Tastes like chicken (and also, why I can never go out at night again)

Overheard at the Davis house at dinner, trying out a new (to-the-kids) food:

Dean: Mommy, I don't like lamb.
Me: How do you know? You haven't tasted it.
Dean: I did taste it.
Me: Really? What's it taste like then?
Dean: (Thinking)...Chicken.

(That kid cracks me up.)

And then later on before bed:

Cary: Mommy, when kids go to sleep, do parents leave?
Me: No. We just go to bed.
Cary: You don't drive away?
Me: No, honey. We're too tired. We just go straight to bed.
Cary: OK, Mommy. Don't leave!

And...now you know why I can never go on a date with my husband and leave the sleeping kids with a babysitter.

P.S. Happy, happy, happy birthday to my Dad! He turns 61 today. (Such a young man!)

As proof that I have always been a Daddy's girl, here is a poem I wrote for my Dad when I was a teenager. I can't remember how old, but this was clearly during those tumultuous years when I was aching for more freedom and he was shutting. it. down. We fought a lot then -- but you can tell from this poem (unearthed somehow by my sister last month) that I very much missed him.

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("Dumb Company" was the name of my imaginary friend when I was a little girl Yes, I had an imaginary friend. And he was "dumb," not because he was stupid, but because he couldn't talk. Duh!)

Now that I'm a busy parent, I hardly ever get a chance to talk to Dad anymore (we used to talk every day) and I still miss him.

My Dad will always be so big...so big...in my heart.