My former landlord’s daughter was quite fond of my “Diva David” magnet set. When she was around five, she came into my kitchen and pulled off David’s skirt and started jumping up and down yelling “He’s got a willy! He’s got a willy!” She then decided that he needed underwear. As the magnet set doesn’t come with any, she made do with what there was, and very carefully placed one of the bright red thigh-high boots over his penis. Luckily I barely managed to keep a straight face until her parents came to fetch her.
Heh. For me, it was “hippy” lingo. There’s a family story circa early 70s that my parents had taken me, at around 3 yo, to the apartment of a friend of theirs for get-together. Sometime in the middle of the “party” a cop had come and knocked on the front door (apparently looking for someone else in the complex). I guess a few of the guests decided to send me to the door to see what was up. When I answered the door and saw the police standing there, my first reaction was to hold up my hand gesturing the peace sign and say with a smile, “Peace, pig.” My mother was not amused.
Some 30 years later, 5yo Cinna-little provides amusement. I had bought a potted groundcover rose and put it in the basement until I was ready to plant it. We had taken in a stray cat that we called Skinny White Boy. SWB had taken to chewing on the leaves of the rose and was scolded by me often and loudly. Once, Cinna-little was down in the basement with the cat starting munching my rose. Instantly, in a stern voice, she shouted, “Skinny White Boy! Stop eating mama’s bush!” Cinna-daddy and I about died from the laughter.
I think I’ve told this one before.
Ivygirl was about three or so, and she comes in with muddy feet. I told her to go to the bathroom to wash up.
Silence ensues, which to a parent, is as adrenaline-inducing as a clarion call on a submarine.
I go to the bathroom, and there is Ivygirl, sitting on the bathroom counter, her feet in a sink full of soap bubbles, industriously scrubbing between her toes…
with her brother’s toothbrush.
Twiddle - As a matter of fact, yes, I believe he probably was by that time. I didn’t think about the Myth books, but I know he read them. Question answered!
StG
When my daughter was about 8 or 9 I took her to the grocery store with me. She saw the sign that the store was open 24 hours a day, and said to me with a puzzled expression, “But daddy, when do they sleep?”
When my daughter was around 2 1/2, her daddy took him with her to Wal*Mart. He had carefully explained that she was not getting a toy while they were there but this din’t really sink in until he picked her up and headed to the checkouts. She started kicking and yelling **“You’re not my real daddy!” ** over and over. He dumped whatever it was he had planned to buy and just headed for the exit, sweating bullets and expecting a shotgun in his face at any instant. As he is striding towards his car, he realizes that he has nothing on him that would prove that she does belong to him, not even a picture in his wallet. He makes it to the car with nothing worse than the stares of other shoppers following him.
Fortunately, he had calmed down by the time they got home and so had she. Daughter still got a spanking for the tantrum, though.
A good one from my friend’s little boy, 2 and a half years old.
He wants to go outside to play with his big wheel truck, but one of the wheels is broken so Mommy tells him “Sorry, honey, you can’t play with your truck, you have a flat tire!”
Kid: “But Mommy, I’m not tired!”
Mommy: “No honey, the tire. You have a flat tire.”
Kid: (starting to cry) “Mommy! I don’t want to go to bed! I’m. Not. Tired!!”
Mommy: “No, no, it’s the wheel on your truck! It’s broken!”
Kid: (stops crying, sniffles thoughtfully) “Is that why I’m tired?”
I think I’ve told this story before too, but…
My folks lived on a creek off the Chesapeake Bay and my 2 sons loved spending time on the dock scooping up crabs, fish, whatever with a long net. My husband is a doctor and I’m a science teacher—which you need to know, because we’ve always been pretty matter-of-fact about things that some people are little squeamish about. Anyway, one morning, I was way up the yard sitting on the porch as my two year old was out on the dock scooping up unwary livestock. Suddenly, I hear my little boy shout up from the dock, in an incredibly loud tone of voice, "Look mommy! Jellyfish testicles!!! Ummm…that would be tentacles sweetheart.
The following story happened in 1998 or 1999.
We had our family Christmas get-together at my house that year. My nephew Philip was three or four years old then. He loved the movie Toy Story as much as anyone has ever loved any movie. My sister-in-law and brother told me that all Philip wanted for Christmas was the action figures from the movie, so, being the doting uncle that I am, he received from me the large size of each of the main characters.
Came time for him to open his gifts–the first thing he opened was the package with Buzz Lightyear in it. “Mom! Dad! My Buzz Lightyear!” He went to his next gift, and said very loudly–“My Woody!”
We laughed all day.
:dubious:
I took my five year-old neice to see the movie Mighty Joe Young when it first came out. Towards the end of the movie Mighty Joe (a giant ape) falls from a great height and lays motionless for several minutes. I could hear other children getting restless, trying to decide if he had died, so I whispered to my neice, “Do you think he’ll be okay?” She blithely replied, “Yes, it’s a Disney movie.”
This reminds me of a time with my son. He too was very much into Toystory… I had promised him I would take him to buy the action figures. Imagine the looks on my family’s faces as I ask loudly to my 3 or 4 year old son, “Do you want to go with mommie to get a Buzz & a Woody?”
Just about a week ago, my 7 year old brother was hungry and we didn’t have anything in the apartment he wanted. We sent him out to the grocery store with a $20 bill and instructions to get “a snack” – a microwave dinner, a pack of hot dogs: something along these lines. He returns 20 minutes later with:
9 packs of chewing gum.
A six-pack of Coca-Cola
A large, uncooked chicken.
I don’t think he’ll be doing any more shopping in the near future.
