BY KATHRYN A. HIGGINS

Just in time for your final summer field trip with the kids, a fabulous little parody. Enjoy! And please, watch your step.

Welcome to Famous Historic Monument! Our tour is about to begin; please follow me.

Famous Historic Monument averages over 500 visitors a day. That's over 3,500 visitors a week; or 15,000 visitors a month -- over 180,000 visitors each year! Oh, except for Thanksgiving and Christmas, when we're closed.

And, just think, you're one of them!

That's a lot of visitors! And did you know that each year our visitors use enough toilet paper right here at Famous Historic Monument that if you stretched it out end to end it would reach to the moon and back five times? That's probably because we only provide the cheapest ply of toilet paper, so our guests have to use more of it than usual to get the job done. And we also give it to you in those really large rolls, so it breaks a lot.

Please step forward as you ponder that.

OK, stop here, and please stay behind the red rope while I tell you more amazing facts. If you step in front of the red rope you will set off alarms that will inconvenience the guards who are watching the videos taken by the cameras over your heads here and here (flight attendant pointing gestures). We don't want to inconvenience these guards now do we?

Famous Historic Monument has been famous for over 150 years. That's over 1,800 months, or, if you like details, 54,750 days! That does not include leap years, of course.

Amazing, right? Famous Historic Monument was officially declared a Famous Historic Monument in 1972. It took over 100,000 signatures and the bartering of over 50 government favors to achieve national Famous Historic status.

We estimate that, through the years, over 432 government bureaucrats have performed over 7,500 hours of bureaucratic administration in order to keep Famous Historic Monument in its present, super-deluxe state of historicness. That's your tax dollars at work.

Now we are entering our famous, historic bobblehead room. Yes, Famous Historic Monument just happens to have the world's largest and most historically significant collection of pre-millennium bobbleheads. Please Don't Touch! Even if you have just washed your hands, the oils and bacteria in your fingers could start a process of corrosion, corruption, putrefaction, and decomposition in the bobbleheads that is uncomfortably similar to that which takes place in your own body every day.

I'm sure you're wondering how we got this fabulous collection of bobbleheads. They were left to us by the collector when he died of tooth decay. Yes, tooth decay, can you believe? It can kill you! He got some sort of infection. So, we had to find a place for these bobbleheads. Imagine this: if you took all of our bobbleheads and melted them down, you'd have enough plastic to supply an entire chain of grocery stores with plastic grocery bags for 1.5 years. That's one year and six months for you laymen out there!

Watch out for that step! We would have taken that step out to make Famous Historic Monument wheelchair accessible, but a famous person tripped there in 1899, so we had to leave it. Sorry!

As I herd you back outside, you'll be able to see another astonishing fact about Famous Historic Monument: we have more dirt here per square foot than anywhere else in the Continental United States. If you look down, you can see the remarkable concentration of dirt under your feet. Don't believe me? Feel free to just grab a handful and see for yourself! Pretty concentrated, right? But please do NOT remove any of the dirt from Famous Historic Monument. You will suffer fines and possible imprisonment if you do.

Would your children like a badge, free for visiting Famous Historic Monument? The badges used to be made of metal, but now they're made of plastic. They're made in a factory in China and shipped here so we can give them to you. Remarkable, huh?

If you hurt yourself or your child while pinning the badge, we at Famous Historic Monument, our donors, sponsors, and the United States government cannot be held responsible. If you check our brochure, the full disclaimer is there for your reading pleasure. Perhaps for later this evening, while you unwind from your day of historic investigation.

Before you leave, please stop by our fabulous historic Gift Shoppe and buy some knick-knacks and postcards. Perhaps one of our historic replica bobbleheads. Otherwise, you might forget that you were here at Famous Historic Monument.

And, please, feel free to take one of our Donation Envelopes. The more money you give, the more deluxe a person you are! You can see that by the donor level names. And we could really use some additional funding -- we tour guides need a raise! The bureaucrats would like one too.

Kathryn A. Higgins is writer and mom living with her two children in Connecticut. She recently received her MFA in Writing from Sarah Lawrence College. Her publishing credits include: McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Real Simple Magazine, health.com, Sanskrit, farmhousemagazine.com, Whatever, and Musings; she has also written a regular column for the Connecticut Post, as well as features for various newspapers, and is a reader for the Paris Review. You can reach her at: kathrynahiggins@aol.com.

