Money Can't Buy Happiness, But It Sure Makes Misery Easier To Live With

"You must be joking."

"Is this the look of a woman who's joking?"

Ducky's eyes scanned the list I'd handed him. "She's going into kindergarten, not off to college!"

I laughed. "You packed crayons when you went off to college?"

He gave me an arch look. "Actually, yes," he retorted. "But more to the point: Armstrong is in an excellent school district, we pay a king's ransom in taxes—yet we have an entire page of supplies to buy? For a five-year old?"

"Yeah, but—" I grabbed a couple of pads of primer paper and tossed them in the basket. "Don't you love the rush you get with new school supplies?"

"Dear—you're sniffing pencils," he laughed.

I took another whiff of the glorious scent of graphite and sharpened wood. "At least they're legal."

"Mutter, darf ich bitte die pastelle?"

Pastilles? Chocolate? I must not have heard it right. "Sweetie, I can follow you in French. Mostly. But I'm really bad at German." And the other half-dozen languages she chatters.

Lexi frowned. "Aunt Ziva says I need to work on my German."

"And that's fine when you're talking to Aunt Ziva. Or Daddy. But if you want me to follow along—"

She nodded patiently. Ziva had discovered early on that we (we!) had given birth to a walking UN. Even more than most kids, she soaks up languages like a sponge. (It's rough when she switches languages four times in the middle of a paragraph—or a sentence.) Ducky is fluent in French (among others) and I'm dragging back what I learned in high school, so Lexi gets the greatest practice in French. "Puis-je avoir les pastels?"

Ah. Pastels. "Je suppose que oiu."

Ducky looked from the sheet to the super-deluxe-jumbo-sized box of oil pastels to me. "It's not on the list," he teased.

"Sue me. I'm a sucker for art supplies." I took the box from Lexi and put it in the cart. "These stay home." Her brows knit. "Honey, all of the markers and pencils on the list will go in a big supply box. I'm willing to share a 99-cent pack of broad tip markers. Two or three, even. I am not willing to share a thirteen-dollar box of oil pastels." I looked at the second box she was holding up and sighed. "Or a set of acrylic paints." She started to put it in the cart then looked at me, hesitating. "Go ahead," I said resignedly. I tried not to notice the set of Prismacolors that slipped in under the paint set.

"Merci!" She turned to head back to—undoubtedly—share the wealth some more. That's my girl, keeping the economy going.

"Do not move one inch from Daddy's or my side. Understood?"

She looked almost offended. "You said if I stay within eyesight—" She pointed to the display of art supplies three feet away.

"Yeah, well, I figure 'within eyesight' just cost me at least twenty bucks per foot."

"You could say no," Ducky offered. Lexi looked stricken.

"Yeah… says the man who went to Petsmart for cat treats—" Ducky winced. "And came home with two birds, a rabbit and a guinea pig!"

Lexi's eyes suddenly lit up. "Vater! Können wir bekommenein frettchen?"

From the look on her father's face... I was pretty sure I was better off not getting a translation.