The kids are all right. A little annoying, but all right.

We are six weeks into summer, and, so far, I have spent 100 percent of my time with at least two children underfoot. In fact, most days I’ve found myself with not just my own two but with an additional one, two, three, even four to six more kids.

Lots of kids. All day every day. Camp Abbajay. Super fun happy time!

And these kids are needy. They eat like NFL players. They need constant hydration. They need applications of this or that sunscreen or lotion. They need software updates and pages refreshed and apps downloaded. They need passwords and USB cords and batteries and chargers. They need colder water, warmer water, ice, or a refill. They need a maid, a counselor, and a Sherpa. They need money or a ride or both. God love `em, but they're a pain in the ass.

Luckily, there is the redemption of their love, their sweet, sweet faces, and their helpful attitudes and generous spirits. I'm kidding. They're horrible. Kidding again! They are awesome, and not at all entitled or picky or precious or too honest.

Well, maybe just a teeny weeny bit. Here are some of the things kids have said to me so far this summer:

• This is all you have? These are my choices?
• I don't eat ice cream if it’s melty.
• You only have cheddar? Well, I prefer Swiss.
• I don't want to use the iPad or either of the laptops. I want to use your iMac; the others are too slow.
• Why does everything terrible happen to me??!! Netflix is taking forever to load and I can't even get on Hulu Plus. This is the worst day ever!
• I only like the kind in a box.
• This bread tastes funny. Is it healthy?
• I like it a little less toasted, like a golden brown. This is too brownie brown.
• I can't eat it if it doesn't have real butter on it.
• You don't have any fresh Parmesan?
• Yes, he apologized, but I don't forgive him. He didn't  sound sincere. I don't think he really meant it.
• Your iTunes library is lame.
• You should consider sleeves.
• Are you supposed to be eating that?

And, from my own son, 13-year-old Oskar, on my birthday last month:

• Oskar: How old are you Mom?
• Me: I’m 48.
• Oskar: Wow. You're half way dead.

As parents, Dave and I don't do as much talking, primarily because we are constantly cooking, cleaning, schlepping, and refereeing (and by we I mean me). But far and away, here are the top three things we've said to the kids, usually in rapid succession:

• No weapons in the house.
• Close the door.
• Flush the toilet.

Any of this sound familiar?