Tim: Well, let me ask you a question. Have you ever wished that you'd married somebody as smart as you?
Jill: You think I'm smarter than you?
Tim: Yeah.
Jill: Well, that just shows how smart you are.
Tim: You didn't answer the question.
Jill: Do I ever wish that I married somebody else? Why would I wanna marry anybody else? You're funny, you're sexy, creative, you take chances, and you're definitely not afraid to be wrong. I'm perfectly happy being married to a man who thinks that PBS is something that women get once a month.
Tim: What I said was, "Once a month is enough for PBS." And way too much for the other thing.

Jill: I want you to look at some of this stuff.
Tim: Oh, come on. It's tied and the Wolverines need me. Please? Please?
Jill: No, I need you. Come on, you can miss an inning.
Tim: Inning? Why do you always bug me during the football game? Did I bug you during childbirth?
Jill: No, but you bugged me during conception.

Jill: We never actually said that we weren't gonna have another baby.
Tim: I've said it. I know I've talked about it. I mentioned it on Tool Time.
Jill: Oh, great. So 11 people know about it?
Tim: You remember babies at all? Dirty diapers. Colic? 2 am feedings. 3 am feedings. I don't have the energy for that anymore.
Jill: You don't have the energy to say, "Wake up, Jill, the baby wants you"?

Jill: I don't really have that much to talk about.
Dr. Breen: Oh, that's OK. Why don't you just tell me a little about yourself.
Jill: Oh, oh, OK. Um... [clears throat] Well, I just hit 40, and I'm trying to jumpstart a new career, and I don't know which I'll get first, my diploma or menopause. [nervous chuckle] On top of that, I have three sons, each of whom is the center of his own universe. Brad has started driving, which is keeping me up worrying half the night, Randy has started questioning everything his father and I stand for, and Mark - he's the youngest one - wears only black and is possibly worshiping the devil.
Dr. Breen: Well, Jill...
Jill: No, no, there's more, there's more. You see, I am completely overwhelmed. My father died about six months ago, and I've been trying to help my mother long distance which is not working at all. And I'm running a house, going to school and leading my own counseling groups. I'm having some people over for dinner tonight and I have no idea what I'm going to make them. She likes fish, he likes chicken. Not that it matters because when I cook, you know, it all tastes the same.

Jill: Yeah, well this is only about ten percent of my problems. The other 90 percent... I'm married, too. You see, my husband, he's going through this sort of midlife crisis thing, you know, "Who am I? Where am I? Should I grow a beard? Should I buy a hunting lodge?" And then... And then... And then today, Brad spilled a soda on my paper, Mark's asking for skulls, and before I knew it, I was asking my husband to start construction on an office.
Dr. Breen: What's- What's wrong with your husband building you an office?
Jill: I'm married to Tim Taylor.
Dr. Breen: Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor?
Jill: Yeah, and maybe you'd better switch to a tape recorder here.
Dr. Breen: I hope I have enough batteries.

Tim: A woman? You brought me here to see a woman?
Jill: I didn't know she was a woman. My gynecologist just said that Dr. Kaplan was the best urologist in town.
Tim: How am I supposed to talk to a woman about what's going on in manland?
Jill: Manland? Now you got a theme park between your legs?

Jill: What is this thing on your head?
Tim: It's a little piece of table.
Randy: What happened?
Tim: Old Mr. Negativity, Al, distracted me and I got my head cemented to this table. He had to take a sabre saw to get me off of that table.
Jill: Don't you think you should go to the emergency room?
Tim: I was just there. They said I wasn't a priority.
Jill: Why? Was there a guy with a whole table stuck to his head?

Jill: Tim, why couldn't you just leave my car alone? Why do you have to obsess about a stupid little scratch? This is just a car. It's a hunk of metal used to haul kids to soccer practice.
Tim: This is not a hunk of metal! This used to be a classic.
Jill: It looks like a giant hot dog bun.

Jill: Our wedding was so beautiful. I am so glad that I didn't let anybody talk me out of marrying you.
Tim: Who tried to talk you out of marrying me?
Jill: Oh, no one. You know, just... my mom, my dad, my sisters, my friends. The minister. The postman. Some guy down at the mailbox. You know. Oh, and Sheila.
Tim: Yeah.
Jill: Who said to me, "Don't marry him. I know a loser when I see one."
Tim: Good thing she was wrong.
Jill: Who said she was wrong? [Tim smushes cake in Jill's face]

Jill: You're right, I tipped him off. I mean, what kind of mother am I? I had to go and fix him a decent breakfast.