I was driving my kids to the craft store to get some material for my daughter's school project. We went along merrily (or as merrily as we could in the Atlanta traffic). Suddenly, I felt a tug on my hair. Then a pinch.
The passenger behind me was pulling my hair. That passenger was none other than my nine-year-old son, Bubba.
"Dude, what did you do that for?" I glared at him in the rear-view mirror.
He was grinning from ear to ear. "I have some Mama DNA now." He held up a few strands of my long, brown hair.
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. "What are you going to do with Mama DNA?"
He thought about that. "Clone you? You always say you need more of you to get everything done." Then he shook his head. Apparently he had a second thought. "But that would mean more grouchy Mamas."
Uh huh. And he definitely would not want more of those!