BY TARJA SETTLES

The Rule of Wine

Don't pretend you don't know this rule. Every parent knows this rule. It's an exact science: For every alcoholic beverage imbibed the night before, your kid will wake up 15 minutes earlier the next morning.

With the actual equation being: Normal wakeup time - (15 minutes) (x amount of booze) = "Night of the Living Dead"

And because my son is a special, special child, he has altered the equation so that no matter how many glasses of wine I have, the wake-up time will be 5:00 am. Or 4:57, to be precise. But who's keeping track?

Meaning that he slept for 8 1/2 hours last night.

I don't know much about kids, but this is bullshit. Fortunately, I have detected the culprit at whom I can point the laser beam of my exhausted outrage. When the kid bestows his heartbreaking little smile upon you, look up yonder and you'll see the culprit poking through. Move over a bit. A little further. Over...Yes...Yes...STOP! Say hello to Upper Right Cuspid!

Bienvenue, Bitch

Welcome, Upper Right Cuspid. So good of you to
Appear. It has only taken three sleepless months for you
To draw near and now, HUZZAH! Let us dance, let us
Sing, the heavens burst open, all hail the king. And
Now that you're here, I am brimming with hope that
Sleep isn't a myth. Because you know the end of
The rope? Well, I'm there. So alert the world
Of your new address -- oh, do you sense a note
Of bitterness? Yes, well, don't worry. You are
Loathed slightly less
than that other motherfucker...
The Upper Cuspid
On the left.

My detective work is done and by my calculations, I will have approximately two weeks of decent sleep before the 2-year-old molars begin their three-month upward journey.

Which effectively means that the Chalupa has been teething non-stop since the time he was 3 months old.

Knowledge best savored with a very large glass of wine.

Tarja is a stay-at-home-mom to a 21-month-old who gives new meaning to the word "spirited." Once, long, long ago, she was a member of Cornell University's sketch comedy group, The Skits-O-Phrenics. She is frighteningly comfortable in karaoke lounges and believes in the healing power of guacamole. Despite being an insanely talented writer and poet, she has yet to be published in anything of importance both because she is lazy to the core and because her son is a "spirited" napper. Much to her embarrassment, she has entered the blogosphere. Stop on by at www.theflyingchalupa.wordpress.com. Tarja can be reached at: theflyingchalupa@gmail.com.

BY RICHARD TURCK

Being a parent is hard work. You have this living thing that you have to make sure keeps living, even if it'd be easier if it didn't. And, to further the complications, not only do you have to keep it alive, but you also have to teach it things. I know this all sounds nearly impossible. After all, how many of us can even say we were a kid before, let alone know how to raise one? Well luckily, I can, and I'm here to help.

One of the first things you need to know when having a baby is that it needs food, just like you and me. That's right, many folks don't realize that a baby is actually made up of the same things as a real person. They think they can just give it stuff like bark and sawdust and it'll be fine. This is almost always a mistake. You have to give it the same type of things that you would eat.

Since babies don't come with teeth, however, you have to feed it stuff that doesn't need to be chewed. I know many people will say, "But won't it choke if it doesn't chew?!" Yes, it usually will, which is why there are companies out there that make foods specifically designed for babies. I'm sure you've heard of M&M's -- "the candy that melts in your mouth?" Well, why do you think they made it that way? That's correct; they made it for babies. Another product especially designed for babies is water. I'd keep my baby on the M&M's-and-water diet until at least age four, if not indefinitely.

OK, great! Through proper nutrition and care my baby is now a healthy young child! What's next? Discipline. This is a crucial component in the child raising process. My kid is like a lump of clay that I need to mold into a respectable individual. That's why I have to put them on a pottery wheel whenever they misbehave. This acts as a one-two punch as it shapes them not only literally, but also figuratively. If that doesn't work, I could always take away privileges like TV, radio, and unconditional love.

After my child has been sculpted into the perfect human being, it's time to teach them important life lessons. The most obvious of these lessons, of course, is the birds-and-the bees talk. Given the fact that this is a necessary but awkward conversation to have with a child, I would simply wait until my kid is about 30 to have it. Then, once they have a wife and kids of their own, I can pull them aside and say, "You understand how you made your children, right?" Now I can feel like I'm doing my job as a parent while keeping things as comfortable as possible.

