Jealous Much?

A few days ago I was telling the boys, in my sweetest possible tone of voice, exactly how little brain-power they had.

(Forget addition and subtraction---they are incapable of distinguishing their own body parts from their surroundings. When Arden, in the midst of a diaper change, forcefully grabbed his own testicles, it wasn't masculine preening or a dated dance move; it was just the inadvertent collision of his flailing limb and a random---not to mention disconcertingly large---gelatinous sack that happened to be in that limb's path.)

Kerry overheard me and disagreed, asserting that far from being dumb, they seemed to be the two smartest people she knew. While members of a middle-class family living in a capitalist society that is built on rewarding hard work and ingenuity, they manage to live the lifestyle of Medieval kings: continuously transported from one comfortable resting spot to another, fed on demand, and massaged and caressed any time they so much as open their mouths.

I may be able to tell the difference between a bottle of breast milk and my own hand, but while I spend 10 hours a day manipulating Excel spreadsheets and writing memos, my two little dunces are either motorboatin' on Kerry's breasts or taking a nap. And the last time I checked, those were two of my favorite activities.