My 7-year-old is a terrible singer. In order to increase his interest in singing, I show him several astonishing Britain’s Got Talent performances: kids singing, opera singers, gospel choruses. His eyes sparkle, he’s thrilled. Then he turns to me and says: Daaad! When I grow up… I want to become Simon Cowell!
Not my favorite!
— Aidan (9 years old tomorrow)’s answer when he doesn’t like or want what is being offered; Trump included.
I’m the best at dyslexia
— Rick, age 9.
My daughter (4) who’s very fond of my new husband: “Are you going to divorce him?”
Me: “Of course not, why do you ask?”
My daughter: Because I would never find another mother as nice as you!
I ask my 10-year-old daughter if her room is clean. She answers: Depends on who’s judging.
After what seemed like hours of answering question after question (“why this,” “why that,” … ), every response being followed up with another question, I eventually told my 5-year-old boy: “I don’t know.” He proceeded, unfazed: Why don’t you know?
Exhume me
— my 4-year-old girl’s pronunciation of “excuse me.”
At a family gathering, my 6-year-old son Joey stared at an older man throughout the occasion. When the time came to go, he shyly approached him and said: “When are you going to do your trick?” The man asked what trick he was talking about, whereupon Joey responded: My daddy said you drink like a fish!
A year or two before my boy wanted to be President, abolish money and establish an economic system based on trade, when asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, he would confidently answer: Garbage truck.
They put salt & pepper in the water?
— Lina, age 4, after swallowing a bit of sea water during our beach vacation.
Do you also have cookies for kids?
— Lina, age 4, after I gave my dogs a treat.
November 40th!
— Noah, when asked when his birthday is.
Luckily I was born sweet!
— Lina, age 4.
Taïs (6): “Mom, when were you little?”
Me: “Hmm… In the ’80s… ”
Taïs: Was it in the Middle Ages?
We’re having a big family dinner. My 4-year-old girl watches my mother’s cousin carefully as she is serving red wine. She seems bothered by it, and finally asks, loudly, why she’s not filling the entire glass. My mother, who’s sitting next to us, explains to her that wine is not served like water or milk, that the glass shouldn’t be filled to the brim. To which she answers, still loudly: That’s not how my Mom does it at home!
