James made dinner, pork chops soaked in a bourbon brine, and we sat at the table eating while the kids were playing. Ethan was building various structures with Lincoln Logs and calling out important tid bits for us to know about his architectural pursuits.

me: this is so good.
ethan: THIS HOUSE IS FOR ME, AND MOMMY, AND DADDY AND JOCELYN.
me: i think this might be the best food…
ethan: NOW I’M BUILDING A WALL!
me: … ever. in my life.
ethan: IT HAS A DOOR, MOMMY.
me: it is so good. mmmmm.
ethan: IT HAS A WINDOW, DADDY.
me: my mouth just had an orgasm.
james: (to ethan) Really! (to me:) Did you hear that? It has a window. So it’s good, huh?
me: Just wait til YOU try it. You may never need to have sex again.
(ethan comes around the corner holding something.)

ethan: This is a sign! It goes outside my house! It says, (and he points at the sign carefully, moving his finger to where the imaginary words are as he says them) NO ROBOTS ALLOWED, ONLY LOBSTERS.

james: lobsters?
me, still basking in brined pork chop afterglow: Huh?
ethan: Yes. Lobsters can come in, because we have a grill.
(james and I blink at each other. I am thinking about brining tomorrow morning’s poptarts. brining is good. brining is brilliant.)
james: a grill?
me: Seriously, brining was the best thing invented ever. Let’s brine the children. Then they’ll go off to school even better and cuter than they are and they’ll make good choices and become geniuses.
ethan: Yes, a grill. Then, the lobster pinches our nose with it’s claw, we will just cook them up on the grill. And eat them!
me: (still talking about brining the children) And if that doesn’t work, then if they’re bad we can eat them and they’ll be DELICIOUS.
-fini-

I think we need a sign outside of our house.

NO ROBOTS ALLOWED. ONLY LOBSTERS. BRINED LOBSTERS.