What's the most insanely cute thing you did as a child?

I was reading the recent thread about jokes that little kids tell, and it started me thinking about the insanely cute things that little kids do. I was wondering if anyone wanted to share any stories about what they, their children, or others had done that was absolutely adorable.

When I was little, my dad was sick with the flu or something along those lines, and I curled up next to him and said, with all my bewildering three-year-old charm, “What’s wrong, Big Daddy Kitten?” From then on out, whenever I needed to do to make my dad feel better was to give him a hug and say, “What’s wrong, Big Daddy Kitten?”. I’m nineteen and he’s still laughs whenever I say it.

Any takers?


One time I defecated on the kitchen floor of my grandmother’s house while she was eating. She didn’t seem to notice at first because I was on the other side of the table. But then I started sticking straws and toothpicks into it. She was sooooo pissed.

While staring at an old painting of some sailing ships from several hundred years ago I said to my mum - “what was it like in those days?”

Minutes later I asked “What was it like when everything stopped being black and white?”

Of course the first bit was meant to imply that my mum had lived in those days. I was asking for personal experience.

One time, when I was about 4 years old, I walkd into my grandmother’s bathroom when she was starting to clean her dentures. She pulled the top denture out of her mouth, and I looked ate her dumbfounded. I tried to do the same thing right there, couldn’t, and exclaimed, “But Grandma, God glued mine in!”

One other time, at my other grandparents’ house, we were having a family dinner with all the aunts, uncles, and cousins. Probably 30 people were there, and I was 5 or so. My Grandfather always said grace, which was mumbled and long winded. When he was done, I added quite loudly, “I’ll drink to that!”

I dunno how cute this was at the time, but at least Mom can laugh about it now.

Mom’s name is Joan. Dad called her Joanie. I was about five, and had come across my mother’s purse, a lovely white patent leather clutch that matched her favorite go-go boots (yes, I know, I’m dating myself here.) Anyhow. I spotted a ballpoint pen and in my very best handwriting, personalized her purse fo her so it wouldn’t get picked up by someone else. Mom found it an hour or so later and I was immediately able to tell she was not pleased with this improvement. So I quickly improvised. I told her she had OBVIOUSLY done it herself, it was HER name, wasn’t it?

Mom’s reaction: “Just a little tip, kid. It’s JOANIE LASTNAME. Not Jone. E. Lastname. If I had done this, I would have spelled it right, no?”

I really despised lettuce when I was young. In fact I never really liked it until I was about 16. Anyway, I used to greet people at the front door with “Do you like nettuce?” If they said no, I knew I had a friend. If they said yes, I said “Oh. You’re just like everybody else.”

I find it really cute and fascinating that serious grown up adult dopers used to be little children with cutesy language (‘nettuce’)

I just have this image of a stocky man with receding hair having once said “I haff go pee pee”.

God. Now I’m reminded of something my cousin John did in kindergarten. He was wearing a brand new pair of cowboy boots which my uncle had given him for his birthday the day before. We were pretty much minding our own business when a boy on the other side of the table decided to start scuffing John’s shiny new boots with his tennis shoes. This went on for awhile and then the other kid heads off to the bathroom. John wasn’t far behind him. A few moments later when they returned, the other kid was crying and had a bloody nose. After quizzing them about what had happened, our teacher said in her condescending voice “Now Johnny, what should you have done?” Without even a pause my cousin said “Well, I guess I should’ve give’d him a kleenex.”

I always did like his attitude…

I don’t know if this is a “cute” story or not, but I’ll relate it.

I decided when I was about 7 years old that I needed to make some money. I spiffed myself up by putting on my nicest (only) dress pants, a white button up and a tie.

I walked into the grocery store that was just around the corner and asked for the manager. I told him that I wanted a job. He told me that I could come back the next morning at 9:00 a.m. and he’d have something for me to do.

I went back the next morning, as prompted, once again looking as spiffy as a 7-year-old can look. I was handed a garbage bag and told that they needed me to clean up the garbage along a chain-link fence across the street. Excited about my very first job, I jumped to the task at hand. It took me nearly three hours to get every single piece of garbage picked up (it was a rather long fence…and extremely littered).

I returned to the store to advise the manager of my completion of the assigned task. He gave me a $5 bill and told me I did a good job.

I never did return to the store to ask for more work. I’m not sure why. It wasn’t until much, much later that I realized that I destested wasting my time working. Perhaps a 7-year-old with five bucks in his pocket in the mid-70s was about as rich as he needed to be.

At the age of 4 or 5, at a wedding reception/disco, I cruised the room and drank the contents of half a dozen assorted unattended glasses (I remember one of them tasting of orange, but with something ‘hot’ in it) - I fell over and hit my head, causing a very large bump to appear - my parents took me to hospital, where it was discovered that I was terribly drunk (needless to say, my parents squirmed a little under the doctor’s gaze).

I don’t even remember this at all, so I will do my best to tell it the way my aunt does.

When I was a little kid, 2 or three ish my family went out to L.A. to visit the family out there. The family was always a little competitive, so they decided to take us out to dinner at a really fancy five star type restaurant. Apparently I wanted to sit by my aunt, so I was sitting next to her at this huge table in the corner, with about 12 people, mostly family and someone of some importance that nobody remebers who it was, like a boss or somebody.

