If a mom talks, does she make a sound?

It's morning. 6:55 a. m.

We've just been joined in bed by two of our ill-considered offspring.

Chris rolls out of bed to take a shower. It's a good choice because getting in the shower means you don't have to find the remote PLUS you get to be alone. Mostly.

"UM, CAN I WATCH TV?" Owen asks. Whines? I'm not sure which. He asks in a really high-pitched voice.

"Sure, okay, just let me find the remote." Is it where it's supposed to be? Did Chris cuddle up with it last night in bed? On the floor? Oh, there it is. "What do you guys want to watch?"

"SCOOBY!" Owen answers enthusiastically.

"No Scooby. You know you aren't allowed to watch Scooby."

"It's too scary, right mom?" Sam says.

"Scooby is scawy?"

"That's right, Owen. You can't watch Scooby because it's too scary, so what do you want to watch?"

"SCOOBY-DOO!" Owen answers enthusiastically.

"NO SCOOBY!"

"MOM? We can't watch Scooby because it will freak Lilly out like you were freaked out by the bat, right?" Sam hypothesizes.

"Well . . . yes. But I wasn't 'freaked out' exactly. I think I was responding appropriately given the danger involved. Anyway, what do you want to watch?"

"SCOOBY-DOOBY-DOO!" Owen answers enthusiastically.

That's it. You're getting Blue's Clues.