(Growing up, my father always hated when we ate suckers and other types of food which made us have sticky hands and faces. I never understood the problem with it until I got older. My wife and I decide to allow our young sun to have his very first sucker candy. He really starts to go crazy on it, both because of the sugar and because of it helping with his teething. I’m sitting on the couch and I noticed the sticky, sugar spit all over his face… and his hands.)

Me: “Oh, God… He’s so sticky!”

Wife: “Yep! He’s going to get you, Daddy!”

Me: “Noooo… No no no no no! Keep him away from me! That’s gross!”

(My wife just starts laughing and goes to get the baby wipes to start cleaning him off when my son RUNS over to me, forces the slobbery and sticky sucker into my hand, uses my arm to climb up me with this sticky hands, and grabs the sucker back from my hand as I’m sitting there in stunned silence. He proceeds to worm his way behind me, put the sucker in his mouth… and run his hands from my neck into my hair, then pull the sucker out and drum on my bare back with it.)

Me: “EWW! OH, GOD! It’s all over my back!”

(My wife is howling with laughter, trying to get a picture just as my father arrives and sees what is going on, with my son still running the sucker up and down my back, while slapping me with his other sticky hand.)

Father: “YES! JUSTICE! Good job, [Son]!”

(We both got a baby wipe bath after that, and I decided he had enough of the sucker for the day.)

(My dad is in hospital, so, whilst looking after my nieces, I have them make get-well cards for him. The following exchange takes place between the two youngest girls, aged seven and five.)

Seven-Year-Old: *pointing to the drawing in her sister’s card* “What’s that?”

Five-Year-Old: “It’s a monster greeting a spider.”

Seven-Year-Old: “Why did you put a monster on granddad’s card?”

Five-Year-Old: “Well, I don’t know! It’s wearing a party hat!”

(The five-year-old also covered her card with blue hearts, which she told me were for all the family members who have died; just the thing for a get-well card.)

(For the holidays, my mother always makes an apple pie from her grandmother’s recipe. It’s a completely lovely pie, but she’s made the same one every year for Thanksgiving and Christmas since long before I was born. One Christmas, my brother and I decide to get on her case and tease her about it, asking why she never makes any other variation.)

Brother: “You know, you could mix it up a little, and make something different for once.”

Mom: *sassy* “Oh, like what?”

Me: “I don’t know; try a different fruit. How about blueberry?”

Mom: “No one likes blueberry pie!” *meaning she doesn’t like it, therefore no one does*

Me: “Um, [Brother] does…”

Mom: “Oh, please…” *turns to the rest of the family gathered in the living room, not paying attention to our conversation* “Who here likes blueberry pie?”

(Everyone reacted positively, raising hands or shouting, “Me!” or, “I do!’ My elderly, schizophrenic uncle turned around in his chair and started to shakily struggle to stand up, wondrously crying out, “There’s blueberry pie?!” My brother and I cracked up as my mother rushed to stop my uncle from standing. She had to explain to him that there was no pie but apple, and promised to make him one next time. That moment was the most alert my uncle had been in years, and sadly, my mother never followed through on her promise to make him his pie.)

(I’ve been helping a little boy, who’s about three or four, to look at glasses before he goes in for his eye test. He’s more excited by the glasses case, which is quite a cool one that you can open all the way out until the two pieces roll back on themselves 180 degrees and close. We put the case to one side until after his test, but when he comes out, the optician says he doesn’t need glasses.)

Me: “Great news! You’ve got really good eyes; you can see perfectly, so you don’t even need glasses.”

Boy: “Okay!”

(He seems quite happy with the praise, and finishing up goes smoothly, until he spots the case on the side.)

Boy: “Oh!” *points* “My toy!”

Mum: “You don’t need it; you’re not getting glasses.”

Boy: *starts to cry* “Want it.”

Mum: “You can’t have it unless you have glasses; it’s a glasses case and you don’t have glasses to go in it. You can have it next time if the optician gives you glasses then.”

(He slumps down in his pushchair and starts to cry, but his mum says to just ignore him while he calms down and we finish up the paperwork. I don’t think anything else of it until about an hour later when the same mum marches her son back into the opticians.)

Mum: “Right, tell the lady what you did. Show her! [Boy], right now.

(From under his jacket he pulls out the same glasses case, and looks up at me sadly. He must have grabbed the same type of case from the display when we weren’t looking.)

Me: “Oh, but Mummy told you that you couldn’t have it. You don’t need glasses. You shouldn’t take things when people say no; it’s naughty.”

Mum: “No, open it up and show the lady.”

(He opens the case; inside are a pair of sample frames from the display.)

Boy: “You said I needed glasses, so I got glasses…”

(It took everything I had to keep a straight face and explain to him what we had meant. His mum was so angry — mostly out of embarrassment — but it seemed a classic case of kid logic to me!)

(I’m looking after my nieces, who are all playing games on their tablets. My youngest niece likes playing a game where she can populate a virtual house with people, animals, and accessories. The following exchanges take place on two different days.)

Five-Year-Old: “These are my dogs. I have lots of them.”

Me: “That’s nice.”

Five-Year-Old: “I trapped this dog’s tail in the cupboard, though.”

Me: “How did that happen?”

Five-Year-Old: “Her tail was sticking out when I put her in the cupboard.”

Me: “Why was she in the cupboard?”

Five-Year-Old: “Because there isn’t room anywhere else.”

(A few seconds later:)

Five-Year-Old: “Look! I have horses, too.”

Seven-Year-Old: “Why don’t you put a horse in the cupboard so there’s room for the dog?”

Five-Year-Old: *suddenly indignant* “Because it won’t fit!”

(The next day, they are playing this game again.)

Five-Year-Old: “Look at my house!”

Me: “Is this the house where you have a dog in the cupboard?”

Five-Year-Old: *scrolls across to the cupboard, and opens it* “There isn’t a dog in there. It’s a penguin.”

(A few seconds later:)

Five-Year-Old: “I’m putting a spider in the freezer.”

(I’m truly afraid for when she gets her own house.)