That's not a microphone

Annie had an English assignment over the weekend to identify a favorite family tale that she will later write up and contribute to a book of passed down stories. That led us to recall several funny experiences we've had over the years -- many of which are too inappropriate for re-telling at school.

One I thought of on the way to school this morning took place shortly after Robbie was born.

As usual, I decided to give breastfeeding the old college try. However, this was my third kid and my track record for milk production would have had me sent to the hamburger factory long before if I'd been a cow.

So I had an industrial-strength breast pump on hand to help encourage production. If you've never seen a breast pump, they look like this:

Those two horn-like things go exactly where you think they would go.

Anyway, one day Charlie, who was not quite 4 years old, was carrying around one of the horn-shaped pieces of my breast pump, singing and hollering into it.

Annie, who was 6 and quite irritated with her brother's immaturity, grabbed it and snapped at him saying, "Charlie! THAT is not a microphone! THAT is a boob sucker!"

I was in tears with laughter for quite some time over that. And I was still laughing as I recounted the story on the way to school today. Unfortunately, so was Robbie, who must have said "boob sucker" about 20 times before he left the car.