“Good morning, Frankie!”

“Good morning, Henry.”

“Don’t I look handsome?”

“Yes, very handsome.”  Frankie is talking like Thurston Howell, III. “Thank you, Mom, for this delicious breakfast.”

“Yeah, thank you, Mom.”

I smile politely and kiss them both on the head to mask my horror that aliens have obviously landed and possessed my two children. What do they want? What have they done with my boys? I inch closer to the butcher knife as my eyes circle the house searching for broken objects or two tiny corpses.

“This poop is so tasty!” Frankie says with his pinkie in the air.

Henry giggles. “Yeah. Tasty poop!”

I breathe an audible sigh of relief.  The boys are fine.