Dinners at our house are getting more and more raucous. There is something about Dallas being gone at mealtimes that makes us all a little loopy. Giddy even. It’s a little relief of the stress of the day. I let the little kids run around like crazy or turn on inappropriate music (Like Low by Flo Rida) and they dance around the kitchen while the big kids and I chat. And tease each other. And make inappropriate comments.

Tonight was no exception. The big kids had gone to see a scary movie with my friend Sara. She stayed for dinner and we started talking about baby names. She said that Frick (as in frick on a stick) is a name that means courageous. She asked which of my children was Frick.

No comment.

Sara told John that her name meant princess. John asked her, “What about Elizabeth? Does it mean queen?”

Completely serious, he thought that was why so many queens were named Elizabeth.

While we were laughing Jackson yelled, “Looks like somebody needs to learn some table manners!”

Then he shot me with a Nerf dart.

In the boob.

That’s my family, keeping it classy since 1996.