Me: [sees bath water is bright yellow] I thought we ran out of those colored bath tablets.
Son #2: [in bath] We did.
Son #1: Who’s your favorite kid?
Me: It doesn’t matter.
Son #2: Yeah, but who’s your favorite?
Me: Your Mom is my favorite, and I’d bury you both alive on her say-so. Remember that.
Welcome to adulthood.
Your keys will be in the pocket closest to the hand holding the most grocery bags.
Her: Make me a mimosa.
Me: But we’re out of orange juice.
Her: I don’t see the problem.
No matter who wins this election, there’s still only a 50% chance that the ice cream machine at McDonalds will be working.
Since mask-wearing began, many of us have developed the ability to say “thank you” using only our eyes, as well as a few other phrases that end in “you”
25% of parenting is resisting the urge to scream, “Get to the point!”
Son #1: How long have we owned this house?
Me: You mean how long have I owned this house.
S1: No, we share it, right?
Me: [Using my Mufasa voice] Look around you, son. Everything the light touches … belongs to me.
My wife is not satisfied with my assurances that the spider is dead. I must also produce a death certificate, pictures from the funeral and the names and addresses of next of kin.
Welcome to your fifties. You have seven pairs of reading glasses throughout your house, but you can’t find any of them, including the ones on your head.