This evening I had a phone conversation with my father. It lasted roughly three minutes. I use the word conversation especially lightly because our talk mostly consisted of me asking him to repeat himself and my interjections to the girls as I extended the phone away from my mouth: No, you can't eat pepperoni for a bedtime snack. Don't touch her. Let go of the puzzle, let go, let -- stop pulling all the pieces apart! I just told you, do NOT touch her.
Then, drawing the receiver closer, the apologetic, "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"
After I hung up, I settled my gaze firmly on them. "Girls, you need to remember your manners and be respectful when I'm on the phone. You were acting pretty crazy there. Do you really want to be little crazy people?"
Ever candid, Reese answered, "Well, sort of."
I need to phrase my questions better.