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I don't tweet (I don't twitter?).  I don't even know how to say it...

But if I did, here's what I'd tweet/twitter.  Because they're just short little bits and because Mark cracks me up and because this is like a journal/family history for me and because I want to remember.

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Yesterday we were driving and listening (as is our custom) to The House on Plum Creek.  Laura and Mary were jumping on Pa's haystack even though they'd been told not to.  From the back seat Mark was squirming and groaning.  I said, "Are you OK Mark?" 

He shuddered and said, "I think you should turn this off."

I said, "It's OK."

Then something dawned on Mark and his quirky little brain.  He said, "Actually, I guess we can keep listening.  I'm not going to get into trouble."

Do you think he has a guilty conscience?

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Last night on the way home from basketball practice, Mark asked me how many points had been scored in their little scrimmage.  I admitted I didn't know.  He said, "Well maybe if you didn't read.  And I wouldn't even mind as much if someone else came to the practice and could tell you all the good things I did."

(One of the great compensations for basketball practice is that I can read during it.)

I apologized to Mark.  I didn't know he cared if I watched his practices.  In my defense I said, "I don't read during your games."

He said imperiously, "They're the same."

Do you think he considers himself the center of the world?

Because yeah, he kind of is.


(I think these are longer than tweets should be...another reason why I'll stick to my blogging where I can be as verbose and wearisome as I wish.)