Finding Nemo Delicious
(My two year old is watching ‘Finding Nemo’, and I’ve just given him a snack of Goldfish crackers.)
Son: “Mommy, is this Nemo?”
Me: “Yes, baby. It’s Nemo.”
Son: “Mmm! Nemo tastes good!”
Funny stories about family
Food To Swear By
(My sister, age two and a half, is sitting at the table in her booster chair looking at her baked potato. Suddenly, she begins to scream.)
Sister: “F***!”
(We all turn to look at her, aghast.)
Sister: “F***! F***!”
Mother: “Sweetie, what…why are you shouting?”
Sister: *shouting* “I want f***!”
(She points angrily at her potato.)
Mother: *to my father* “She heard that from you, you realize!”
Father: *to my mother* “As if you never swear!”
(My parents proceed to fight. My sister is still screaming and pointing at her food. I slowly walk over to the silverware drawer, remove one item, and hold it up where my sister can see it. She squeals in delight and bounces in her chair.)
Sister: “Yay!”
Me: “Yes, sweetheart. Here comes your fork.”
Our parents: *in unison* “Oh!”
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Cross Examination
Place Of Worship |
Related
| June 2, 2012
(My maiden great aunt works for the dean at the cathedral. I am four, my parents and grandparents take me there for a visit. My aunt is showing us around the nave, where I make some youthful observations.)
Me: *looking up at the effigy of the crucifixion* “Why didn’t they use sellotape to hold him up? It would have hurt less!”
And That Is How The Cookie Crumbles
(We are over at my parents’ apartment with our 4-year old daughter. My mother wants to let us know she has cookies without my daughter understanding.)
Mom: “By the way, I have some M-A-R-G-H-E-R-I-T-E cookies in the cabinet if you want.”
Daughter: “I WANT COOKIES!”
Mom: “What? How did…oh. Oops.”
The Mother Of All Conversation Stoppers
(A father and his young daughter are gift shopping the day before Mother’s Day. They are bickering back and forth the entire time, and I assume it is playful… until it gets to the register.)
Me: “And your total is $[total]. Do you need a bag today?”
Dad: “No, we don’t.”
Girl: “Actually, we do.”
(Clearly angry about being contradicted, he straightens to his full height of just over six feet and glares at his daughter, who immediately cows.)
Dad: “Excuse me? How old am I?”
Girl: ‘F… f… forty-one.”
Dad: “And how old are you?”
Girl: “Eh… eh… eight.”
Dad: “And who’s in charge?”
Girl: “Muh… Mommy.”
(Dad’s anger lasted less than a half-second after that. He slumped and wordlessly handed me his credit card with a look of defeat and resignation.)
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