“Don’t lick your toes at the table!”
Why can a parent lose his or her patience within the span of one minute? The same way a child can go from oh-so-sweet to . . . well . . . read and learn, dear friend.
AJ at bedtime, sweet and snuggly as can be: “If I wake up I can’t go back to sleep.”
Me: “Yes you can. If you wake up, just go back to sleep.”
AJ: “No, I can’t go back to sleep, I have to call you.”
Me: “No you don’t! If you wake up in the night just close your eyes and go back to sleep.”
AJ: “I can’t close my eyes. I can’t. That’s the way God made me.”
Ten seconds later . . .
AJ, putting her finger in my nose: “Smell this!”
Me: “I don’t want to—it stinks.”
AJ: “It was in my butt.”
I was thinking about times AJ has mispronounced something or used the wrong word with hilarious results, and this tale should not remain untold:
One day this summer Aaron had hurt his sciatic nerve (thigh/rear) so badly that he was sitting on a heating pad. Even though it was about 90 degrees and humid outside and thus 105 degrees in our upstairs office. So he took the unusual for him step of taking off his shirt.
AJ walked in, marched up to him, dropped whatever she was holding, put her hands on her hips, stared with her mouth wide open, and then admonished:
He looked at her. “What?”
She pointed at him. “PUH-WIV-A-CY!!!!”
When I collected myself, I clarified, “I think you mean modesty, honey.”
At least she is learning that concept!
What funny mix-ups have you heard?
4-year-old: “I’m not going to grow up.”
Mom: “Good. I hope you never grow up. Even when you’re old.”
4-year-old: “I’m not going to be old. I’m new.”
Four-year-old angel: “Don’t be afraid! I got you GOOD NEWS!”
3-year-old: I have hair in my mouth.
Dad: Why’d you lick the floor?
3-year-old: I didn’t lick the floor. I bite the floor.
Editor 1: “I hate grammar.”
Editor 2: “You’re fired!”
3-Year-Old: Mommy, I have a joke for you!
Mother: Okay, what?
She is ready to write sitcoms.
A few weeks ago at church AJ learned about Zachaeus in kids’ church, which is to say she glued him onto a paper tree and learned the song. She really liked it–especially the yelling “You come down!” part.
One evening soon thereafter I took her to the store with me (which I am thankful to have to do less often nowadays) so she could “help” and I could look like I was talking to someone rather than mumbling crazily to myself about what I was forgetting and how gross the tomatoes look and how coffee is never on sale anymore. I noticed the tortillas right in front of me just as I remembered we needed them and exclaimed victoriously, “Tortillas!”
And AJ began to sing:
Tortillas was a wee little man
A wee little man was he . . .
Tortillas, Zacchaeus . . . they do sound rather alike.
Pastor: How do you know your mom and dad love each other?
Girl: Hugs and kisses.
Boy: Not divorcing!