6-year-old: *shows off her new fancy pen*
Me: That’s so nice. Who gave you that?
6: My boyfriend.
Me: Give it back.
6-year-old: Santa’s not real.
Me: That’s right.
6: So I can be bad.
Me: That’s wrong.
My 3-year-old was supposed to dress up as a star for the Christmas pageant.
She threw a fit and demanded a different costume.
Now there are three wise men and one Power Ranger.
[making pigs in a blanket]
6-year-old: We can’t call them that. We have a pig.
Me: What should we call them?
6: Nobody you know in a blanket.
We have a house full of chairs and couches, yet my 3-year-old chose to sit on a grocery bag full of bread.
You can’t explain children. You just survive them.
3-year-old: I want more milk.
Me: What’s the magic word?
3: *enraged falcon screech*
6-year-old: Is it cold outside?
Me: Yeah. You should put on a sweater.
6: I should stay home.
[getting ready for church]
Me: If you don’t hurry up and get dressed, we’re leaving you behind.
Me: If you don’t hurry up, you have to go to church twice.
6: *gets dressed in record time*
Wife: We need a new fridge.
Me: This is a terrible day.
Wife: You can use the old fridge as a beer fridge.
Me: This is the best day of my life.
What the vet said: Your dog is a little dirty.
What I should have said: I’ll do better.
What I actually said: You should see my kids.