By following these parental guidelines, I can be sure my child will grow up healthy, knowledgeable, and immune to dizziness. This sets them up to go out into the world and make something of themselves. And, even if they don't, I can at least feel good knowing it was all their fault and not mine. I fed them M&M's and water. I disciplined them on a pottery wheel. And I made sure they knew where their kids came from. If they still aren't able to thrive after all that, then may God have mercy on their soul -- because I probably won't.

Richard Turck is 28 years old and has recently moved from New York to Washington State with his fiancee. In his spare time, which he has a lot of due to the fact that he can't find work, he enjoys writing funny (hopefully) essays about everyday life. He can be reached at: turck212@yahoo.com.

BY LISA HUBBARD

Answer the following questions as honestly as possible. And as quickly as possible, too. I've got things to do, you know.

You're in the middle of a pedicure (one that you got talked into upgrading to "spa") when you get a phone call from your daughter's school. She's running a fever. What do you do?

A: Duh. Of course she's running a fever. She was this morning, too.

B: That school sucks. We're transferring.

C: Jump up and out of the pedicure chair, screaming like chicken that's been set on fire, throw your credit card at the nail technician, grab a handful of complimentary peppermints, zig zag across the parking lot in those free foam flip flops (by this time you're sobbing), jump into your car, then burn rubber to the nearest bar where you’ll have a hard time deciding between a gimlet and a strawberry margarita, but ultimately choose the gimlet.

It's the one day of the week that the whole family can sit down and eat dinner together. What should you fix?

A: Probably my husband. I don't want any more children. How much is a vasectomy?

B: Hmmm. How hard can Hamburger Helper be? (Looks at box. Reads directions.) MOTHERF*CKER! Never mind! What do I look like? A MOTHERF*CKING BRAIN SURGEON??!?! We're ordering pizza!!

C: Excuse me. I've been at the bar all day drinking gimlets. Do I look hungry?

Your son wants a Diego-themed celebration for his fourth birthday. What's your idea of the perfect party?

A: A couple of Diego balloons. A Diego cake from the supermarket. No vomit in the house.

B: Is Diego Mexican? I bet he could make a mean strawberry margarita.

C: The perfect party? Do you really want to know? 'Cause it involves a lot less kids and a lot more nudity.

RESULTS:

If you answered mostly A's, I don't think I like you.

If you answered mostly B's, you'll probably die alone, but that probably suits you just fine. I mean, for the love of vuvuzelas, children are insanely loud. Who knew? Also, they're expensive and ruin vaginas. Had you known what you were getting into, you might have stuck with being the town tramp. But, now they're here and you're pretty much stuck being a mom. That doesn't mean you have to cook for them, though. Or give up that little web cam gig you've got going.

If you answered mostly C's, your name is probably Dina Lohan. If it's not, you'd better try and see if one of your kids can tap dance. And stat! That habit you've got going isn't going to pay for itself.

If given a choice between Hamburger Helper and a gimlet, Lisa would choose the gimlet. She can be reached at: editors@errantparent.com.

BY LIANE KUPFERBERG CARTER

1. Take your kids.

2. (OK. Forget number one.)

3. Rent a vacation house from people who don't have kids and don't like kids.  Rent a house from people who are fond of model ships in bottles, glass sculptures, and white, wall-to-wall carpeting.

4. Pull your kid out of camp a week early for your family vacation. Let him miss end-of-camp Carnival. Listen to him cry. Promise him that if he stops you'll get him a digital pet.

5. Listen to Tamagotchi Digital Pet's beeps and wails for hundreds of miles.

6. Forget to bring the car sick bag. Believe your kid has outgrown that problem anyway. Discover you're wrong.

7. Pull off the road and watch your son and husband have a peeing contest.

8. Watch your eight-year-old son win the peeing contest. Endure your husband's muttering about it for the next 100 miles.

9. Listen to your younger child whine, "Mom, he's breathing on me."

10. Listen to the older one ask, "Couldn't we find a nice family to adopt him?"

11. Take along your child's friend who thinks it's hilarious to jam his cheek full of grapes and make gagging noises while you're driving.

