The Engineer: “Where are we going?”
Me: “To the dentist.”
The Engineer: “Sissy goes to the dentist.”
Me: “Yep. Her teeth are going to the teeth spa.”
The Artist: “They’re going to take my teeth out???!!!”
The Artist: “When my sister turns 3, will she still be a baby?”
Me: “Well, you two will always be my babies.”
The Artist: “No — will she be a baby, or will she be a kid?”
Me: “I guess technically she’ll be a kid.”
The Artist: “I don’t want her to be a kid. I want her to be a baby.”
The Artist: “Because she’s so cute!”
The Artist: “So you teach?”
Me: “Yes. I teach college students.”
The Artist: “And you’re Dr. Judith.” Bursts out laughing. “That’s so funny.”
(Finding The Engineer climbing up the bottom side of her sister’s bunk bed…)
Me: Don’t climb up the bunk bed that way! Go up the ladder!
The Engineer: I’m not crying. I’m climbing.
(While painting a frog)
The Artist: “The pee pad is green.”
Me: “The what?”
The Artist: “The frog’s pee pad.”
Me: “LILY pad.”
Me: “What do you want for breakfast?”
The Artist: “A breakfast bar.”
Me: “Do you want anything else with it?”
The Artist: “Yes. A chocolate bar.”
Doing Social Studies homework:
Me: Circle the picture that shows the children being responsible. This picture is of a kid walking a dog. Is that responsible?
The Artist: No.
Me: What? Why?
The Artist: Because he may have been walking the dog without asking his parents if it was ok.
Me: Ah. Well, let’s say he did ask his parents.
The Artist: Oh. Good point. Yes, he’s responsible.
To her Sunday school teacher…
The Artist: “I drove myself to church today because Mommy is sick. Daddy is picking me up today.”
None of that was true…good thing she was in Sunday school.
Me: “He’s like Mr. Chris.”
The Artist: “You mean like Santa?”
The Artist: “Chris…Santa.”
Me: “No, it’s not Kris Kringle.”
(after being in time out)
Kyle: “Are you ready to say you’re sorry?”
The Engineer: (angrily) “Sorry.”
Me: “You need to say you’re sorry to me.”
Me: “If you don’t, you can go back to time out.”
Engineer: (walks back to time out)
The Artist: “I wish we had an Elf like Snowflake (the Elf on the Shelf at her school).”
Me: “Your sister would touch him.”
The Artist: “We could put him somewhere high.”
Me: “We’re not supposed to touch him. He’s magic.”
The Artist: “We could just tell her not to touch him.”
Me: “She wouldn’t listen.”
The Artist: (Resigned) “Just stop.”