Quoth my three-year-old daughter a moment ago:
“My crotch keeps going up and down. It’s kinda like a ride.”
I’ll take “Things A Father Never Wants To Hear” for $10 billion, Alex.
Two-year-old daughter: “Mommy! I got a booger out of my nose!”
Me: “Hang on honey, I’ll get you a tissue”.
Daughter: “Nevermind Mommy, I ate it”.
:x
You have to explain the context for this one, Hal.
Riding on the sheep?
Not much to explain. Here’s the full scene:
She was playing a matching/memory game on the computer while I was sitting on the couch reading the Dope, when she started climbing off and on her chair.
“Look daddy,” she said, “my crotch is going up and down!”
“Your…your what?”, I asked.
“My crotch!”
“Your crotch…is going up and down?” I confirmed.
Now keep in mind, I’m not one for kiddie euphemisms. She knows that a boy has a penis and a girl has a vagina, and that in either case the area where said parts are located is called the crotch (it must stem from my own upbringing – mom was a no-nonsense nurse). But still…this was just odd.
“Yeah! My crotch keeps going up and down. It’s kinda like a ride.”
Ok, she went to a couple amusement parks recently, and has rides on the brain. But still, that was where I gave up. We were in a territory of conversation that no daddy wants to hear. Ever.
The tamoxifen is putting me in early menopause, and I’m having delightful hot flashes. I mentioned it to my daughter (I was in a stabby mood, I’d had a bad day at work, my knitting wasn’t coming out right, and now I was hot-flashing) and she said
“You’re not having hot flashes. Your inner child is playing with matches.”
It’s scary sometimes, where their minds go.
Put this on a t-shirt (and change “you” to “I”) and you could sell a bunch of them.
I was out with some friends of mine and their kids. We were walking to the car and their five year old daughter saw a Corvette. Out of the blue she said “Nice car” and walked up to it and tried to open the door to get in. I told my friends this could become an issue if she was still doing it in ten years.
My 10 year old was complaining that she couldn’t get to sleep one night, because the wind was howling around the house. “It sounds like a goat giving birth to a cat!” she said.
After I stopped and listened for a moment I was forced to agree, but she still had to go to bed.
My sister-in-law updated her facebook status with this gem about her 19-month-old son:
“After telling Richie not to rub his clean shirt on his pee pee he screamed “I want to rub my pee pee!” for the next 5 minutes.”
Not funny-funny, but I remember all this 18 years later nonetheless:
My 3-year old nephew was whining to my sister-in-law about something he wanted (which he virtually never did as a kid) – a toy, some candy, something.
After being told “No” repeatedly, he steps in front of his mother and taps on the arm, until she looks him the eye.
Neph says, ever so earnestly, “Mommy, it’s not just that I want it, I neeeeeeed it.”
He got it.
That really is a world-class quote.
I suppose if I do sell t-shirts with that on it, I shall have to give my daughter a royalty. We do have a boutique at our October Tea coming up…and there’s an embroiderer in town…hmmm…
Or look into a CafePress or similar online store, perhaps.
My 4 yo daughter speaks nonstop. It can drive me crazy sometimes. To retain a modicum of sanity I have learned to block her voice at times.
Today we went to pick up my mom at the airport and she asked a question I barely heard and was in no mood to answer. I replied “I know nothing about that”.
She made a longer-than-usual pause and replied with a grave voice: “If you know nothing about something is best if you don’t talk about it”.
Huh?!
She must have heard that somewhere.
My sister was serving her twins dinner and one of them decided she didn’t want meatloaf, normally one of her favorites. As my sister argued with this girl about eating the meatloaf, the other girl apparently decided this was an opportunity for some sucking up. “I loooove you meatloaf, mommy.” She apparently felt this wasn’t enough so she added, “You must give me your recipe.”
We’re all sitting around the campfire one night, camping away, beers having been drunk, and we’re all rather introspectively looking into the fire. You know, one of those mellow ‘hell yea I’m relaxed’ kinda moments. My 6 year old gets out of the tent and goes over to my step-dad to announce something of some import. “Grampa”, he says, solemn and completely deadpan, “my farts really reek”.
Hilarity ensued. I almost fell in the fire I was laughing so hard!
Apparently my two year old son already knows that he is the boss - - while sitting outside at the table on the patio the other day, I was the one running in to get whatever was left that we needed. He was sitting across the table from me a few minutes after we had started, when I had to go back in to get some butter for my potato. My son, as soon as I came back outside, looked at me in all seriousness and picked up his fork. He pointed right at my plate, looked me in the face, and said, "Dad - eat!"He must have learned from all the times that we have been sitting at the table and we point at him when he is being goofy and say “you need to eat” - but he wanted to make sure I was sitting and eating.
He also happened to say something in our bedroom that I will never forget. While standing against my shoulder on the bed and looking at himself in the mirror, he farted. My wife laughed and said “You are pootin on dad…” and he smiled really big and said “Poot on Dad!” and started laughing. He has also learned the phrase “Daddy gross” from his mother, since she was telling me to take a shower at the time…
I love kids…
Brendon Small
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Once when my son was still a toddler and learning how to talk, he surprised my wife getting out of the shower. He asked her about the rather noticable lack of any protruding equipment, and the curly pelt she had. She replied, “Honey, girls don’t have a weiner; that’s actually called pubic hair.”
At the time he couldn’t pronounce the word “pubic”, or really grasp what it meant, but two years of living in South Florida had added the word “Cuban” into his vocabulary and he thought that was the word Mommy actually meant to say.
We were all at the pediatrician’s office for a routine checkup. The pediatrician, an older Hispanic man named Dr. Garza, says to my son, “How are you, my little friend?”
In that way that kids do, my son yells out, “Mommy doesn’t have a weiner! She has Cuban Hair!”
The doctor, not getting it, looks at my wife with a puzzled expression and says, “Oh, es usted Cubano?”*
*“Oh, are you Cuban?”