The Meatball and the Idiot

Last night I made spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. I made the sauce and the meatballs from scratch and did it in about 30 minutes. And it was gooooood. 

Sophie loves spaghetti and meatballs but as she was eating, she got a confused and annoyed expression...

Sophie: (holding up a half-eaten meatball speared on her fork) Look what's inside my meatball.

Me: What is it? A piece of onion?

[Note that hearing things like "look what's inside my meatball" freaks me out. I once ate a Trader Joe's burrito that was filled with dirt and ever since then I've been very sensitive about flotsam in my food.]

Sophie: Yeah.

She continued eating her meatball and then...

Sophie: What idiot put a piece of onion in my meatball?

Cry me a river, Rodney Dangerfield. No respect.

KC and I laughed because we couldn't help it.  Then I informed her that I was the idiot and that it's not nice to call someone an idiot.  Later we acknowledged that she learned that from us. "We're always calling people idiots," said KC. What are you going to do?  There are lots of idiots around, including, apparently, me.

Much later, like at 3 o'clock in the morning, KC shouted "WHOA!!!!" in his sleep and scared the crap out of me. Then I had a nightmare that I was in the Top Chef finale but couldn't get a ride to the kitchen. Then Hazel ate the toast out of my hand while I was bent over, putting a dish in the dishwasher.