My daughter had a special request for breakfast this morning, “Water eggs, Mama!”
“Do you mean scrambled eggs?”
“No, *water *eggs. I peel them.”
:smack: Water eggs = hard boiled eggs. Of course!
Well, obviously English is not your native language Whynot. Otherwise you would have understood at once. 
My daughter (practically same age as yours), sounding very indignant: “I am not a baby! I’m a big kid”.
I recently sorted through last year’s summer clothes to see what will still fit, so there is a mix of pants and shorts in my son’s dresser now. The other day he came to tell me that he couldn’t find any long-sleeved pants.
This may be a cute grown-up story.
I was eating dinner with my brother, his wife, their daughters (3 and 5) and a family friend. Friend was impressed because my nieces were more interested in eating veggies, especially broccoli, than in eating ham. Daddy pointed out that the girls were mostly interested in the Ranch Dressing.
Friend admits this, but points out that the little one was picking broccoli over orange (carrots, which she actually does not like) or the other green (cucumber).
Daddy says, “Yeah, but she’d use pink or silver if she were allowed to choose them”.
Friend thinks really hard about what veggies might be pink or silver.
(Answer: None. Pink is the color of her finger, and silver is the color of silverware. Both ways to get ranch dressing minus the veggie.)
Also, I’ve heard of the phenomonen before, but it is truly amazing what a nice bandage with a kid-friendly design does for a child who has been hurt. The tears dried up magically. Although her wrist hurt too much to color, and she wanted to use her wrist as an excuse to direct me in creating a play house. I refused, and within 30 seconds she’d decided she wanted to color anyway. But no, Daddy, the fact that that dog has purple ears does not prove that Aunt Eureka thinks that dogs should have purple ears. It just means that she did the coloring, and let other people pick the colors.
The one that always gets me is “when I was a little boy…”. My sons are 8 and 6. So far I have managed to keep a straight face.
Alternatively, when niece aged 4 was told that she was too young to appreciate a grown-up word game “I’ll understand it when I’m 5”.
Um, no, it doesn’t work that way.
My two year old daughter’s new thing: “I baby pirate”.
I have no idea what she thinks a pirate is, her older sister is a girly-girl and doesn’t have pirate toys, watch pirate shows, or play pirate games. But she’s been saying she’s a baby pirate for the last few weeks.
The other day I changed her diaper and when I was finished she said, “Tanks, Daddy pirate.”
With 2yr and 4yr old girls, we’ve got baby dolls all over the place. Last week my youngest spent two days playing with her new baby, “Powder.” She found a large bottle of baby powder and was lovingly wrapping it in blankets, rocking it to sleep, and pushing it in her doll stroller. She’d proudly tell anyone, “This is my baby! Powder! It’s big!” (because it’s a larger bottle of powder than the one we normally use)
The regular bottle of powder is called “cheese” because she has conflated it with parmesean cheese. Anyone not of my household would be very confused to change her diaper and hear her request for cream (A&D ointment) and cheese (Caldesene).
In my 3 year old son’s world, the sun does not rise or set. Rather “The dark is here!” or “The dark is gone!” He tried to talk his way out of bedtime the other night by pointing out thath “The dark is not here.”
My daughter (3 1/2) is really into cooking. When I get my cooking magazines, she pores over the pictures, especially of the desserts. She asked me to get a cookbook out for her so she could get a recipe for a cake she wanted to make in her little kitchen. So, I gave her one that is all chocolate cakes, with a color picture of each one. Oh, boy did she love that! She then told me all the ingredients she needed, which went something like this:
“I need a little chocolate, and a little eggs, and a little flour, and a little yellow (? no idea what she meant by this), and a little strawberries, and a bowl.”
Oh, I love these threads!
My mom was recently telling me about something my sister said, after her first day in grade one. My sister is the youngest of three kids, so by the time she hit grade one she had some sense of what my brother and I were able to do (read, write, math, etc) and was looking forward to obtaining those skills too.
So when she came home from grade one, on her very first day, she was very very mad and crying. My mom asked her what was wrong, what happened? and my sister answered
“I can’t READ!”
My mom told her “you’ll learn how” to which she replied
“But I’m in grade ONE now!”
Apparently she thought it was somewhat automatic.
All of these stories are fantastic, but this melted me into a puddle of “awwwww!”
At a recent trip to the barber shop.
Barber: How old are you?
Son: Three.
Barber: When will you be four?
Son: On my birthday!
Once after making brownies I gave my son the mixing bowl so he could eat the leftover batter. Instead of using a spoon, he took his whole hand, fingers splayed, and rubbed it around the inside of the bowl, then proceeded to lick his hand clean.
When I was a wee one, we had a Volvo with automatic windows. One day I was driving with my dad and I kept rolling the window down, and he kept rolling it back up with the button on the driver’s side. This went on. I would put it down, he would put it back up until finally he got sick of it and said “Kaitie, would you please stop rolling the window down?” My response?
“It’s okay, dad, it goes up by itself.”
That actually makes sense. I’d bet that he got more batter with his hand than he would have with a spoon.
I vaguely remember that once, when I was a small child (5-7, I’d guess), my mother told me to do something that I felt was beyond my capabilities at the time, and I said “Mama, I’m just little.”
Okay, so it’s not actually that cute. Shut up.
My 3 year old nephew and I were making shapes with play doh one afternoon when he decided to show his grandmother what he’d made. He takes some of the play doh across the room to where she’s sitting and puts it in her lap. Then he decides that she needs to see all the play doh and proceeds to dash back and forth, from table to chair, with handfuls of brightly colored putty. Right in the middle of one of these trips he suddenly stops, turns around to face Grandma, points at her and proclaims quite seriously “Now don’t eat that.”
When Bonzo was three, he received a new baby sister, whom I was breastfeeding. One day he accosted me in the bedroom as I was folding laundry. “I know how you can tell the daddies from the mommies!” he announced proudly.
“Oh, really? How?”
“The mommies are the ones with the fat things on their chests!” he reported.
He was somewhat crestfallen when Mommy involuntarily snorted with laughter.
The ‘yellow’ could be butter. Flour, butter, eggs, sugar…sounds like the beginning of a cake to me!
Since it’s just a block of yellow butter, I could see it just being ‘yellow’ to the little one.
My niece and nephew were playing in the car once while my sister was finishing packing the bags for their day trip. My 4-year old niece was in the front passenger seat while my nephew was mucking around in the back, shouting and generally being a noisy 2-year old boy. My niece promptly turned around and said sternly to her brother, “Don’t make me come back there!” (Apparently, my sister never says that, but my niece saw it on an ad on TV!)