A good question

“Sam, would you like some banana bread?”

(thoughtful pause before answer)

“Do you have any chocolate bread?”

Hierarchies

Sam, shortly after a small earthquake: “Sharks are more scary than earthquakes!”

Edit: Apparently, after some research, the relationship goes earthquakes < bears < sharks. Please update your references accordingly.

Context would spoil it

Zach: “My poo doesn’t want to see that!”


Sarah: “Make sure Daddy is listening to you, darling.”

Zach: “No… he only listens to me HALF the days.”

The twist ending

I was driving Samantha home from kindergarten, and as we do, we were singing songs. On the third time through Old Macdonald, she sang:

“And on that farm he had NO MORE COWS.”

I looked at her quizzically, so she widened her eyes, spread her hands apart and squeaked “someone STOLE all his cows!”

It’s often hard to tell whether he’s joking or not

“I like your farts, Daddy. They scare people.”

Classification

I was wearing exercise shorts (stop laughing) while making Sam’s breakfast this morning, and I noticed she had been staring at my nether regions fixedly for some time.

“What’s wrong, darling?” I enquired.

She looked at me with accusing eyes and asked why I was wearing “farmer pants”. I blame her uncle and grandfather.

How to make singing songs with your children infinitely more enjoyable

  1. Procure a two-year-old who thinks that “toru, wha” is pronounced “turtle fart”.
  2. Ask them to start any song off.
  3. Repeat step 2 as often as desired.

The 21st stories just keep on happening

In addition to dancing around half-naked like crazed nymphs – yes, there is video – the children have been sage in their wisdom.

Zachary, for instance, fancies himself as some sort of Sherlock Holmes. The cats have been fed plain boiled fish a lot recently, as the new arrival kitten has had… bottom issues, shall we say. One night, the fish had been eaten even though no-one had seen any of the four (two real ones, one absentee, and the GODDAMN NEIGHBOUR’S one) cats around to eat it, in the sealed area of the house it was in. “Hmmm,” said Zachary, stroking his chin. “It’s a…” – pausing for dramatic effect – “fish mystery.” He then tilted his head to the side and stared thoughtfully at the cat bowl for a few seconds.

Samantha, on the other hand, is a simple soul. After an oh-crap-Daddy-forgot-to-prepare-dinner meal of Burger King, she took the sweet ‘n’ sour sauce pottle and raised it to her lips; she tipped it backwards, drinking deep of its fruity yet tangy well. Naturally, some got on her nose. Slamming it down on the table, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grinned, and declared “I’m a lady!” to her long-suffering mother.

Random vignettes

I made the mistake of giving Samantha a rubber mallet on the first floor. She promptly tossed it down the stairs, turned to me, and remarked casually “it’s gone now”.


“Bugger!”

“Not say bugger, Daddy.”

“Why not, Sam?”

“Because… cause… because I’m eating my nuts!”

Worst father ever, even in dreams

Samantha woke up this morning loudly declaring “my one. MY one. MY ONE.” When I went in to see her, she looked directly at me and said it again.

“What one, darling?”

“My lollipop.”

“What about your lollipop, sweetie?”

“YOU ATE IT.”

“…”

“And Zachary, too.”

I don’t know if she means that I ate Zachary as well in her dream or whether he merely participated in the sweet-theft, but I’m certainly not going to ask.

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