Baby Sis: I see a spider! Dere! On da wagon! He’s got wong wegs!
Me: That’s called a “Daddy Long Leg”
Baby Sis: Yeah! Tuz he’s got wong wegs, just wike daddy does!
(At the red light, I make a right turn.)
Baby Sis: Mommy! You tan’t do dat! Red means stop!
Me: I can make a right on red, baby sister.
Baby Sis: No you taaaaaan’t!
(How the hell do I explain driving rules to a four-year-old!?!)
(Tales of inappropriate topics ala Toddler, at your service)
Baby Sis is walking around carrying a pink jewelry box with a heart on it. Baby Dude keeps grabbing at her and it, and in response, she keeps turning away swiftly, snarling at him. Finally she yells out, QUITE loudly, “Daddy!! Tell him to stop putting his hand in my love box!”
And then my husband responds, with a smile, “Honey, please PLEASE don’t call it a ‘love box,’ okay!?” (Ha!)
(Baby Sis has had, for quite some time, a fascination for only playing with blue soccer balls, which makes it particularly hard to discuss this topic (without laughing like a teenager) when it comes to her inquiring about them. Inappropriately, of course.)
Baby Sis: “Where’s my blue soccer ball, daddy?”
Husband: “I don’t have it, Baby Sis. Coach Rick has ’em.”
Baby Sis: “Oh. Coach Rick always has blue balls.”
Coach Rick’s response: “That just happened, huh?”
Annnnnnnnnnd I’m done.
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