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As A Rule Of Crumb

, , , , | Related | January 17, 2014

(I am babysitting. My little nephew wants what he calls a “yellow biscuit”: a type of cracker made from corn, so it is a light yellow colour.)

Nephew: “Auntie, can I have a yellow biscuit, please?”

Me: *being a bit silly* “Yes, I’ll get one for you. Does Mummy have yellow biscuits in the cupboard or do we need to get the crayons and colour one in?”

Nephew: “We’ve got lots. They’re in that tin.” *very solemnly* “You aren’t allowed to draw on biscuits. It’s a rule!”


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The Best And Worst Idea To Date

, , , , , | Related | December 9, 2013

(I am out with my two young sons when I run into a friend. We get on the topic of him taking a girl out on a first date in New York City.)

Friend: “I was thinking of taking her on a buggy ride in Central Park, followed by a romantic dinner, and then a Broadway musical.”

Me: “Ooh, nice.”

(My six-year-old son decides to interject.)

Son: “Excuse me. Can I say something?”

Me: “No. Go play with your brother.”

Friend: “That’s okay. Let’s hear it.”

Me: “You will regret this.”

Friend: “Let the kid talk.”

Son: “Uhm, buggy ride? Are you crazy? It’s stinky and it’s bumpy. That girl will not like to eat dinner after a buggy ride.”

Friend: “Have you been on a buggy ride?”

Son: “Plenty of times. My brother loves it. But it’s the most disgusting thing in New York City. You see the horse’s butt the entire time. Stinky. And the ride is so bumpy you get a bellyache, and you wanna throw up.”

Friend: “So, I’ll skip the buggy ride, then?”

Son: “I’m not finished. Why don’t you have dinner first? Then, if your girl is being nice, take her to Broadway. If she’s not nice, then you take her to the buggy ride.”

Friend: “And the reason for the buggy ride is…?”

Son: “So she throws up! Weren’t you listening to my story? You need to learn how to listen.”

Friend: *to me* “What the h*** kind of things have you been teaching your kids?!”

Me: “I really don’t know…”


This story is part of our New York City roundup!

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Hiss-terical

, , , , , | Related | September 30, 2013

(I am picking up my three-year-old daughter from daycare one afternoon. We cross the parking lot to my car.)

Me: “How was school today, sweetie?”

Daughter: “I found a snack!”

Me: “You did? Was it yummy?”

Daughter: “Mommmmmyyyyyy! You don’t eat snacks!”

Me: “What are you talking about, [Daughter]?”

(My daughter stops walking, sets her backpack down, opens it up, and pulls out her “snack,” which happens to be a dead snake.)

Me: “AAAAAHHHHHH!”

(I screamed so loud that two policemen eating lunch in the sandwich shop across the street heard me and came running. Later, one of them said it sounded like someone was having their legs pulled off.)


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Can’t Bear To Be Apart

, , , , | Related | July 31, 2013

(My dad uses some connections to reserve us an island to camp on in the Gulf of Mexico. The island is tiny, and we are the only people camping there. The largest animal on the island is probably a rabbit. I am eight, and my brother is three. The week we are there, low tide is around 11:00 pm, and my parents leave to go and look for shells. I’ve never been very good at sleeping, so I decide to follow after them. Eventually, they run into me on the beach.)

Dad: “[My Name], is that you?”

Me: “Yes, Daddy!”

Dad: “Do you know what time it is?”

Me: “Dark.”

Dad: “Yes. Why aren’t you asleep in the tent?”

Me: “There’s a bear attacking the tent. It scared me.”

Dad: “Baby, there aren’t any bears on the island. Why do you think there’s a bear attacking the tent?”

Me: “I heard it. It growled and banged on the wall.”

Mom: “Where’s your baby brother?

Me: “He was asleep already. I left him for the bear to eat.”


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A Scarred Childhood

, , , , | Related | May 29, 2013

(My tiny two-year-old daughter excitedly runs up to me.)

Daughter: “Mummy, can I tell you a secret?”

Me: “Sure, you can.”

(I bend over so my daughter can whisper in my ear. Unexpectedly, she speaks in a low, demonic whisper.)

Daughter: “I. Killed. Mufasa.”


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