12. Arrive to find that when the realtor said "rustic," she meant no indoor plumbing.

13. Call the realtor and inquire about maid service. Listen to her cackle.

14. Week One: Unpack those 10 novels you've been dying to read. Week Two: Repack them unread.

15. Forget your kid's favorite Bunny at home. Listen to him sob, "Binky, Binky!" for three nights running.

16. Realize you didn't pack a bathing suit. Have to go buy one. Have to go buy one in the resort boutique where no suit is larger than a size 2 and the dressing room is lit like an airport runway.

17. Let your spouse carry his BlackBerry to the beach. See how well it operates when you get sand in it. See what happens when your toddler drops it in the pool.

18. Discover it's black fly season. Apply the local bug spray called "Irving's Fly Dope." Discover the dope is Irving; the flies love it.

19. Endure 37 rounds of mini-golf with an eight-year-old who cheats.

20. Call home only to hear your mother ask, "And when are we going to see you?"

21. Buy your kid a book of knock-knock jokes to keep him quiet. Be subjected to each one while maintaining a glazed grin.

22. Restrain yourself from slugging your spouse after his hourly query, "Are you relaxed yet?"

23. Be forced to referee your kids' burping contests.

24. Drive by miles of antique shops and craftsmen's galleries without being able to stop and see a single one.

25. Spend 45 minutes sweating on-line in a quaint, un-air-conditioned candy store so you can mail chocolate fudge to all the folks back home.

26. Climb down a steep beach bluff with a toddler on your hip, only to have him immediately need the bathroom back up top.

27. Offer large cash rewards to the child who can keep quiet longest.

28. Realize that ice cream is the only source of protein your kids are getting.

29. Arrive at the famous seafood restaurant you've wanted to try. Discover they don't have hamburgers. Let your kids starve.

30. Forget letting your kids starve. Find a hamburger joint.

31. Ask your older child to watch his brother so you can go to the bathroom for two minutes. Return to find your older child's nose pressed to the TV, the front door open, and your four-year-old playing in the road.

32.  Yell at your older child for letting his brother play in the road. Hear him say, "Well, I only did it once." Hear him ask, "If something happens to him, then can we get a dog?"

33. Bring the babysitter on vacation with you. Have no privacy.

34. Don't bring the babysitter. Have no privacy.

35. Do laundry. Cook. Clean. Sweep sand. Bathe children. Spread suntan lotion.  Pack beach toys. Make snacks. Tell yourself it must be a vacation because you've got an ocean view.

36. Finally get that the phrase "family vacation" is the ultimate oxymoron.

Liane's articles, essays, and fiction have appeared in the New York Times syndicate, McCall's, Parents, Child, New Parent, Cosmopolitan, Glamour, Newsday, The Westchester Review, Sotto Voce, Literary Mama, Memoir(and), Mr. Beller's Neighborhood, and Writers' Bloc. She is a 2009 winner of the Memoir Journal Prize for Memoir in Prose. Liane can be reached at: lcarter@cloud9.net.

BY MICHAEL FRISSORE

We have a phrase we're trying to discourage around the house these days. It's called "Monkey see, monkey do," and it's an odd little phrase I used to use when I was an organ grinder, but now we use it for the kids. Anything they see on television, they imitate. That's how we came up with the black list -- the shows they're not allowed to watch. From violent cartoons to professional wrestling to "The Three Stooges," we put the parental kibosh on most of them. We even had to stop taking them to the art museum after they saw a Dali painting and we later caught them putting all our clocks in the microwave.

We do let them watch the classic cartoons, because, admittedly, I'm like a five-year-old and I love that stuff. But we've come to regret this as well. It happened after the kids watched the "Tom and Jerry" episode in which the faucet runs until water fills the kitchen and then it freezes it so Tom, Jerry, and the baby mouse can ice skate. After that, we caught the kids flooding the kitchen and throwing ice and ice cream and other frozen foods on the floor in hopes of doing some figure skating. It was a mess we did not enjoy cleaning up. Next, we decided we would only let them read. But soon after this decision, they read "The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe." Our oldest took a baseball bat to his closet, hoping to bust his way into Narnia.

It was no wonder the kids had an affinity for imitating what they saw on television. My brother and I were the same way at their age. There were the countless times we tried to go through our walls imitating the old Kool-Aid ads, the time my brother was beaten up at school for dressing like Boy George, and the time we tried to adopt some kids after watching "Diff'rent Strokes."

