This is why I don't sell them to gypsies

My kids frequently drive me to distraction. They're high maintenance and loud and emotional (I have NO IDEA where they get that from). Then, just when I'm ready to sell them to the gypsies, they come out with something like this, and I'm forced to re-consider.

I was sitting on the couch with Primo, watching Terza "play" with Play-Doh (ninety percent eating, ten percent manipulating) and he offered thoughtfully:

'Is it named after the philosopher?"

"Is what named after who?" I asked.

"Play-doh, after Plato," he clarified.

Then I had to grab that big-as-me, super-dapper boy and squeeze the life out of him and kiss his cheek like he was nine months instead of nine years old. These kids, as maddening as they are, they fit this cuckoo family of ours just right.