Where's my shovel?

22 December 2008

Usually dinner is a relatively calm affair at home. Excepting only that time Mom started a food fight with her cantaloupe. Or when Isaac and I were laughing so hard during the blessing on the food that we shook the whole table. Or every time someone leaves the table for a minute and we hide their food in the dishwasher.

Ok, it's hardly pastoral, but I think this evening was an all-time high with a resurgence of our favorite Dinner Table Telephone.

Originally, this game began with my Dad, years and years ago, "Houston we have a problem".... which got to me and became (somewhere along the way) "You stink. We have a problem."

Tonight Kate began with: A Scissor-Brained Haircut... which became: A Disappearing Haircut ("Oh, is that what your father has?" Yes, Mom.)

Mom: An inconvenient proposal... Dad: Something got scrambled .... Me: I want a larger tankard?

Laurel: I want a purple teddy bear... It's a big purple moo-pee. [come now. what?]

Jared: Aliens eat pickles by the toaster... [actually, that one stayed pretty consistent.]

Mom: Isaac's fingers give me the willies.... Dad's fingers are little Willys.

Tommy: Why did the polar bear cross the road?... To get to the other side.

Dad: All things excellent are as rare as they are difficult to obtain... LDS democrats are rare and amazing...

Kate: You are all nincompoops... Kshuh Kshuh Kshuh pixy poop. To which my dad replied, "Well, I'd rather have the pixies; I don't know what a Nincom is-- at least I know what size of shovel I need."

By this time I was laughing so hard I could not, in fact, see through the tears that streamed down my face, but I wiped them away long enough to see my mother attempting to hide her own laughter.

Ah, dinner time at the Hales' home.