At a family gathering several years ago, one of my cousins (who was probably about 5 years old) was sitting next to my extremely large grandmother at dinner. Someone else, for whatever reason, said “Well, it’s not over till the fat lady sings!”
My cousin looked up at my grandmother with wide eyes and said, “Wow, do you sing?”
I got an impromptu lesson on the human body the other day. My little 3 year old neighbor was at my house, and I was standing on the porch with her and her mom while my husband changed our daughter’s diaper inside. She could see them through the glass door, and told me “Miss Angela! Emma has a vagina! She has a vagina because she’s a girl.”
I said “That’s right, she does.”
“Miss Angela! I have a vagina too!”
“Yep, you’re a girl, so you do too.”
“And Miss Angela, you’re a girl too, so you have a vagina too! And so does my mommy!”
“Yep, we do…”
“But my brother is a boy, so he has a penis. And Emma’s daddy is a boy too!”
I remember having a similar discussion with a younger cousin about 15 years ago. I guess they just want to share their new knowledge.
All three of these stories are about me. (I may or may not have told them before)
The first one was when I couldn’t have been older than three. We were going to a baby shower held for my aunt, my dad’s sister when she was pregnant with her first children, twin boys. I had just gotten out of the car, and then I think I forgot something on the seat, a toy, or something like that. I don’t remember. Anyways, I went to go back in the car, and my dad didn’t see me and started to close the door, which slammed me in the face. Lots of tears, ice, and comforting, I end up with a large bruise on my cheek.
Well, the next day, my dad had to pick something up at the grocery store and as usual, he took me along. We were in the aisles, and a woman came up to us and saw me and said, “Oh honey, what happened to your cheek?”
According to my dad, I gave her a HUGE grin and said, “Oh, my Daddy hit me!”
He said she looked at him as if he were Hitler reincarnated.
Second story. I’m about the same age, and my uncles on my dad’s side are teasing me about being a little “hunky”, because my maternal grandfather is Hungarian/Slovak. I of course, have no idea what “hunky” meant, but I finally got fed up, and said, “Leave me alone! I’m not a hunky-I’m a SUPER hunky!”
My grandfather STILL gets a kick out of that one.
And finally, I was about two years old. Said Hungarian/Slovak grandfather was very put out that I wouldn’t kiss him goodbye, because he had stubble (that thick, Hungarian beard, no matter how much he shaved!). So, he started giving me a dollar every time I kissed him goodbye.
Only then I went to kiss my OTHER grandparents goodbye one evening. I looked at my paternal grandfather, held out my hand, and demanded, “Money CASH!!!”
My mother made her father stop giving me money.
I don’t have kids, so you’ll have to settle for sibling and cousing stories from me:
When my brother was about 2 or 3 he was sick he had a fever and all he wanted to do was curl up on mum’s lap… He was obviously in pain too. So mum is trying to soothe him and asks him “where’s it sore?”. He looked up at her and managed to wimper “In the tool box”.
When my great uncle Ken died, the family was gathered as families do at such times, and his grandson (my second cousin), who was about 4 at the time was introduced to my grandfather - “This is your great uncle Jim”. He looked him up and down, before announcing “He’s not as great as grandpa Ken”
A friend of mine had twin sisters about 4 or so years younger than him. One day, he was playing pretty roughly with one of the babies, and his mum warned him “be careful, you don’t want to hurt your sister”. He replied “It’s OK mum, we’ve got a spare one”.
When my cousin was a baby, he was crying and fussing and my aunt was trying to quiet him by giving him his dummy. My little sister - 2 years old at the time told her “He doesn’t want his dummy, Ruth, snork him onto your boob”
My nine-yr-old and my four-yr-old are learning some cute songs for a church children’s choir. My two-yr-old has been picking up the words and tune and has actually learned most of the songs (and she really loves to sing!). The other night, when we were on our way to town, they all sang the songs for their Dad (with a tape). Then they just sang, without the tape, bits and pieces of them. Evidently, the baby wanted to sing alone, or they were just not singing the parts she wanted them to, because suddenly, from the back seat we hear her yell, “SHUT UP, KIDS!!” I thought DH was going to wreck the car!
One slow night in peds ICU my patient was a 2 or 3 year old girl who was having open heart surgery in the morning. As with all surgeries, she wasn’t allowed anything to eat or drink after a certain time.
She was really trying to cooperate, but she was REALLY thirsty. She asked for a massive array of liquid things hoping one wouldn’t be on the “sorry, no” list. It was getting late and I had other work to do, so I put her on my lap in a big rocker, and started singing a lullaby, hoping she’d drift off. It looked good for a second or two…
Now, I’ve been told, lots of times, I have a nice, soothing singing voice.
About 2 verses into the first song, she twisted around, patted my mouth, saying “Don’t Sing! Don’t sing! It hurts my throat! And my ears.”
I did swallow my hurt pride, and continue to rock her to sleep… without singing.
I took my young niece to see the movie Men In Black. One scene featured Will Smith arguing with an alien informant that is disguised as a small dog. Will ends up picking the dog up and shaking him violently while yelling in order to get some information. The audience was howling with laughter. Then came one of those inexplicable lulls when we in the audience were catching our collective breath. At this point my animal-loving niece yells a reprimand at us, “**That’s not ** funny!” We all started laughing again.
Another. My youngest step-daughter is watching cartoons in the room with me. Her mother yells from upstairs, “Jennifer. Come up here!” She continues to watch TV with no response. Her mother yells again, a little louder, “Jennifer, come up here!” Again, no response. I ask her, “Didn’t you hear your mother calling you?”
Her response: “Yes, but I wait until she yells three times. Then I know she means it!”