Straight From The Mouths Of The Little People I Live With
Sorry folks, I don’t have normal kids. I just don’t.
And to further prove my point, allow me to present to you, exhibits Sunday-Saturday:
The Boy Child, after stepping directly into a wet spot on the carpet that I had just cleaned with a heavy duty carpet cleaning solution, looked a little startled and then assured me “don’t worry mom, it didn’t burn the shit out of me like you said if would if I touched it.”
He then ran off to watch the breakfast cookies bake while I pondered my parenting failures.
While grocery shopping, The Girl Child kept climbing onto the side of the cart for a ride. Getting a little frustrated, I told her “I’m not going to tell you again to get off the cart. It’s very heavy and I don’t need an extra 40lbs of you hanging off the side.”
“Mom,” she said, clearly exasperated. “Don’t blame me. I have no idea how heavy 40lbs is. I’ve never picked myself up before, so you can’t expect me to know this stuff.”
I swear, this kid, THIS KID.
We were eating dinner when The Girl Child set down her fork and asked me “Mom, do you ever wonder what it would feel like to be a chicken nugget?”
I can honestly say that is one thing that has never crossed my mind. Probably because my mind is so busy worrying about how many doctor’s appointments I should make her and how many medications she might need.
I’m drying my hair and I notice The Boy Child staring at me intently and smiling.
“What?” I ask him. “What?” he answers back. “Why are you looking at me like that and smiling?” I say. Clearly offended, he answers firmly “I like you! Is there something wrong with that?”
In other news, BOTH MY KIDS APPEAR TO BE NORMAL.
But we already knew that.
Or at least that’s the angle I intend to play as long as it appears to be working for me.