“Littering fine”? They think littering’s fine?
— Éa
Éa: What’s a placenta?
Sullivan: What!? You don’t know what a placenta is? Mom, we have failed.
Carla: Why can’t I be a ten-year-old boy? I’ve always wanted to dress like a ten-year-old boy!
Scott: You often do.
I must learn how to recognize when it is time to take a break. It is a combination of the demands of my soul and the demands of the world around me. At some crossover point the demands of my soul win.
[overheard while Sullivan and Éa build a precarious fort]:
Éa: Sully, did you just swear!?
Sullivan: What!? No!
Éa: No really, Sully, did you say the S word?
Sullivan: No! Only Mom does that!
I enjoyed today how although I was worried that I wasn’t going to be able to bring anything to church, at the last minute as we approached our taking of the wine and bread, I thought of “What A Friend I’ve Found” by Delirious?, which I had just run through with Carla, the Rookes, and Ben last weekend on a whim. I need to remember not to worry so much. Just follow my whim. Especially with music making. I ought not make music simply because I have a voice for it. I ought to make music when it is in the service of love only. Is love the post hoc pretext that covers a selfish ambition for praise or usefulness? Or is love the actual, prompting reason I’m doing the singing? Let it always be the latter.
Carla reports that last night, out of the blue before bed, Éa said, “I think that Daddy’s mune to stuff.”
“You think he’s immune? To what?” replied Carla.
“No, the opposite of that. Mune.”
“I don’t think that’s a word.”
“Really? Well then what’s the opposite of ‘immune’?”
“Susceptible.”
“What?! That sounds like some sort of a….PORT a potty! …like ‘appropriate receptacle’! (lots of laughter by both parties)”
And then I wrapped my ankle brace around my uterus.
— Carla
Carla: Scott, you’re not perfect.
Scott: I know. But I’m trying!
Today, watching a fan while I was supposed to listening in math class, I figured out how servo motors work.
— Sullivan
My feelings aren’t the most articulate bunch of neuronal events.
— Scott
Éa [doing math]: Mom, is two minus six plus ten six?
Carla: Umm…wait a minute…
Éa: Also known as twelve minus six equals six.
Scott: Umm…wait…
Scott: Sometimes I wish I were the smaller one.
Carla: Why, so you could beat me up?
Carla, after a long evening trimming the hedges: Whew, that was a lot of work. Éa, when you grow up, do you want to be the man of the house?
Éa, matter of factly: I hope so.
Oh my gosh. Jesus.
— Carla
“It’s disturbing how many people bring knives on dates.”
— Sullivan, reflecting on romantic carvings in the wooden observatory deck on the Bog Trail at Black Moshannon
“I also have some lead. I want to mail it to my Aunt Joanna in California and see how she reacts.”
— Sullivan, showing off his elements collection
Sullivan: Mom, can you snuggle me?
Carla: I already snuggled you.
Sullivan: But that one didn’t take.
Mom, why is mama’s milk discontinued?
— Éa
“Emotional support feels terrible.”
— Carla
Don’t worry: The water on the floor is tears.
— Éa
Sullivan: Yeah, even Mimi’s inflatable balls are giant! [LAUGHTER] Put that on Familypants, Dad!
Scott: I’m not sure that I will…
If I’m ever going to become a successful scientist, I’m going to need less hair.
— Sullivan
upon seeing Neighbor Dave at his retirement party at The Tavern…
Scott: Do you know what retirement means?
Ea: Yeah! It means giving up.
[five minutes after bedtime lights out]
Sullivan: Mom?
Carla: Yes?! [long pause]
Sullivan: Why, when, or how did burritos originate?