So my family is all gathered around the big-screen TV watching UT getting trounced by Texas Tech (a temporary situation, as it turned out). During a commercial, my sister asks my seven year-old daughter to turn on the overhead light for a moment. In order to reach the dangling pull-cord for the ceiling fan/chandelier, Kizarvexilla must procure a means of temporarily increasing the length of her vertical reach. So she borrows the stepstool that my father is, at that moment, using for a footrest. Having performed the requested action, Kizarvexilla gently lifts her grandfather’s feet and replaces the stepstool in its previous position.
Feeling in the mood to be snarky, I said to Kizarvexilla, “Your grandfather is very grateful that you have given him back his stool – now all he needs is a stool softener.”
My father, the frequent recipient of “old fart” jokes, gives me the “Ah…wit, or something akin to it” stare. Just then I look down to see that Kizarvexilla has fetched a pillow, and is now in the process of positioning it beneath my father’s feet.
Once I regained the capacity for coherent speech, I gently explained to my daughter the real meaning of the term “stool softener.”
It suffers much in the retelling, but I thought it was truly hilarious.
That is so utterly adorable and what a scream! Kids must be the absolute best entertainment!
Not only that, but they go well in stews.
That’s so funny! And now you have a great story to tell future boyfriends!
My kids are always doing something like that. The older two love the song “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk.” They were singing it and got to the part: “Oohwee, shut my mouth, slap your grandma!” Immediately, my outraged four year old protested, “I am NOT going to slap Grandma!” And then couldn’t understand why everyone burst out laughing!
We all went to Branson about three weeks ago, and any trip of more than 10 minutes with three kids…well, it can get a bit nerve-racking at times, to say the least. At one point, I began to hear a clacking sound repeated over and over. Without looking to the back seat, I said, “Whoever’s doing that whacking needs to quit now!” A few seconds passed and I began to hear the sound again. This time I turned to see what was happening and it was my son, forcefully clacking his teeth together. “STOP IT!!” I ordered. Another few seconds passed, and AGAIN I heard the noise. I whipped around with a glare, ready to commit mayhem, and my son, with a wide-eyed innocent expression on his face, was bobbing his thumb toward his older sister. It took a few moments before I could get my breath to tell my husband what was so funny!