And we call the snow shovel "Back talk"

One of the consequences of a construction project is a lot of spare wood lying around. Piles of it. Buckets of it. And this is Maine. We don't waste anything up here. Certainly not anything burnable. Because it was -13 degrees here this morning when I walked the dog.  And things I can burn for precious warmth are treasured commodities. 

Another consequence of Maine winter is a lot of indoor time. We have a 12 year and a 7 year old sharing the same house. Which sometimes leads to noise. And noise is not nearly as treasured. 

Our contractors (who are, by the way, fantastic), are all fathers. They understand that sometimes, a little manual labor is the perfect educational aid. We explained the situation, and made a special request. They were happy to set aside the scrap for us, and label it appropriately. 

A little too much indoor time? A little too much sniping at your younger brother? A little too much whining about what your sister said? A few too many questions about what I asked you to do the first time? 

We have the answer for all of that.

This pile is in the wrong place. Please move it over there.

All of it.

Neatly.

Until you're done. 

I feel warmer already. 

Harmonica might also have been acceptable

"Boy, it's time to choose an instrument." 

"Which instrument gets all the chicks, Daddy?"

"Banjo players get the most chicks." 

"The banjo is too heavy! I can't play that yet. What about the second most chicks?"

"Ukulele. Ukulele players get the second most chicks. After only the banjo players."

"That's it! I want to play the ukulele."

And the lessons begin. User your powers for good, my son. 

He has absolutely no idea

I don't remember when I started it, but I know it started as a joke. Every day when I see the kids off to school - usually when I'm headed out the door to work, but sometimes when I am loading one onto the bus, or dropping the other off at school - I give the kids a kiss and a hug, and I say in mock seriousness "Make good choices."

It makes me laugh. And it makes the Critter, in her infinite 12 year old wisdom, roll her eyes. So. Double win for me. 

This week, I was packing my bags for a quick trip out to the West Coast, and giving the Boy a hug as he headed out to catch the school bus. 

He stopped. Turned around. Pointed at me, and said: "Make good... what is it, Daddy?" 

"Choices."

He nodded. "Yep. Make good choices, daddy." 

Without a hint of sarcasm. 

And then my heart exploded. And I had to get on the plane like that.