Random stuff

Some random stuff Biscuit has been doing:

Lock the door: I got up this morning, and as I walked toward the living room, I realized that the front door was unlocked. I was the first one up.

Jeff used to have a bad habit of not locking the door when he comes home, but I thought I had finally broken him of it.

I walked into the bedroom and yelled at Jeff, "Jeff! You have GOT to start locking the front door! We don't live in some tiny, little crimeless town!"

Jeff didn't say anything. I just figured he was ignoring me because I yelled at him. Actually, he was trying not to rat out his son.

When I walked back into the living room, guess who I found standing there locking and unlocking the front door?!? Biscuit had gone behind us and unlocked the door last night. I'm normally pretty good about checking, but from now on, I'll be even more diligent about it.

Plus, we had a little chat with Biscuit about when he can and can't mess with the door locks.

We ate what?!? Jeff, Biscuit and I went out for a nice dinner recently, and Biscuit couldn't decide how he felt about what we ate.

Biscuit and I shared an appetizer of wontons stars with crab and cream cheese, then we shared an order of honey chicken. Jeff ordered the dinner special, which was broiled lobster and shrimp.

When Jeff's food came out, the lobster was resting on top of the tail it came from. Biscuit looked at it and said, "Dad, what in the WORLD is that?"

"That's lobster, boy," Jeff said.

"But not like lobster that you find on the beach," Biscuit said.

"Well, yeah, it's that kind of lobster," Jeff said.

"LOBSTER?!?" Biscuit said with his head tilted to the side.

"You know those crunchy things you and I ate earlier?" I asked Biscuit. "They had crab in them."

"But not the kind of crab you see on the beach," Biscuit said.

"Yep. It's that kind of crab," I said.

I'm fearing conversations about chicken, pigs and shrimp will be soon to come.

Busted: Biscuit and I were driving home this evening on a four-lane highway.

"Mom, how many miles per hour are we driving?" Biscuit asked.

"We're driving 58 miles per hour," I answered.

"What's the speed limit, Mom?" Biscuit asked.

"The speed limit is 55 miles per hour," I said.

"Mom, is 58 more than 55?" Biscuit asked.

"Yes. 58 is more than 55," I said.

"So you need to slow down, right?" Biscuit asked.

"Yeah, I guess I do," I told him.

Maybe next time he asks, I'll fudge it a little!