There were two things in particular that led to our downfall. One was the Tom Hanks movie "Big." We wanted desperately to be adults -- to drive, to drink, and to watch R- and X-rated movies. One weekend, as luck would have it, the carnival was in town, so we got to visit our father. He brought us to a machine much like the one that granted Tom Hanks his wish.

Now, here's where the second thing comes into play. My brother and I, of course, were big cartoon fans. We'd come home for school every day and watch our favorite trio of shows: "Thundercats," "G.I. Joe," and "Transformers." A Transformer was a giant robot that could transform into something: a car, a plane, a gun. We decided there was nothing bigger or stronger than a Transformer. Long story short, our father couldn't have guessed that the carnival machine would actually work. My brother and I became two giant robots. I turned into a jet plane, my brother a shotgun. We ruined the carnival and terrorized the entire town. God knows how many people were killed. Then, my brother jumped into me and we flew off into the sunset. We were lucky enough to meet two nice robotic girls and we started our own families on an island in Hawaii. We had to kill all the human inhabitants, of course.

Michael Frissore's first book "Poetry is Dead" (Coatlism Press, 2009) is currently available at www.LitChaos.com. His fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Monkeybicycle, Monkey Kettle, Fear of Monkeys, Gold Dust's "Solid Gold Anthology," Is This Reality?, Sein Und Werden, The Oddville Press, and elsewhere. His short story, "The Smell of Eggnog in the Morning," was recently nominated for Dzanc Books' "Best of the Web 2010 Anthology." He has written for The Tucson Citizen, Flak, Slurve, and other publications. Mike grew up in Massachusetts and now lives in Oro Valley, Arizona with his wife and son. Michael can be reached at: mfrissore@hotmail.com.

BY KATHRYN A. HIGGINS

Say things in cute, unnecessary rhyme, e.g., "Does your finger winger hurt?"

Hug her male friends.

Call her "Poopsykins" in private.

Call her "Poopsykins" in front of her friends.

Fart.

Read her text messages.

Friend her on Facebook.

Tell her how much you love her on Facebook.

Put pictures of her on Facebook.

Sing that song from "Annie" to her -- "Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow. You're only a day away!" -- loudly and passionately while walking down the street.

Ask her to pick up her garbage.

Tell her she looks like a hooker in that outfit and to please change her clothes.

Wear that rain hat she hates so much.

Wear that snow hat she hates so much.

Wear those boots she hates so much.

Don't let her wear your shoes that she likes so much.

Offer to kiss her "owie."

Bring out pictures of her from two years ago (when she hit that cute chubby phase) and show them to everyone.

Talk about that time when she was one year old and took her diaper off.

Buy her some "fashions" at Walmart.

Tell her you're naked when she knocks on your bedroom door.

Wake her up at 11 a.m.

Ask her to please stop wiping her mascara on all the towels.

Laugh when she gets angry. (Warning: use caution with this technique.)

Correct her grammar.

Tell her she may not listen to the Britney song about threesomes or the Lady Gaga song about riding on someone's disco stick.

Refuse to explain why she shouldn't listen to these songs.

Warn her about the dangers of alcohol while sipping a cocktail.

Ask her to make you another cocktail because you're too drunk to make it yourself.

Tell her that when she does the dishes she might actually have to get her hands wet.

Tell her that she may not have a sleepover three nights in a row. Two nights, OK. But three? No.

Exist. 

Kathryn A. Higgins is writer and mom living with her two children in Connecticut. She recently received her MFA in Writing from Sarah Lawrence College. Her publishing credits include: McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Real Simple Magazine, health.com, Sanskrit, farmhousemagazine.com, Whatever, and Musings; she has also written a regular column for the Connecticut Post, as well as features for various newspapers, and is a reader for the Paris Review. You can reach her at: kathrynahiggins@aol.com

BY ELIZABETH BASTOS

The Toddler: 1/2 cup applesauce, 1/2 cup gin. Serve with a splash of bathwater.

La Nina: Fill a rocks glass with cream, add a bottle of coconut liquor.

El Nino: Garnish a La Nina with a toy dump truck.

Recurrent Ear Infection: In a hot water bottle, muddle a children’s ibuprofen with some Welch's Concord Grape Juice.

Mommy’s Time Out: Some decent quality peach schnapps in the bathroom.

