Meanwhile, my 4 year old daughter has been busy in the kitchen.
I was hearing the chair being pushed across the floor, cupboards banging. Assorted metallic utensils being clanged about.
Since I’ve not heard the opening and closing of the frig, I just let her be.
(An unsupervised Frig can mean all the yogurt will be opened and set up in Tea party formation for her invisible baby wolves that she dotes on. All 100 of them.)
She comes up to my office with two plastic cups taped mouth to mouth together with a milk jug top inside it for noise. My baby made a musical instrument and used tape, which is notoriously hard for anyone under the age of 100 to dispense.
As long as she sticks with Scotch tape and its analogs, you are ok. It’s when she graduates to duct tape that you need to worry. The things that can be “invented” with duct tape boggle the mind.
As long as she stays away from glue and its unholy red-headed step sibling, pritt glue and the evils known as glitter, I am happy.
They know all about duct tape. Whenever I score a large box for them to play with, I duct tape it really good to get more mileage out of play time. One box we have is going on 5 years. I poop you not.
Then you are doomed! You have shown them “The Substance That Holds The Universe Together!” at too young an age. Their minds are too malleable…their imaginations know no limits.
You can bet the farm that one day you are going to wake up to a duct-taped cat.
I have to remember this phrase for when BabyCobalt* gets a bit older. ENugent and I have already taken to using “poot!” and “poop!” as substitute expletives, but I hadn’t yet considered the substitution in regular phrases. Thanks!
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*Should the child of Cobalt be called BabyCobalt or Rhodium?
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If the baby wolves are invisible how does she know how many there are? Huh? HUH? Answer me that, why don’t you!
My four year old son asked to see my ID last night.
We were having a conversation when he suddenly asked “What is your name? Is it (my first name)?” Yes, I said. “Then what is your last name?” I told him (it’s the same as his, of course). He looked confused (That’s MY last name. What’s YOURS, you dense grownup you?). So finally I decided to show him my driver’s license. He is just learning how to read and so was able to see that I was, indeed, who I said I was. For Pete’s sake, I was in the room when he was born!
My daughter can see her baby wolves, which use to be in the 179 number range.
Our son has given in to the baby wolves phenom. Before he refuted her story quite vigorously, now he helps her out making a bed for them and giving them bathes.
Today, she declared a small basketball was her chicken egg and she sat on it like a chicken, then wrapped it in a blanket and carried it about the house in a basket. If she thinks that thing is going to hatch, she’s in for a bit of a wait.
Hee on Frig… I will never look at my fridgerator the same way again.
The other baby wolves suddenly disappeared one day. I think they were becoming a nuisance for her. I mean, she does need to dress up as a princess fireman-Thor the God of Thunder to open a can of whoop ass on her brother
( who is dressed for a Christmas cotillian/construction worker/doctor/clown who defends himself with the mighty powers of karate he has learned from cartoons.)
We are nothing, if not open to all sorts of nonsense around these parts.
I have to remember this phrase for when BabyCobalt* gets a bit older. ENugent and I have already taken to using “poot!” and “poop!” as substitute expletives, but I hadn’t yet considered the substitution in regular phrases. Thanks!