what children say

Right now, my two-year-old son is speaking in short and very direct sentences like “me eat” and “I do it.” There is also the ever-so-popular “MINE” and “No night night, mama. Applesauce.” Although my son’s extreme narcissism and obsession with slapping my face while saying “no hit” at the same time are great fun, for now I’m focusing on what my daughter has said in the last few weeks that bears repeating. Here goes:

“Can you read to my imaginary friends? I read to them all the time, and they want to hear from someone new.”

“So it’s murder to kill someone else but solders can do it in battle and that’s okay?” “Honey!” I yell. My husband was changing clothes after work. “Your daughter’s got a question for you!” That’ll teach him to come home late.

“Charlie said that Texas Tech smells like pee pee, and then William said the University of Texas smells like roses,” she said. “What did you say to all that?” I asked. “I told him roses stink.” Then she paused for a few moments. “Well, roses don’t really stink, I know, but some might. And at least they are very strong smelling.”

“For (my brother’s) birthday, I’m going to make him a pretend laptop out of construction paper. But it’s only going to have ten buttons and no mouse.”

“I read the entire book about Davy Crocket and I don’t see why he’s such a hero. But I skipped some parts.”

“I have a bug bite on my back and it itches like crazy. If only it were on my elbow. That would be so much better.”

“Did I fail to mention I hate strawberries? Because right here on my plate I see strawberries.”

“It’s just regular milk, I know, but I’m pretending that it’s chocolate.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so snappy,” my daughter tells me one morning. It involved me telling her to put on her shoes seventeen-thousand times. But whatever.

“Guess what? My teacher is having a boy and she is going to name him either Truman or Moses.” “Really?” I asked. “Well I don’t really know,” she tells me. “But that’s what I think she should name him.”