Good job, Princess. Now, go do that at college.

We just road tripped (1500 miles) our firstborn to college.  If I remember correctly (and believe me, I will write the part of Me much better in my autopseudobiography), what she wanted to be when she grew up was, "taller than Mommy."  (We quit asking that question.)  Good job, Princess.  Now, go do that at college.

Daughter in the Middle's early elementary (Isn't this the group traditionally known and appreciated for their capacity for over the top, tritely praiseful, to the point of occasionally blatantly untrue, sentiments in the pursuit of declaring their love for, and attempting to garner the favor of, the adults most present in their lives?) Mother's Day project for, and about, me included the phrase, "and a pinch of mean."  Honesty is a family value that, when taught early and well, will end up teaching you a thing or two back.  Probably two.

Baby's earliest voiced career aspirations ("Awww."  Silently congratulates self.  "My baby admires me so much she wants to be just like me.  I must be pretty great after all.") turned out to be based entirely on a desire to "sleep all day," which is a real option for grave shift healthcare workers, but not so much for traditional teachers, librarians, etc.

Maybe a good family is just bad enough to make adult kids want to leave, and/or just good enough to make those same adult children want to come back and visit later.

"Your Mom Goes to College!"

Well.  Just solved the inevitable Empty Nest Crisis.
It sure was smart of me to have the foresight to plan my offspring to be two years apart in school.
Number One starts college this fall.  I simply go with her for the first year!  If all is satisfactory, I return "home" for one year.  Number Two starts college.  I go with HER for one year.  Rinse and repeat one more time.
Foolproof.  Or, is it "approved by/for fools?"  (Always get those mixed up.)
*Inspired by the book, Nobody's Mother is in Second Grade, by Robin Pulver

Ninety Percent

One time I was holding court (enthralling whilst educating) on my children with frank education and discussion about a common thread on the TV detective shows we love.  Specifically, I was explaining why the initial primary suspect in a woman's murder was the male partner.  Again.  Always.  Always.
"It's because in Real Life, ninety percent of the time when a woman dies, it's the husband who did it!"  (pause for effect)  Then (slowly and clearly, to ensure they understood the magnitude of this shocking true statistic), "Ninety percent of women are killed by their partners or former partners." 
"You mean ninety percent of murdered women, right, Mommy?"
Details, details.
Just another reason it's probably for the best that I didn't officially homeschool them after all. 
We laughed for a while, considering together the hilarious hypothetical implications.  Legions of hundred year old men being removed in handcuffs from hospitals and funeral homes following the demise of their also hundred year old wives who succumbed to heart attacks, strokes, and other natural causes.
Oh, children, thine ability to appreciate humor in even its most macabre and inappropriate forms doth astound me.  Stay you forever.