Tag Archives: funny kid sayings

Breakfast conversation

The scene: two brothers at breakfast, one with his face in his eggs.

“He is eating with his mouth. Maybe he’s going to turn into a beast.”

“I would like to turn into a whale.”

“Most definitely not. Most likely you’d turn into a pig, because pigs eat with their mouths.”

“Mommy, what do whales eat?”

“Pigs eat mostly vegetables. Squished up vegetables.”

“Mommy, may I have honey on my toast please?”

“Stop eating with your hands! Stop eating with your mouth! Maybe we should sign him up for polite class.”

“With a collar on my head.”

There was an old woman


“Oh, I look old.” I cringed at my reflection in the rearview mirror. “Do I look old?” I asked my oldest, regretting asking him even as the words came out.

“No,” he replied solemnly. “Not at all.” He thought a bit and added, “People in their thirties are not old.”

“You’re right, of course,” I replied hastily. But still – it is jarring to see oneself growing older and wrinklier.

“There was an old woman who lived in a shoe…” I guess I am not too old. And our house is unique but it’s not even remotely like a shoe.

We had a quiet day, blissfully free of incident. We’ve been playing “family” a lot lately, my four-year-old and I. He plays the dad, I’m the mom, and the baby is the baby. Yesterday we began by taking many family naps. We piled up on the sofa, dad, mom, and baby, kissed each other goodnight, and slept until the rooster crowed, then we got up. We repeated this process several times. After that it was time to go into town, which is downstairs.

Once in “town,” the baby wandered into the guest room (there is an alarm clock radio in there, and he loves to turn it on) and “dad” declared, “All right. Let’s go to the kid store and get a kid.”

The guest room is the kid store, as it turns out, and I thought (like a grown up) that the “kid” to be procured was the baby. But shortly after, outside by the swings, J informed me that he had a son of his own, whom he was swinging in the baby swing.

“That’s wonderful!” I said. “What is your son’s name?”

“Canoe,” he replied. “He’s really cute.” I said I could well believe it.

“He has the power to transform into a fish,” he added, in an offhand way.

“Well, that’s handy,” I replied.

After a while he and baby and I wandered to the top of the hill. It must be nice, being a baby. All you have to do is point to a little bike, look up, and say “Ma!” and you get gently rolled all around the yard, with your little feet resting on the frame. Rough life.

After a while I saw J twirling under the trees. “Where’s Canoe?” I asked.

“Oh … he blew away,” he replied.

“What!? You can’t just let your baby blow away!” I made as if to “catch” the imaginary blowing-away baby, but J objected strenuously to this. I objected myself, saying that he wasn’t being much of a father.

We’ve been watching Bugs Bunny and other Loony Tunes lately, and one of the episodes introduced the boys to the term “poop deck.” To their glee, this provides a loophole to be exploited in the face of the household prohibition on potty language. I ignore their frequent and gleeful references to poop decks. Things like this make me long wistfully for a child rearing handbook. But, all will come out all right in the wash, I do firmly believe.

A family primer

The A says, “aaa.”

The B says, “b.”

The Thomas says, “Salve!”*

The Anthony says, “Tee hee hee!”

The John says, “NO!”

And according to Anthony, the W says “boom.” He is insistent on this point, though I am not sure how he got that idea.

*Thomas started Latin this year. He is enjoying it.

Ratatouille and quesadillas

Oh, my dear people – another self-imposed blog post deadline has come, and I have not had time to draw anything. By Thursday I’ll have something, hopefully. Meantime, if you’d like to read it, I will tell you about our day.

We all wandered into the living room in the morning at about the same time. Having slept lightly expecting to hear from sick kids, I decided to take advantage of their being peacefully asleep in the early morning, to get extra sleep too.

We did lessons. Anthony dutifully repeated, “M says ‘mmmm’; S says ‘sssss’,” but when we got to the short a sound, no matter how often I said it and waited, he wouldn’t even try it. I think that the letter a is the bane of anyone trying to shake a Minnesota accent, and I have a suspicion that that marker of my home state was confusing him.

John and I have been in disagreement about something for a while now, and we revisited the issue today.






”No, it’s not a helicopter. It’s an airplane.”

”Mmmmm,” he said, in a tone of conciliatory speculation. “Car,” he concluded, positively.

In the late afternoon, we went to a nearby woodsy park recommended as a place with stroller-friendly paths. It was lovely! Thomas collected pine cones and Johnny sang, and we looked down over the neighborhoods on the rolling hills below. As the light began to wane we heard insects singing in the trees and brush.

As the van hove into sight in the parking lot, Thomas suddenly stopped.

”We didn’t get to go for a hike!”

”But, that is what we just did.” (It was advertised, after all, as a “stroller hike.”)

”We didn’t go for a hike – we just went for a walk in the woods!”* he wailed.

As we neared home, he reiterated the plan he had come up with as we left the park, that he was going to run away, by himself.

”Oh, no! Will you take me with you?” I asked.

”Well . . .all right,” he agreed. “But after that, I’ll run away by myself.”

As we’d just arrived home I said,

“How about if we go inside and watch Ratatouille and eat quesadillas, instead?”

Happily, he agreed – and that is what we did.

*He explained that a hike involves going on trails in the woods, not on wide paths the in woods.

Minnesotans come with antifreeze

When autumn weather arrives, it becomes clear that I’m not from around here.

I step outside and take deep, full breaths of the cool moist air, and reflect contentedly that God’s in His heaven and all’s right with the world.

Then I look around me, and observe that everyone else appears to be bracing themselves for a coming ice age.


My son Thomas shares some of the characteristics of this alien race.  On Wednesday he closed the window I had opened and announced, “I’m cold! I need hot chocolate.”

Here comes the pizza taxi

These are some of what Michael calls Thomas' neologisms.

These are some of what Michael calls Thomas’ neologisms.

Thomas and I had the following conversation this morning:

      “Mom, where’s the plugger?”

      “The plugger?”

      “No!  The plugger!”

      “The . . . plugger?”

      “NO! The p-o-g . . .-u . . .-g . . .” He left off in frustration, but he was starting to laugh in spite of himself.  “Where is the piano wire?!”

      “You mean the cord for the piano?” (It’s an electronic piano.)

The best-laid conversations of mice and men gang aft agley!  But it’s best if you can laugh about it.

Why I love my children

Oh, my dear people, as an Irish priest who used to visit our hometown church would often say – I don’t have any time to draw anything today; so I will try to sketch with words.


      “Why did the Red Queen want to cut off the heads of the cards?” (ie in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.)

      “Mm… she was a grumpy queen.”

      “I would stop her from doing that.  I would kill her!  No, wait wait wait wait . . .” (seeing my mouth start to open to protest, as I generally do when in his zeal for justice Thomas proposes dealing death to the evildoers.*)

      “I would . . .”  thinking for a minute.  “What could I do?”

      “Well – you could say, ‘Stop doing that.’”

      “Oh, use a word?  Now that’s a fine idea!”


This summer when we stayed at my sister’s house, we learned the Splonskowski family’s grace before meals, which is longer than ours.  Now that we are back home, Anthony insists on the “long form” at least once per meal – sometimes twice, if there is a large enough space between courses – and becomes quite upset if we don’t say the whole thing.


My little genius super baby can say five words: “uh-oh,” “bye-bye,” “car,” “Da,” (Dad) and “cracker” (though it sounds like “gockuh,” and signifies Cheerios also.)

*As the mother of three small boys, I reserve the right to observe a sort of pacifism. We can work out soldiery and just war and all that later.