What A Birch!

I can pull a story out of my arse should the need arise, which, with Ana, it often does. She has radar for things that are not appropriate for her to know about at the age of 5 1/2. Scott tested my abilities the other day, however, when he almost got run off the road by a very angry woman in a little white car.

Scott signaled, he waved, he slowed, he sped up, but she just kept squeezing us off of the road. The woman then rolled down her window, so he rolled down his and asked her to let him over. She responded with a string of expletives, while continuing to squeeze our van off of the road.

Scott is not one to yell random profanities out the window, especially not with his kids in the car, but he was fueled by the adrenaline of almost being forced into a crash and he was indignant at being called every bad name under the sun so he yelled back, "You're running me off the road, you b*tch!"

Of course, from the back, comes, "Mommy, what's a birch?"

Umm... a birch is a kind of tree, Honey.

Why did Daddy call that lady a birch?

Umm... well... she just came from Home Depot and she bought a birch tree to plant in her yard and she has it in the front of the car with her. It's blocking her view, so it made her almost run us off the road and so Daddy is calling her a birch so that she realizes her birch tree is making her drive badly.

Oh. Okay. Can you put on Britney Spirits music?

Whew. Crisis averted.