Olof has a bad habit of doing “just one more thing” right at bedtime, so that we almost always get to bed much later than I’d like. Last night, I asked him at least a dozen times if we could go to bed–with all the kids and dogs and cats and whatnot, there’s no such thing as just going to bed on my own–before he finally got around to saving his Nintendo game and turning the machine off. When he then came into the office and sat behind the computer instead of taking the dogs outside and going to brush his teeth, I said, testily, “Olof, do you want to get a divorce?”

When he didn’t respond, but kept reading his email, Lydia started sing-songing, “Mom and Dad are gonna get a divorce, Mom and Dad are gonna get a divorce.”

“It’s never going to happen, Lydia,” I assured her.

“Then why did you say it?”

“She thinks she’s funny,” Olof interjected, turning around on me one of my oft-repeated observations about him, and we both started laughing.

Not quite in on the joke, Lydia shook her head and said resignedly, “Mom, I’m just telling you … someday you’re going to go too far.”