I walked into the bathroom while my daughter was finishing up on the toilet. She said with a smile, “I wiped my back butt. Now I’m going to wipe my front butt.”
I just said, “Okay, honey, great.” How does one respond to that? I mean, besides with laughter?
Along that vein, here are two lines from the PIF vault, a post from 2012 titled, “How to tell you have two boys and a girl.” Read the rest of this entry
A friend in Florida texted me this story:
I put on my knee-length dress before realizing I hadn’t shaved my legs. It was far too hot to wear hose, so I asked my young daughter if she could see the short prickly hairs, hoping I could get away without shaving.
She said, “Yes, Mommy, but Read the rest of this entry
Our girls are in swimming lessons this summer, and are enjoying it to varying degrees. The oldest has discovered her gills, the middle one is getting there, and the youngest is convinced that land animals were meant to stay there.
About all the instructor can do with her without causing a melt down is dip her ear in the water. He’ll do this several times at each of her turns, but she’s begun dictating terms, letting him know exactly how many times he may dip her royal ear below the surface.
While he held her from behind, she held up three fingers, the back of her hand toward him. Read the rest of this entry
(I know it’s cheesy, but I couldn’t resist.)
One night we were having tacos for dinner, but I didn’t have any lettuce. It’s a bummer to have tacos with no lettuce in my book.
When I heard my husband come home from work, I called out, “Did you happen to bring home any lettuce?”
You know, the leafy green stuff? Yeah, this.
It was truly the most random question.
When I walked over to him, I expected to find him confused, ala, “Uh-oh, did she ask me to pick up lettuce on the way home? I don’t remember that.”
Instead he was shocked. Read the rest of this entry
You know how there’s a point in children’s lives when they realize their parents don’t know everything?
My kids think they reached that point the other day. Read the rest of this entry
I just witnessed my seven-year-old set her armload of stuffed animals down in the hallway before entering the bathroom. She said to them, “Wait right here for me.”
This isn’t Ribbity, but his big sister Catherine. I guess you could say I’m feeding the frog addiction. I can never let her eat at a fancy French restaurant. It would be too traumatizing.
My ten-year-old wanted to restuff her frog, Ribbity. I told her, “Unless there’s a hole in him already, I’ll have to open him up.” She said, in a pained voice, “If you do, I don’t want to watch.”
I performed the operation in a separate room while she alternately sat and paced, biting her nails, in the “waiting room.”
At last Ribbity’s operation was complete: restuffed, restitched, and looking like he’d consumed a bottle of steroids. My daughter was teary-eyed with relief. Read the rest of this entry
I walked past my girls’ bedroom and saw various toys, clothes, and other items strewn about.
“Wow. You’re making a quite a mess in your room,” I commented casually.
Without hesitation, my five year old replied, Read the rest of this entry