Sometimes living with a 3 year old is kind of like living with a tiny little comedian. Here are some of the latest.
Me, “Peanut, we’re running late. Let’s hurry.”
P, “I can’t hurry. I’m a slow turtle. ” proceeds to take teeny tiny slow steps toward the door.
Sitting down at dinner and Peanut says, “mom, guess what?” To which I obviously reply, “what?” Casually she says, “chicken butt!” And then laughs.
Wiping the chair arm with water, “Mom, don’t put your elbows up there. I’m cleaning with chemicals that smell like spicy cucumbers.”
“I love butterflies, but not hogs.”
This morning someone in our family broke posterior silence (and I’m not going to name names) and without skipping a beat, Peanut yells out: “Poop!” “Poop!” “Something stinks!” “Did someone fart!?!” We now call her a “Fart Alarm.”
Speaking of farts – Peanut farts and I ask, laughing, “Was that you?” Peanut, “No…it was Tayor.” Then smiles, turns and walks away.
Laughing at Taylor’s silliness, “Tayor….you’re so cute and squishy!”
I sit down on the couch and Peanut climbs and sits down next to me. By next to me I mean practically on top of me. Me, “Addi, why are you on top of me?” Peanut, “Because you’re very snuggly and soft.”