Brett, Miles, and I were walking through the woods, discussing the relative competency of "girls." I pointed out that girls can be very smart.
"Yeah, but you're not smarter than Daddy," Miles retorted.
"Oh really? How do you know?"
"Because nobody's smarter than Daddy except God and Santa."
I'm not a bad mom, I swear. It's just that... well, kids are so dumb. And my kitchen floor was really dirty. I can explain...
So the kids and I often play this game where they're at "school" and I'm the teacher, Mrs. Smith. A few days ago, I was trying to make dinner, but they wanted my attention. So I gave them a couple buckets of soapy water and some old t-shirts, stripped them to their underwear, and let them slide around on the kitchen floor until it got clean.
This all made a lot of sense until yesterday, when the kids started asking me outside our house, "Mrs. Smith, can we please wash the kitchen floor again?"
It's almost as bad as the rule Macey has taken out of context. She always decides she wants to cuddle right after she's eaten a particularly messy meal. So I made this innocent little rule where she's not allowed to touch me while her hands are sticky - she has to wash them first. That backfired, though, when she started asking me at random times around others, "Mommy, can I touch you please?"
This evening we had our annual church board dinner. Miles and Macey were in childcare with some of the other kids, including adorable four-year old Addie (see picture), who has recently decided that she intends to kiss Miles and marry him.
When Brett picked the kids up this evening, Miles was a little troubled.
"Dad, I don't like girls."
"Oh? Why not?"
"I am very afraid of them." (Macey in the background: "I'm not afraid of them! I'm not afraid of them!")
Brett, chuckling: "That's not fear, son."
"Well, I think I am very afraid of them."
"Why do you think you're so afraid of them?"
"'Cause they just want to give kisses."
"Oh they do?"
"Yeah. It's their secret weapon... I don't have anything like that. Boys just have guns and swords."
Random comment on the way out from church: "You are Mommy, and the other one is Daddy."
Macey was playing with a needle-and-thread set I'd had out to fix one of Miles' toys. I said, "Oh no, Macey. Don't play with that. You might get hurt."
"Or," said Macey without looking up, "it might be funny."
