Something my husband believes: everything is improved by a hot bath. Got the flu? Take a bath. Hangnails? Bath. Toothache? Get in the tub, man.
Stay in there until you get nice and pruney In fact, stay in so long that people worry about you and knock on the door to make sure you haven't drowned.
Something my three year old believes: braids, ponytails, pigtails, and barrettes are products sent by Satan himself to torture humankind. Nevertheless, hair must be waist length and preferably unbrushed.
Something my eight year old believes: this is the worst day of his life. I am, in fact, ruining his life as I type this. Oh wait? Was that? Hold on a moment...
Sorry, just checking to see if my eight year old was in fact, dead on the ground from the want of a Nintendo DS.
(Still breathing, but barely.)
Something my six year old believes: bedrooms are best left as though a cyclone ripped through them, strewing debris, shrapnel, and detritus. Clean bedrooms are sent directly from Satan to torture humankind.
Something I believe: it's time to knit. 