Isms
If Reader’s Digest wasn’t so uptight (wholesome Family Values), I’d be able to make some cash.
My 10-year-old daughter says the darndest things.
We call them isms. Little gems she just lets loose from time to time.
Once, where her mother was traveling for business, she was in the truck with me on the way to school hoping to stay up late (“Mom will never know,” she kept saying).
We have a playful banter when it is just she and I. She kept pleading; I kept rebuffing her.
“You know what you get when you mess with the bull?” I asked.
“The balls?”
I nearly swerved off the road – yet kept my composure and turned and said:
“No, the horns.”
“Oh, well that makes better sense.”
She was laying on the couch with my wife a few days later – I was in my comfy chair – when she asked my wife if she had her tonsils.
“Yes, I have my tonsils,” my wife said.
“Thom, do you have your tonsils?” she asked.
“Yes, I have my tonsils.”
“Mom, what about your independix?”
“I lost my independix the moment I pushed your brother out of my womb,” my wife deadpanned.
I snorted and started to choke, I laughed so hard.
It was lost on the 10-year-old.
“I still don’t know what’s so funny,” she said.
She spent Christmas day with her biological father and after a week, she had had it over there. She called crying and said she wanted to come home. As much as it pained us to leave her there, it was dad’s turn to have her “Even if she pouts in her room all day” father-of-the-year said.
My wife had one last conversation to calm her down.
“She is your daughter more and more every day,” my wife said.
“What did I do now?”
“I told her that she was mad at her dad, but that she’d get over it eventually.”
“How long is eventually?” she said.
Good point.
My 10-year-old daughter says the darndest things.
We call them isms. Little gems she just lets loose from time to time.
Once, where her mother was traveling for business, she was in the truck with me on the way to school hoping to stay up late (“Mom will never know,” she kept saying).
We have a playful banter when it is just she and I. She kept pleading; I kept rebuffing her.
“You know what you get when you mess with the bull?” I asked.
“The balls?”
I nearly swerved off the road – yet kept my composure and turned and said:
“No, the horns.”
“Oh, well that makes better sense.”
She was laying on the couch with my wife a few days later – I was in my comfy chair – when she asked my wife if she had her tonsils.
“Yes, I have my tonsils,” my wife said.
“Thom, do you have your tonsils?” she asked.
“Yes, I have my tonsils.”
“Mom, what about your independix?”
“I lost my independix the moment I pushed your brother out of my womb,” my wife deadpanned.
I snorted and started to choke, I laughed so hard.
It was lost on the 10-year-old.
“I still don’t know what’s so funny,” she said.
She spent Christmas day with her biological father and after a week, she had had it over there. She called crying and said she wanted to come home. As much as it pained us to leave her there, it was dad’s turn to have her “Even if she pouts in her room all day” father-of-the-year said.
My wife had one last conversation to calm her down.
“She is your daughter more and more every day,” my wife said.
“What did I do now?”
“I told her that she was mad at her dad, but that she’d get over it eventually.”
“How long is eventually?” she said.
Good point.
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