Well, at any rate Ella keeps on telling me I'm five. Which I guess when you are two is pretty ancient. She also has told me she doesn't like the lines in my forehead. Thanks, kiddo, guess I'll be taking the money from your college fund and getting Botox.
Anyway, this post has more to do with my incredibly immature sense of humor.
This past weekend, Jim noticed that the caulking on the bathtub had been shoddily done. We had a boring conversation about him replacing it. Nothing untoward about discussing caulk in front of the kids, right?
Monday rolls around and I'm getting Ella ready for school. I head out to the garage to put her backpack and such in the car. The kids dutifully trot out after me, Ella talking a mile a minute about this and that. Now, I'll back this up for a second and mention that Ella has some speech troubles so words don't always come out crystal clear. Thus why I hear my little two year old yell, "Marian! Stop! We don't touch Daddy's cock!"
In true Ella fashion, once she starts talking about a subject she won't shut up. The ten minute drive to school was filled with all sorts of details about "Daddy's cock." Including but not limited to the fact that Daddy's cock was broken and he had to go to the store to buy a new one. And that Daddy's old cock was red but now he has a new white cock.
Whoever said parenting wasn't fricking hilarious?
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