One of the forbidden words in our house is "but." To be honest, it's more of a contraband word, in the sense that marijuana is contraband on the University of Michigan campus. I play the role of the dedicated but slightly unhinged campus DARE coordinator.

Now my youngest has discovered the illicit pleasures of the rebuttal. And he really, earnestly, means it. It is, in fact, his motto. A typical afternoon with Timothy Eli "But" Woodlief, lately, goes a little something like this:

"Eli, don't climb over the back of the chair."

"But, but, I climbing."

"Eli, don't throw the airplane."

"But, but, I flying."

"Child, do not jump on the stairs."

"But, but, I not jumping."

"You are jumping. Stop it.

"But, I not."

"And stop saying 'but.' Your answer is supposed to be 'yes sir.'"

"But, but, I didn't say but."

"You just said but."

"But I didn't say but."

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't."

At some point in the process my wife breaks us up. She's like that sweet teacher you had in third grade, the one who was really mild-mannered, but who could suddenly turn on you like Bilbo Baggins in that scene in "The Lord of the Rings" when he wants Frodo to let him hold the ring one more time.

"Honey," she patiently instructs me, "I don't think you're going to get anywhere by arguing with the child."

"I suppose you're right. I just . . ."

"And you need to obey your father! Did he tell you to stop jumping on those stairs?"

"But . . ."

"Don't you 'but' me, little boy. You get off those stairs right now."

"I not jumping . . ."

"RIGHT. NOW."

Don't let her sweet, innocent manner fool you. This woman can bring the smack. You may think that you're a fast draw with your own can of Whup Hiney, but before you can even get your hand on the button, you'll discover that it's already been broughten, as they say.

In other words, she's an expert at what Barney Fife called "Bud Nipping." At some point I'm going to have to take the reins as the boys get older. These are like my apprentice years; I find myself taking mental notes as the former school teacher does her work.

The problem is, the boys not only have her good looks, but her stubbornness too. Me, I'm as easygoing as the summer breeze. But the rest of them? Like a pack of mules. You ever hear the saying about herding cats? Try herding mules, my friend.

But goodness, I do love them so. I'd take my mules over anybody else's kittens any day of the week, and twice on Sundays. Especially Sundays, I think, as I prepare for another grinding week. Especially Sundays.