I don't know why I'm laughing, because it most certainly is not funny.

First, the background. At Great Wolf Lodge they have this "Magic Quest" game where you take a wand and go on an electronic scavenger hunt. One of the stops is a box with a video of a sleeping, snoring guy who grumpily wakes up when you point your want. To Eddie and Chas, "Snoring Guy" is extremely scary.

So, on day 2 of our most recent visit, we were exhausted and resorted to using the elevator for a couple of items. We got on floor 2 with a big crowd of people, many of whom needed off on floor 4. We were headed to floor 5. So at floro 4, we all jostled and moved to let the 4th floor folks off. Chas says, "Where's Eddie?" I look around. "Where's Eddie?" Chas asks again. Now, as the doors begin closing, I'm on the case, looking around. Steph says he's in here with us, but I didn't see him. As the elevator begins moving up we hear -- from outside the door -- a plaintive (but fading as we rise) wail of "Heeeeey!"

We got out and Steph double-timed it down the flight of stairs to find our boy. He was holding back tears semi-successfully, but lost it when he saw her. Then he told us the worst part -- it happened to be Snoring Guy's floor, and he's right by the elevators. So Eddie was abandoned right next to something he's terrified of. Great moments in parenting. We kept chuckling every time we recounted the story, but Eddie was rightfully upset by this. Because, really, from his perspective, it's not funny now and probably won't be for another couple of decades.

What exit?

So heading to the Great Wolf Lodge yesterday, Steph and I mused how on our first trip there, five months ago, we missed the exit and had to turn around. We were trying to remember which exit to take -- did it say "Grand Mound" or what? From the back of the van comes a voice. "Exit B -- 88," Eddie said.

At least, that's what he remembered. We were amused. Until the exit came into sight. Yup. Exit 88. But no "B" designation. When we left today, however, we glimpsed the exit from the Northbound freeway -- which is the one we took, again, five months ago. That's right. From that direction, there is an A and B designation and our exit was 88 B. I can't remember the number of the exit for our house -- or half the time, where I left my keys. But Eddie can remember an exit from five months ago. He's an odd bird, but a very nice bird to have around.

Making better friends: Why Eddie is destined for playground heartbreak.

OK, so the on-again, off-again friendship between Eddie and Daniel, the boy next door, has been on-again -- albeit with some disagreements. Today, Eddie took it upon himself to try to teach Daniel to read. This effort was not met with enthusiasm and joy.

Steph explained that while Eddie was trying to do a good thing and is a very good teacher, sometimes when your friend is trying to teach you something like that it can make you embarrassed and unhappy which is why Daniel tore up the paper and yelled. Eddie thought about this and it must have seemed reasonable. The next thing I know he's in the office asking me to help him spell "Daniel." He asked me to write it down and leave the room because he needed to do something (which he obviously didn't want me to see.) I was able to catch a peek later. It was a big heart shape with the words "Eddie hrts Daniel" in the middle. He took it to Daniel, explaining that he was trying to make them better friends. Sigh. How to you explain to a 6-year-old about homophobia on the playground and not actually letting people know you care about them because they will interpret that as weakness and use it to taunt and harrass you?

The Secret Tunnel

Tonight the boys asked about the word "retired." Actually, they asked what Grandpa's job is and that was the answer. Steph explained that when you work for many years and you get older, you get to (hopefully) stop working. Eddie said he can't wait for Mama to be retired.

This led to me telling them both that when she's retired they (again, hopefully) won't even be living with us. This blew their very-nearly-6-year-old minds. So we told them they could live with us as long as they want (crossing our fingers as we said it) but that they would probably want to start families of their own and make their own homes. Chas thinks that's a fine idea -- as long as he can move into the house next door. Then he elaborated that not only would he move next door, but he would build an addition that would be a hallway that connects to our front door. Later, it was decided a secret tunnel would be better.

Eddie asked if we'll live in this house forever. I told him we'd live here for a long time, but probably if they moved to California, we'd move there as well. This was hysterical to him -- he said he could just imagine getting on an airplane to go to California and his moms would have to get on the next airplane right behind it.

When the time comes, I shall remind them both that this all -- us living next door, with adjoining houses even, us stalking them if they move out of state -- seemed like a fine idea to them at one point. Their wives (or husbands) are just going to have to be understanding.

The ultimate labor-saving device is an eraser.

Chas hates to color. I mean, really, really hates to color. So today as he did his homework -- writing three words that begin with "J" and then drawing those things -- he was dismayed when I told him he had to color his drawings. He asked me why he had to and I told him it was part of his homework.

Instantly he flipped over to the instruction page for the homework packet. He looked at it intently for a couple of minutes, then looked up at me, pointed to the page and asked, "Where do you see 'color'?" Indeed, the directions did not say he needed to color his drawings. But I persisted.

So he grudgingly turned back to his page, where he had an intricately pencil drawing of a jet, a jar full of jellybeans with more falling in and a plain jar and began erasing the jellybean jar. He then drew in a single jellybean and colored it and the second jar angry red. By which I mean, he made no attempt to disguise his disgust for the requirement by doing something like staying remotely in the lines. "Less coloring," he said when I asked why he got rid of his lovely drawing of jellybeans cascading into a jar.

This is kindergarten homework. What the heck am I going to do when he's in 8th grade????

Mr. Know-It-All

So yesterday I told the boys it was time to do their homework and Eddie protested. "I already know everything so I don't need to homework!"

I knew he was advanced, but I didn't realize he was a teenager already.

So last night, Steph got drunk...

For many people, this wouldn't be a big deal. But let's put this in perspective. The last time I saw her drunk was in 1999. I know this because it's such a rare thing. Anyway, and the last time, I was also drunk.

Because she's a seldom-to-never drinker, it didn't take much to push her over the edge. Three or four shots of God-knows-what. I'm happy to report that she is a happy drunk. A very happy drunk. I, however, was filled with worry and concern that she was going to feel horrible today. I kept giving her glasses of water, which she dutifully drank. People kept giving me the hairy eyeball and telling me not to get mad at her. As if. In a way it was nice to see her really let go. Or it would have been if I hadn't been so busy worrying about how she was going to come down from this.

After we got home, she began to have a tinge of regret. She realized that our young teenage niece had seen her tipsy and that made her feel bad. I assured her that she wasn't that far off her normal nuttiness.

But in the end, the whole episode reaffirmed my feelings about inebriation. Which is, it's not worth it. It always seems to come with a side order of regret, even if you don't wake up hung over. Plus, it's not something you can just turn off, like, "OK, I'm done being drunk now. Sober me up!"

Still, if one of us getting drunk every decade or so is what it takes to remind us why we don't do it more often, it's cool with me.

Plus, let's face it, she WAS pretty funny.