Me [holding up something indistinguishable. Is it food? Trash? A little of both?]: What in the world is this?
Husband: I’m not really sure.
8-year-old: I volunteer to eat that.
Me:
Husband:
8-year-old:
Me: Nope.
6-year-old: Mama, will you sign me up for soccer?
Me: …
Translation: Mama, will you sign your life away to me?
(Sorry soccer moms. It’s true.)
8-year-old: Did you hear that stomping noise?!!!
Husband: Yeah. Was that you?
8-year-old: Yeah! Last week I weighed myself, and I was 62 point something pounds! And today I was 63 point something!
Me:
Husband:
8-year-old: [grinning]
What Husband and I are thinking: I wish we were that excited about gaining a pound.
Me: There. I’m done with my makeup. How do I look?
6-year-old: Wow! You look beautiful! [singing] That’s what makes you beautiful. [chuckles to himself.] Yeah. Makeup.
Me: What? I’m not beautiful without makeup?
6-year-old: Wait. You’re beautiful all the time, Mama.
3-year-old: Mama! I don’t want to eat beans.
Me: Well! You’re going to have to eat beans. It’s what’s for dinner.
Husband: Yeah. It’s what’s for dinner.
3-year-old: Stop copying me, Daddy!
Husband: I’m not copying you.
3-year-old: Yes you are.
Husband: No I’m not.
3-year-old: Yes you are.
Husband: No I’m not.
3-year-old: Yes you are.
Husband:
3-year-old:
Husband:
3-year-old: You are, Daddy.
Husband: You are, Daddy.
