When your incredibly blessed-with-toys seven year old approves of the shoebox you packed for Operation Christmas Child with an enthusiastic "That's great!", you know that some 5-9 year old boy somewhere is going to be very, very happy this Christmas.
Your top desk drawer at work contains Thomas the Tank engine DVDs and a post-it note of your middle daughter's baby milestones that have yet to make it into her baby book - three years later.
Whenever you go to the drive-through at the bank in your minivan and the teller asks if you have any kids in there, your knee-jerk reaction is to be offended. How dare she assume you have a bundle of kids just because you drive a minivan? Then you realize, she's totally right. And whether or not you have kids in the back you nod and smile because, hey, free lollipop. (I know, that's evil.)
Along the same lines, you actually love that when you drive through Dunkin' Donuts and order a coffee and a sprinkled donut that the employees most likely assume the sprinkled donut is for a youngin' in the back of that minivan. Little do they know......
Your four year old's response to being told to clean up? "I'm too lazy to do that right now." At least she's honest? And apparently smart enough to use the word "lazy" in the correct context?
You thought that building a playground in your backyard would be a good way to have some peace and quiet in your own yard. Turns out, building a playground in your backyard just means that all those neighborhood boys and girls who used to play out front are now playing out back.
The cupholder in the back seat of your beloved minivan is chock full of plastic bugs. Your seven year old keeps them in there because "they're good toys to keep in the van because they're small and they won't get lost if they stay together in the cupholder." Good. Better there than scattered ALL OVER your house. Right?
Meanwhile, the passenger side handle of your minivan is chock full of spare hair bows for your little girls. You can never have too many extra pink bows available. You know, in case your eighteen month old decides to rip the one you put in her hair out and chews it to shreds before you reach your destination. (Clearly, she has a whole arsenal of ways to keep herself busy in that back seat.)