My nine year old daughter was talking to a friend about going to the doctor.
The friend said, “I hate going to the doctor! I get really nervous.”
My daughter replied, “I hate going to the doctor too! It gives me the shingles.”
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EmailMy five year old son and nine year old daughter have started racing each other all the time. They race to the car, they race upstairs, they race getting dressed.
The other night they were eating dinner when my son said he wanted to race to see who could finish their food first. My smart daughter said, “No. We can’t race when we’re eating, because you might choke”.
My equally intelligent son replied, “Okay. If you finish eating first it’s not a race, but if I finish first, IT IS.”
At the eye doctor’s office the other day, a technician put my five year old son in an exam chair, then sat down on her rolling stool.
My son asked, “Mom, do you smell that?”
As I quickly looked for sand to bury my head in, I said, “No. I don’t smell anything.”
Even though I knew something bad was coming, that poor lady didn’t have a clue. Not even when my son sniffed the air again and said, “I smell something Mom.”
And, as the technician rolled closer to him, and he took in the full aroma, he said, “I smell something…and it smells like my poop.”
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