Nobody warned me that today was "Bring Your Offspring to Work" Day. Ack! There were about a million kids there.

well. Okay. There were three kids. But I got stuck with the hyperactive one, which is similar to millions. He is my work partner's oldest son, and he's 12 years old.

I taught him how to make signs, I was surprised how quickly he caught on. He was terribly enthused with the pressurized air, so it was a pretty loud day. And he talks a lot. But he doesn't tell stories as well as his mom.

This afternoon, the other Sheri walked into my little room with her son.

"Do you know who this is?" she asked him. He shakes his head. "Her name is Cheri." His eyes widen as he looks up at her. heh.

He looks over at me while she's explaining that I'm Little Cheri.

"I know what the difference is!" he proclaims. "She is Cheri with a C!"

Before Sheri can ask how in the world did he know that, he's pointing at the wall behind my right shoulder. Ah, yes. The spring-time picture I drew has my name in the tree.

"Pretty observative," Sheri says with a proud smile. Hey, even I'm impressed. What is he, like 9 or 10 years old?

But, in the end, as temporarily impressed as I am with other people's kids... I still don't like them in general. Or in specific.

And I am happy that I have chosen to remain child-less.