Me and my sister were well behaved even at that age, unlike the Aunt’s kids who would never have been able to be taken to a fancy restauaunt., but were teenagers then.

ANyway to the actual story. Even as a well behaved kid, I did get bored after a while. My Aunt saw me take one single piece of rice at a time throw it on the floor, watch it, giggle and repeat. My Aunt thought it was one of the less obnoxius things a kid could do, so she didn’t want to make a big deal. But since I kept doing it she had to figure it out, so moved over to watch. Finally she saw that every time I dropped a piece, this little white mouse would dart out from a corner, through everybodie’s legs, grab the rice and take it back to eat it. I was just having fun feeding my little friend.

Now my aunt isn’t the type to freak out about a mouse, and didn’t want to make a scene, so she called my mom over to show her what I was doing. My mom also isn’t the type to freak, so she went back and whispered to my dad. Nobody was sure what to do, since a mouse doesn’t really belong in a 5 star dining room, but didn’t want to upset every body else incase there was a mouse freak outer. Finally my dad whispered to the waiter, who had no clue what to do, who called the Maitre D, who called the manager. Finally there was a whole audience watching me feed the guy one grain of rice at a time , while trying to not let anybody else at the table or the restaurant know there was anything going on.

Finally the manager just push a little table thing to block the access.
We finished eating and were leaving. The whole staff was probably relieved that the little secret was still secret.

until. At the door I ran back to the table and threw a bunch more rice on the floor. And proudly annouced in a three-year old voice something like “If the mouse has a family, they need something to eat too!”.

When I was three, I was helping my dad plant a garden. At the end of a hard day of labor, I asked him when we were going to plant the meat.

Another time, probably around the same age, I was watching my dad either install a digital clock into the dashboard of his car, or fix the existing one. Either way, he was inside the dash messing with wires. Well, he crossed some wires and shorted something out, causing a loud snap and a huge puff of smoke to fill the car. I quickly got out of the smoke, walked to the house, and calmly announced to mom that dad was dead.


When I was about 5, I was the flower girl in my cousin’s wedding. I had to practice sprinkling petals and everything. I had this floofy chiffon fairytale dress with butterflies (it was the early 70s). I was so excited, but on the day of the wedding somebody got the bright idea to make me wear tights. I had never worn tights - they itched! - so my aunt said that when I was done I could take them off.

So the wedding starts - I walk down the aisle scattering petals, turn to watch all the rest of the party file in, and when the preacher starts to talk, I think I’m done. I sit on the steps of the alter and proceed to remove my shoes and tights. Then I just sit there playing with the tights and making faces at all my relatives. There are pictures.

Lobsang said, "Minutes later I asked “What was it like when everything stopped being black and white?”

I thought I was the only one…

For my aunt’s wedding, I was tapped to be the ringbearer. (I was about three at the time.) I felt dapper as could be in my white-on-white-on-white tux (yeah, it was the mid-70’s, why do you ask?) and was just SO excited to be involved in something as cool as a wedding. The wedding party was situated such that I stood right behind my new uncle – a bad move on someone’s part. During the entire ceremony, I tugged on my uncle’s coat about every two minutes asking if it was over yet. I’m surprised he got through the ceremony without choking me.

Later that night at the reception, I was apparently so excited that I was doing my Happy Three-Year-Old dance all over the place and got myself so worked up that I puked on the dance floor. I STILL hear about that.

(Oh, yeah, and when I was a baby, just on the verge of walking, my dad would throw marshmallows across the living room. I’d scoot across the living room floor, grab up the marshmallow and devour it, and wait for him to throw another one. I’ve seen Super 8 films of this and have pleaded with my parents to throw them out. It’d be the perfect blackmail material.)

My whole family went on a cookout one afternoon when I was about three, and the whole day, everyone kept telling me that I had to guard my corn on the cob because the bees were going to get to it. I guess I took it literally because all during lunch, I ran around shooing bees away from everyones corn on the cob.

That same afternoon, I was given a roll of paper towels, and my aunt asked me to wipe off my part of the table. I remember standing there, squeezing the heck out of the roll of towels, and my aunt looks at me and asked me what I was doing. I replied, in my most honest voice, “I squeezin’ auntie, I squeezin’.”

To this day, every time I pick up a roll of paper towels, some smart aleck has to remind me not to squeeze.

This is according to my dad, since I don’t remember it, and I don’t know how cute it is, but… I went to Sears or somewhere with my dad when I was still pretty small- I was in my toilet-training phase. We went past a display of toilets, and I needed to go, so I pulled my dress up and hopped on the toilet. My dad was able to get me off the toilet and to an actual bathroom before I did anything gross, though.

Link please! :smiley:

When I was two, my older brother and sister tried to teach me to say the Pledge of Allegiance. (Why, yes, this is the same brother who had a 30-year career in the Marine Corps.) My sister hit on the scheme of just having me recite a string of in-the-ballpark-sounding syllables.

“With Libby and Justice Frog.”