Scooter visited Blake's Kindergarden this week, as part of the admissions process. This is the same school I went to from 8th grade on, and the experience was a little surreal.

Three of my high school classmates (out of about 100) are now working there, two as elementary-level teachers, and one as the assistant head of the middle school.

Scooter is now old enough that Christmas is no longer a Big Deal. Christmas is now a Really Big Deal.

The paradox of parenting is that we don’t want to raise children. We want to raise adults.

She Who Puts Up With Me foolishly volunteered to organize the annual Halloween party for her mothers of twins group. That party was last night. Eighty-eight kids, most under the age of five, plus sixteen girl scouts who volunteered to help, and probably another fifty parents.

The twins, Skeeter and Scamper, have learned a new word, expanding their vocabularies by about 20%. In keeping with the upcoming Halloween holiday, they've both learned to say, "Boo!"

Since they're both only just figuring out vowels, it comes out a little differently. Imagine a kitten trying to imitate a ghost. "Bew!"

There's a certain point when a child (or a grownup, for that matter) who has done something wrong realizes that he's not just in trouble, he's really in trouble.

Yesterday, our older son Scooter (who is four and a half) was playing quietly downstairs while She Who Puts Up With Me was napping, and I was reading. The twins, Skeeter and Scamper, were also napping. A calm, restful time in the DFN household. Too quiet, as they say in bad detective movies.

Then She Who Puts Up With Me went downstairs.