Husband: Give me the fly swatter.
4-year-old: But I want to die a fly.
Husband: You want to die a fly?
Me: Well, that is quite an aspiration.
9-year-old: Mama, I have DNA samples of myself on my desk.
Me: Oh, really?
9-year-old: Yeah. A fingernail, a toenail and hair. I was hoping to go to a science place and clone myself so one of me could go to school and one could stay home.
Me:
9-year-old:
Me:
9-year-old: What?
5-year-old [bouncing on Husband’s back]: You’re…really…squishy.
Husband: The reason we don’t do that is because [blah blah blah]
9-year-old: You’re overwhelming me. You’re using too many words.
5-year-old: Daddy, I have to go pee.
Husband: So go pee.
5-year-old: My brother is already peeing. I guess I’ll have to pee on his face.
Husband: That is definitely not an option. Nope.
4-year-old: I forgot.
Me: You forgot what?
4-year-old: I FORGOT!
Husband: You forgot to talk?
4-year-old: YYYEEEEESSSSSS.
Me: I don’t think you’ve ever had a problem with that, actually.
6-year-old: Sometimes when I’m running, I trip over my leg.
Me: Well, that sounds like a problem.
6-year-old: Yeah. It is.
Husband: What do you want to be when you grow up?
4-year-old: I want to be a caveman when I grow up.
Me: That shouldn’t be too hard.
9-year-old: Daddy, while I was getting dressed, I was thinking about all the different ways you can kill a chicken.
Husband:
9-year-old:
Husband: That’s sounds…normal.
7-year-old: Hey, Mama. Guess what?
Me: I hate guessing games.
7-year-old: But guess what.
Me: What.
7-year-old: Nothing.
Me:
7-year-old: I made that up.
9-year-old: We’re starting a mine in our back yard. Asa’s digging, and we’re picking up strange rocks and old wood.
Me: Oh! I’m so excited!
9-year-old: You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you.
9-year-old: You’re the only parents in the whole world who make their kids do chores!
Husband:
Me:
9yo:
Husband & Me: hahahahahahahaha
Husband: Where is your brain?
4-year-old: In my tummy.
Me: Sounds about right.
Me: Did you know I won a poetry award today?
4-year-old: Because you burp really loud?
7-year-old: Daddy it’s raining!
Husband: I know. It’s crazy. My weather app says it’s zero percent chance of rain.
7-year-old: How does the weatherman keep his job when he’s wrong so much?
Husband: In the future, when we come to church, you need to not wear flip flops. And pants with no holes in them.
8-year-old: Yeah, and I should also probably wear underwear.
Husband:
8-year-old: Regrettably, I had a little bit of diarrhea in my underwear this morning.
Husband:
8-year-old:
Husband: Well, then.
9-year-old: So we’re not going to the pool?
Husband: No. We told you guys to clean up, and you didn’t.
9-year-old: I was going to come downstairs, but my brothers were chasing me with a banana.
7-year-old: Did you hear my toot? It made me go really fast.
Me: Too bad the smell didn’t go really fast with you.
7-year-old: [laughing hysterically]
Me: [passing out on the floor]
9-year-old: If you touch a fly and put your finger in your mouth, will you die?
Me: Why would you want to?
9-year-old: Maybe accidentally?
Husband: No. Think about it. You live in a house with twins. They’ve done much worse, and they’re still alive.
9-year-old: I’ll probably be really popular now that I’m the son of an author.
Me: Just make sure you wear deodorant.
9yo: Why?
