I went to see a mortgage advisor with my 7-year old son. As I sat at the desk, my son sat down and said to the man “Hello, I am not her husband.”
5-year old: Can I have a Twik?
Me: You mean Twix?
5-year old: No. I only want one.
“C’mon, Elsa! Get it together!” My almost 3-year old said to her doll, who kept falling over.
Soccer coach: “When you are trying to score a goal, kick the ball with the laces of your shoes.”
My 4-year old daughter: “Umm, we are in preschool. Dere’s only belcro [velcro] walking around here.”
My son walks up to me with his hands dangling under his chin, fingers spread out and wiggling around.
Son: “Mom, like my beard of testicles?”
Me: “What?? Beard of what??”
Son: “My beard of testicles…I’m an octopus!”
Me: “Tentacles, kiddo. They’re called tentacles.”
Son: “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”
Me: “Why is the dog’s head all wet?”
My 3-year old son, standing outside on the patio: “Oh, because I peed on him.”
I told my kids that we are no longer saying “shut up” because it sounds mean and can hurt people’s feelings. So my kids are getting creative with their use of words. My 9-year old daughter was just talking and talking and talking, and my 6-year old son couldn’t take anymore and said, “SILENCE YOU PEASANT!”
While I sat in the reception area of my doctor’s office, a woman rolled an elderly man in a wheelchair into the room. As she went to the receptionist’s desk, the man sat there, alone and silent.
Just as I was thinking I should make small talk with him, a little boy slipped off his mother’s lap and walked over to the wheelchair.
Placing his hand on the man’s, he said, “I know how you feel. My mom makes me ride in the stroller too..”
As I was nursing my baby, my cousin’s six-year-old daughter, Krissy, came into the room. Never having seen anyone breast feed before, she was intrigued and full of all kinds of questions about what I was doing.
After mulling over my answers, she remarked, “My mom has some of those, but I don’t think she knows how to use them..”
Out bicycling one day with my eight-year-old granddaughter, Carolyn, I got a little wistful.
“In ten years,” I said, “you’ll want to be with your friends and you won’t go walking, biking, and swimming with me like you do now.”
“In ten years you’ll be too old to do all those things anyway.”
Just before I was deployed to Iraq , I sat my eight-year-old son down and broke the news to him.
‘I’m going to be away for a long time,’ I told him. ‘I’m going to Iraq .’
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you know there’s a war going on over there?’
Paul Newman founded the Hole in the Wall Gang Camp for children stricken with cancer, AIDS, and blood diseases. One afternoon, he and his wife, Joanne Woodward, stopped by to have lunch with the kids.
A counselor at a nearby table, suspecting the young patients wouldn’t know Newman was a famous movie star, explained, “That’s the man who made this camp possible. Maybe you’ve seen his picture on his salad dressing bottle?”
“Well, you’ve probably seen his face on his lemonade carton.”
An eight-year-old girl perked up. ‘How long was he missing?’