Hayden came in my room the other morning. He held up one hand, and held his other hand in a claw shape, running his fingers up and down his upright palm. “Do you know what this is?”
I didn’t know whether he’d ever heard of “a spider doing push ups on a mirror,” but he did just hear the brain sucker joke the other day . . . but apparently I hesitated too long because he just told me.
“It’s my hand scratching my other hand.”
One of Rebecca’s favorite foods (and there are only a few she likes at all) is peanut butter. She knows where to find the knives.
The other day she brought me a butter knife and something from the shelf where we keep peanut butter. In the end, she didn’t like the prunes.
Rachel found her feet!
Things I’d hoped would never be uttered in my house:
“No, we can’t eat POOP!”
“That fly just landed on Rebecca’s diaper. Oh—then it keeled over.”
Hayden and I were grocery shopping a few weeks ago. As usual, he asked for something on just about every aisle. Twice. Three times. I unflinchingly said no.
Finally, Hayden had had enough. “Why do you always say no?”
“Because it’s my favorite word,” I quickly replied.
“Well, my favorite word is yes.”
“Great—so, if I told you to clean the whole house when we get home, you’d say yes?”
He only hesitated a second before he said, “Yes!”
Sadly, I decided quiet time was more important than enforcing our child labor contract.
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