Sh*t my son says

when asked to come up with words that start with F: “I am NOT putting a swear word on there, or the teacher will just kick me in right in the balls.”

“tsk, Donald Trump gives so many good weapons to ISIS…”

circa 2013
getting off the toilet: “Sigh… I don’t know why we have to keep peeing and pooping….”


“this pencil isn’t working.  Gladly, we have a sharpener”
“You mean, fortunately we have a sharpener.  Gladly means happy.”
“Well, I’m happy we have a sharpener.”
“You’re gladly going to use it, because fortunately, we have a sharpener.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense” (looks at me like I’m dumb)


“How do you know all this?”

“I’m a doctor,” I say.

“Who made you a doctor?” and he didn’t say in a rude way or anything, but I still felt challenged.  It’s amazing how a little space occupying lesion such as a 7 year old boy can make you defensive about your occupation and credentials.

“Me! I went to school for many years!”

“Are you sure you don’t want to ask your boss?”

Say what?!  Kid, we’re going to have to do something about these preconceptions!  Mommy IS the boss, hello??  Well – at work at least.  At home, we know it’s you and your sister.