Laundry Day: Mix liquors that are white (such as light rum) with liquors that are dark (such as whiskey). Fold.

The Monster Under The Bed: Daddy hiding with a snifter of Frangelico.

Preschooler Artwork: Use the best absinthe you can get your hands on in the faculty lounge.

That New Baby Smell: Sift Johnson's Baby Powder over the top of a mug of steamed sweetened milk. Add a soft toy in case you want to teethe.

The "Go To Bed!": A sip of tap water in a tin cup and that’s it, don’t ask for more, do you know how late it is?!

A Tween: Muddle field hockey with a the rind of a lime. Add bitters.

Because I Said So: Beat St. Germain with an egg white until frothy. If you have the energy, garnish with a pickled onion.

The Visiting Relative: Add a thin stream of simple syrup to a vast glass of whatever you have on hand.

Elizabeth is a stay-at-home mother of two under five. Before having kids, she worked in corporate and foundation relations, and before that at the Museum of Science, Boston. She moonlights writing in the very early mornings before everyone gets up and wants things. In the little free time she has, Elizabeth makes complicated French patries to tempt her kids into doing what she asks. Her work has appeared in terrain.org, The Delmarva Review, McSweeney's Internet Tendency, Tar River Poetry, and the Baltimore City Paper. Visit her blog: www.goodybastos.blogspot.com. Elizabeth can be reached at: elizabeth.bastos@gmail.com.

BY JERRY KRAFT

I have a problem with mathematics. It began long ago, early in elementary school, and has only gotten worse through the years. There are two components to my problem. The first is: I don't know anything about mathematics. The second is: I am a writer. To make matters worse, some demented teacher in some forgotten school long ago (probably in the age of Roman numerals) invented something called the "story problem." Talk about a set-up. They take numbers which are about nothing (and don't even have faces) and hide them in a story, which, even though it is lacking in literary merit, has potential. Then they expect you to spend your time working, not to make the story better, but to trick the numbers into becoming a different number. Like that would mean anything to anybody. Even worse, I have found that math teachers have virtually no imagination and rarely appreciate the creative work that goes into solving what I call "the story problem."

In any event, this all came back to me when my daughter recently brought home a page of story problems, allegedly designed to demonstrate her mastery of sixth-grade probability and statistics. She, because she is actually quite gifted in math and also derives a sadistic enjoyment from any activity that makes me look monstrously stupid, got all of the so-called answers "right." Here then, for your amusement, are the questions -- both her smug little correct answers and my vastly more imaginative and inevitably incorrect responses.

WASHINGTON STATE MATHEMATICS COUNCIL SIXTH GRADE PROBABILITY & STATISTICS

(Make sure you include the units in your answer!)

1) I have a bag of marbles containing the following: 8 red marbles, 16 blue marbles, 4 green marbles, 7 yellow marbles. What is the probability of drawing a marble that is not yellow? Express your answer as a fraction in lowest terms.

McKenna's answer:  4/5

Jerry’s answer: David McGurk is an unusual sixth grader. He stands 6'2", weighs 285 pounds, and has a large tattoo of a coiling snake on his right forearm. He likes to play marbles, and he likes to collect marbles if they belong to someone else. His favorite marbles are yellow. The last time he came to recess (after spending four months in detention in an iron cage with a leather mask over his mouth) he saw that we were playing marbles and immediately came over to me -- much the way a hungry wolf would come to meet a newborn lamb. I had been doing some pretty good shooting, and had amassed four of the red marbles, seven blues, two greens, and even one of the prized yellows.

Suddenly a giant shadow blocked the sun. It was McGurk. It was my shot. There were only two marbles left inside the ring, a bright green and a yellow, almost centered and sitting side-by-side. I looked up at McGurk and silently handed him the single yellow that I had already won. At almost the same time, the rest of the guys silently handed him their yellow ones. I was determined to win and keep the last one, the one in the center of the circle.

I lowered my nose to half an inch from the ground. I sighted along an imaginary line directly at the yellow marble. I calmed my breathing and said a little prayer to the marble gods (I've seen them in museums), and I sent off a powerful shot. My plan was to knock the yellow marble out of the ring, jump to my feet, grab the marble and run.

Part of the plan worked. I knocked it out of the ring, directly over to McGurk who put his foot on top of it. I looked up at his big, ugly face and saw a trickle of blood coming from the corner of his grin. It was then that I realized my probability of ending up with a marble any color but yellow was 100%.

