My little family went out for dinner tonight. On the way home, my husband was complaining about an obnoxious pimple.
Daddy: It just won't go away.
Flik: Why don't you pop it.
(Aside: Clearly we've got some stellar parenting going on here that my 5 year old is advising his dad on popping pimples. But anyway...)
Daddy: I did. But it's one of those pimples that just keeps coming back. It's like a cat; it's got nine lives.
Flik: Um, If you shoot a cat, it's dead.
So at least my kid has a firm understanding of cat mortality.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Friday, September 7, 2012
Man with a Plan
Yesterday as I pulled into the garage, Flik asked me, "Can we play pretend?"
"Sure," I responded.
And as he hopped out of his carseat, he continued with...
"And don't go in that door, go to the front door. But wait until I go inside first. And then go to the front door and ring the doorbell. And I'll come to the door and I'll open the door and I'll say, 'Who are you?' And you say your name. And I'll invite you in. And then you can come inside, but you have to pretend like I don't know you. Ok?"
It's probably only a matter of time before he starts handing out printed scripts.
"Sure," I responded.
And as he hopped out of his carseat, he continued with...
"And don't go in that door, go to the front door. But wait until I go inside first. And then go to the front door and ring the doorbell. And I'll come to the door and I'll open the door and I'll say, 'Who are you?' And you say your name. And I'll invite you in. And then you can come inside, but you have to pretend like I don't know you. Ok?"
It's probably only a matter of time before he starts handing out printed scripts.
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