Unfractionated

He: "This is the loudest scream ever. The acoustics in here are awesome."
She: "You are hilarious. I idolize you."

I do not believe in counting my kids ages (or mine, for that matter) in fractions. Until Noah is really concerned himself with not being mistaken for an eight-year-old when he's actually eight-and-three-quarters, why can't he just take one year at a time?

Kevin is not with me on this conviction, for the record. He's been rounding Noah up to two-and-a-half for at least a month now. I realize it's a pretty trivial issue. I haven't always felt this strongly about whole numbers. I think my annoyance comes from the playground. Why do you need to force mental math on me to get across your child's precise 31 months of age? I won't expose you if you want to fib a little and just tell me he's three.

The exception to my no-decimal rule, of course, is the first year. We've taught Noah that he's two and Greta is zero, but no one else seems to think that's very funny. So for now, she's eleven months. Or 51 weeks, if you prefer. By next week at this time (and until next April), my kids will be one and two.

Ahh... the hard part's over. (wink, wink)