That's my answer.

2) The scores on Tabitha's 3 previous math quizzes were 86, 88, and 90. If she needs an average of 90 or more to get an "A," what is the lowest score she needs on her 4th test to get an "A" in math?

McKenna's answer: 96

Jerry's answer: As if. That Tabitha is a little tramp and everybody knows it. The only possible way she's been getting those good grades on her previous work is because she's been kissing Matt Hemingway in that little hidey place by the end of the lockers between math class and her third period gym. Also, I heard that last Friday she went to the movies with Matt, and they were sitting in the very back row and making out the whole time, and when she came out of the theater afterwards her blouse was buttoned all wrong. Now, you tell me. Everyone knows that Matt is like a math genius. The question isn't the lowest score she needs, but how low she'll go just to score. You do the math.

3) What is the value of "x" that will make the mean, median, and mode of this set of numbers all the same?
8, 5, 2, 8, 5, 2, x

McKenna's answer: 5

Jerry's answer: They called him "X" because nobody really knew where he came from, or what had happened to his home planet. From the time he was a young boy, he had hated those who were mean to others, and he had decided he would devote his life to doing good works; that became his mode of operation. For example, one day a local bully was pushing around a little girl, and he shoved her out into traffic. "X" changed from his usual school clothes into a fantastic costume in a fraction of a second, dashed into the street, and carried the girl safely to the median.

There is no way to really measure the value of "X."

4) A sandwich shop has 3 meats: ham, turkey, and roast beef. They have 2 kinds of bread: white and whole wheat. They have 4 choices of vegetable: lettuce, onions, tomato, pickle. They have 4 choices of dressing: Italian, Thousand Island, mustard, ketchup. If you select 1 meat, 1 bread, 2 different vegetables and 1 dressing, how many different sandwiches could the shop make?

McKenna's answer: 144

Jerry's answer: Nobody could remember how many days they had been stranded on the island. At this point, it didn’t really matter. They were doomed. The supplies were gone. All of the ham, all of the turkey, all of the roast beef. Fortunately, there was still wood left from the packing crates they had broken down, so they had a fire. Now, as the night grew darker and colder with every passing moment, Stephen realized how desperate their situation had become.  As he looked across the flames at Donald -- poor, porky, chubby, juicy, little Donald -- all he could think about were the combinations: sourdough bread and Thousand Island, mustard and rye, a nice little side salad with lettuce, onions, tomato and pickles. His mouth began to water. "Donald,"  he said, "I think your number is up."

Yes, that was it. Donald was the answer.

5) In a video game, the player must fight a scaly monster in Room 1, a ninja warrior in Room 2, and a giant snake in Room 3. If the player gets through all 3 rooms, she has won! If 10 people play this video game, 8 get past the scaly monster. The ninja warrior is twice as difficult as the scaly monster, and the giant snake is twice as difficult as the ninja warrior. What is the average player's probability of winning this video game? State your answer as an exact percent.

McKenna's answer: 20%

Jerry's answer: There was a slight smirk on his face as he watched the children playing their silly video games. As they mindlessly stuck quarter after quarter into the machine, nimbly manipulating the controls in order to score points, he thought back to his own days as a real ninja warrior, under the training of the Grand Shallalla of Nepal. He didn’t think he would ever forget the day he had to combat a scale-covered ninja leading 27 poisonous snakes on leashes out of the cave where the secret treasure of the cursed math teacher had been hidden for centuries. "Ah, but that was a tale for another day's telling," he said quietly to himself. "Today there are 300 men trapped in a sunken submarine who need my help."

Now, here's the really sad part of my story. McKenna will get an "A" in math, be everybody's favorite little model student, and probably get double dessert. Meanwhile, I will be told once again that I'm not paying attention, and need to attend to the assignment rather than just letting my mind wander where it will. It's an old story. It reminds me of the time…but wait! How about 27?

Jerry Kraft is a playwright, poet, and journalist. He is the author of fifteen plays that have been produced or published, two volumes of poetry, and is a regular contributor to Living on the Peninsula magazine. He lives in Port Angeles, Washington with his wife Bridgett and their daughters McKenna and Luxie. He has many non-numerical talents. He can be reached at: stilljerry@gmail.com