like we're not going to notice little heals and elbows jabbing in our backs and ribcages).

While Jake was trying to brush Kale's teeth and comb his out-of-control fro', the following conversation ensued:

(Kale, with a foced frowny-, pouty-face, sitting on the counter with his arms sternly crossed while successfuly blocking Jake's every attempt at combing the fro' and killing the cavity bugs)

Jake: "Kale, are you on a mission to just be difficult today?"

Kale, in a stern, frustrated voice: "Yes!" (trying his hardest to maintain his stern face and NOT smile)

(laughter from the parentals)

I've been trying to convince Jake of Kale's mission in life for some time. Finally! I have been validated!

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Jacob's household job is feeding the dogs twice a day (I know. He's got it rough. Go ahead and call CPS and report me for child abuse). While standing in the laundry room filling their bowls, we hear him from the kitchen conjuring up this forced, squeeky, "I've Lost My Voice" act he's about to try out on us.

Jacob (in a faint whisper / squeek): "Doooooogs. Diiinnnner."

(Insert Jake and I looking at each other and rolling our eyes and grinning)

Jacob (in his regular, really loud-and-clear voice): "Mom and Dad! I think I'm losing my voice!"

Yeah. In my dreams.