Are my arms really that short?!

"Mommy, look! I made our whole family out of dinosaurs. This little orange one is Caleb, and he's just crawling around. And this one is me, and I'm crying because Jensen got mad at me. And this one's Daddy."

"Which one am I, Evan?"

"Oh, well, you're the great big scary meat-eater."

"Ahem."

So, this is Jeff and me. I'm the enormous terrifying one getting ready to tear someone's head off. Apparently a child's head. I do not even want to know what a child psychologist would say about this.

I'm fully aware that I can be a little surly in the morning. Especially before I've had my ration of coffee. And before, say, 10 am. And I also know I sometimes get grouchy in the late afternoon, when I'm trying to get dinner on the table and two-thirds of my children are crying and the other one is jumping on the sofa and Jeff isn't home and I'm starving. Or sometimes I maybe get a teensy bit grumpy at bedtime when the kids are coming up with ways to postpone sleep and remembering last-minute things for school and the baby is crying and I wanted to be in bed 30 minutes ago. Okay, granted.

But a T-rex?!

But. But, wait. Let's remember that Evan adores dinosaurs. And the T-rex is his favorite of favorites. The pinnacle of dinosaur-hood. The ultimate incarnation.

So I'm interpretting this as the sincerest form of Evan flattery. Never mind all that grouchy stuff. And this is exactly what I'll tell that pesky child psychologist, too.