19.

We were late for Open House.

I had a hell of a time getting the kids ready, and had long ago abandoned any notion of making dinner. We popped into a Burger King drive-thru along the way.

"Tell me what you guys want," I said, speaking over my shoulder. We were third in line at the drive-thru. The kids were wearing some of their best clothes, and I was already worried about stains.

I looked in the rearview mirror. The kids were separated by an invisible line that ran between their two back seats. Crossing the line was grounds for punishment. At the moment, Tammy was hovering on the brink of that line, making faces at Anthony, taunting him, sticking her tongue out, driving him into a seething rage. I almost laughed at the scene, but had to do something.

"Tammy, your tongue just crossed the line. No TV or Game Boy tonight."

Anthony said, "Yes!" Then pointed at his sister. "Ha!"

Tammy squealed. "But, Mom, that's not fair! It was just my tongue!"

"Tongues count. Plus, you know better than to tease your little brother." We moved up in line. "What do you two want to eat?"

Tammy said she didn't want anything. Anthony gave me his usual order: hamburger, plain. I ordered Tammy some chicken fingers.

"I don't want chicken fingers."

"You like chicken fingers."

"But I'm not hungry."

"Then you don't have to eat them, but if you waste them, the money's coming out of your allowance. Anthony, don't tease your sister."

Anthony was doing a little victory dance in the back seat, which rocked the entire minivan. His sister had been successfully punished and he had escaped unscathed. It was a triumphant moment for younger brothers everywhere.

And just when he thought I wasn't looking, just when he thought the coast was clear, he gave his sister the middle finger. Tammy squealed. I burst out laughing. And by the time we left the drive-thru, both of them had lost two days of TV privileges.

And as I pulled out of the Burger King parking lot, Anthony wailed, "There's mustard on my hamburger!"

"Christ," I muttered, and made a U-turn and headed back through the drive-thru.

20.

After Open House, the three of us were sitting together on the couch watching reruns of Sponge Bob. Sadly enough, I had seen this episode before. Danny still wasn't home, nor did I really expect him to be any time soon.

Open House had gone well enough. Anthony was passing all his classes, but just barely. His teacher felt he spent too much time trying to be the class clown. Tammy, a few years older, was apparently boy crazy. Although her grades were just about excellent, her teacher complained she was a distraction to the other students; mostly to the male variety.

Apparently, my kids liked attention, and I wondered if I was giving them enough of it at home.

"What's that smell?" I asked.

"Whoever smelt it dealt it," said Anthony, giggling.

"Probably you," said Tammy to her brother. "You're always cutting them."

"So do you!"

"Do not! I'm a girl. Girl's don't cut anything."

"Yeah, right!" shouted Anthony.

"I don't smell anything, Mommy," said Tammy, ignoring her brother.

I proceeded to sniff armpits and feet. As I smelled, they both giggled, and Anthony tried to smell my own feet.

"It's you, Mommy," he shouted, giggling. "Your feet stink!"

"Do not," I said. "Girls' feet don't stink."

"You're not a girl."

"Oh, really?"

"Then what is she, lame brain?" asked Tammy.

"She's a lady," said Anthony.

"Thank you, Anthony," I said, hugging his warm body. "Lady is good."

"And ladies have stinky feet," he added.

"Okay, now you just blew it," I said, and tickled the hell out of him. He cowered in the corner of the couch, kicking pillows at me, and then Tammy jumped on my back to defend her little brother and soon we were all on the floor, poking fingers at any and all exposed flesh, a big tickling free-for-all.

Later, as we lay gasping on the floor as Sponge Bob and his infamous square pants completed another fun-filled romp at the bottom of the ocean, Anthony asked, "Mommy, why are you always...cold?"

"Mommy is sick," I said. And, in a way, I was very sick.

"Are you going to die soon?" he asked.

"No," I said. "Mommy won't die for a very long time."

"Good!" he said.

"But can we catch what you have?" asked Tammy, always the careful one.

"No," I said. "You can't."

I suddenly wrinkled my nose. The smell was back. From my angle on the floor, I could just see under the couch. And there, in all its glory, was one of Anthony's rolled up socks. A very smelly rolled up sock. I used a pencil and pulled it out, where it hung from the tip like radioactive waste.

"Look familiar, Anthony?" I asked.

He mumbled an apology and I told him to throw it in the wash, and as he got up to do so, Tammy and I made farting noises with each step he took.

Bad move.

He turned and threw the sock back at us and we spent the next few minutes playing hot potato with it, laughing until our stomachs hurt.