Jackson, 7, Palm Coast, Florida
At bedtime, after discussing the day with his dad, Jackson said: "OK, you can go now, if you need to do any chores, like picking up anything I accidentally left on the floor."
BRIAN MCMILLAN'S HILARITIES & HEARTBREAKERS OF FAMILY LIFE ... &c
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Why aren't there any commercials in this game?
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Does a body good
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Freshly squeezed?
On bilingualism
Friday, April 8, 2011
Just like a woman?
Dylan, 3, Vernon, Connecticut
To his father, Dylan said, "Are you a woman or a person?"
To his father, Dylan said, "Are you a woman or a person?"
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Oh, thank heaven, for "yeow" 11
If it involves a remote, it might qualify
Monday, April 4, 2011
Matt and the Magic Soup
Matthew, 4, Idaho Falls, Idaho
"The thing about soup is that is doesn't look like any is gone when you take a bite."
"The thing about soup is that is doesn't look like any is gone when you take a bite."
Sunday, April 3, 2011
The dime
A dime slipped out of his mouth and plopped into the urine-filled toilet bowl. To my 4-year-old, it was an impossible dilemma: lose the dime or plunge your hand into the pee.
I told him we should just flush, knowing it likely would remain at the bottom of the bowl; but he wouldn’t take that chance.
He found a strainer from a kitchen cupboard, to scoop it out, but it didn’t work. He said he would use a rag, then, but I talked him out of it. It’s just a dime, I said.
Then we had to do something else, and I forgot about it.
Now, it’s 2 a.m. He’s sleeping on the bottom bunk in the next room, and I see the dime is still there, in the bowl, having survived a few flushings already, just as I thought. I wanted to chuckle, but the memory was heavy, a vision of my son at the toilet bowl, his cowlick, his Velcro shoes, his money pouch rattling, his head in his hands, frowning, staring at the dime.
I told him we should just flush, knowing it likely would remain at the bottom of the bowl; but he wouldn’t take that chance.
He found a strainer from a kitchen cupboard, to scoop it out, but it didn’t work. He said he would use a rag, then, but I talked him out of it. It’s just a dime, I said.
Then we had to do something else, and I forgot about it.
Now, it’s 2 a.m. He’s sleeping on the bottom bunk in the next room, and I see the dime is still there, in the bowl, having survived a few flushings already, just as I thought. I wanted to chuckle, but the memory was heavy, a vision of my son at the toilet bowl, his cowlick, his Velcro shoes, his money pouch rattling, his head in his hands, frowning, staring at the dime.
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