As I sat on the floor of Dear Son's bedroom, putting the finishing touches on the fresh whitewash on the inside of his door, the kids were having a rare moment of playing nicely together in Dear Daughter's bedroom across the hall. They were pretending to pack their backpacks for a make-believe overnight trip somewhere. Dear Daughter grew frustrated with her little brother about something which I could not discern from my position. As I crouched on the floor across the hall behind Dear Son's bedroom door, here is the conversation I overheard:
Dear Daughter: "Aaaarghhh! Zach! You make me nuts sometimes!"
Dear Son: "Yeah." (...long pause...) "...Mommy's nuts!"
Dear Daughter: "Yeah, you make Mommy nuts sometimes too!"
Dear Son: (another long pause) "...Mommy's nuts all the time!"