_When I was a kid, I was obsessed with overhead projectors. You know, the ones teachers use in classrooms; the kind you can write on with erasable markers. Since my teachers all used them, I thought owning one would make me smart like them. Sadly, Santa never brought one. _
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Stuck in the middle with you.
Preschool age, my daughter says, “I pooped my pants today.”
Me: What?! Where?
Daughter: In the middle.
One of my favorite silly incidents was when a kid tried to get a pen from his pocket and then said, “Whoops, it’s in my other pants!” and then suddenly stuck his hand inside his pants and pulled out the pen.
Dude was just wearing two pairs of pants for no good reason.
A three-year-old, upon rising from the floor, noticed her foot had fallen asleep.
She rubbed it, looked at me and said, “Midzo, I have owie sprinkles.”
Best ever description of the sensation.
My cousin’s 2-year-old came twirling in a dress and declared, “I’m a princess!”
My cousin went, “You know honey, princesses are supposed to be nice and sweet. You can’t be rude anymore and you have to stop shouting at people!”
The kid immediately screamed, “I DON’T WANT TO BE A PRINCESS!!!”
So my cousin asked her what she wanted to be, and she immediately replied with, “The boss.”
Such a close call.
I was a preschool teacher and had this awesomely creative kid who would make up these elaborate story lines when he was playing. One time I overheard him playing and he had set up his “guys” (the sort of toy people we had) in a battle and had Martians fighting Jews.
Yeah. Martians vs. Jews.
And I was shocked cause I knew his parents pretty well and they were super-mega liberal. So I sort of sidled up to him and this conversation happened.
Me: So, buddy, what’s going on with your guys here?
Kid: The Martians are fighting the Jews. The Jews invaded the Martians’ territory so the Martians have to fight them and win.
Me: Uh… wow, so… where is the Martians territory?
Kid: (looks at me like I’m stupid). Mars. They are Martians. Martians are from Mars.
Me: Ah… and the Jews? Where are they from?
Kid: Jupiter. Martians are from Mars, and so I think if there are aliens on Jupiter, their name would be “Jews.”
I worked as a camp counselor for kids with special needs. This boy got in trouble for back talking, so he and I went to the big boss to talk things through.
Nobody spoke, until the boy blurted, “If jerks could fly, this place would be an airport!”
I had to leave the room because I was trying not to laugh.
Maybe it’s the President.
Not me, but my boss (principal). He likes to play jokes a lot, so the other day he strolls into the grade 4 room, and convinces the kids that Christmas is cancelled.
“Yup. There is no Christmas this year. They’ve moved it to January and might get rid of it all together.”
All the kids start whining, complaining and getting worried. Before he could explain it’s all a joke, a little boy from the back shouts out, “Jeez, I hate that Trump!”
The cringe is strong with this one.
My son is five and has started cottoning on about the differences between boys and girls. My wife and I are answering his questions biologically accurate, as we feel it’s best he understands the proper words instead of the “kiddy” ones.
The scene: Family dinner around the dining table. Everyone is eating quietly. I notice my son is deep in thought. From his expression I can tell question time is incoming.
Mom: Yes dear?
Son: Can I see your vagina?
Dad: [chokes on spaghetti]
Bless him for that little gem this week.
“Dad, the dinosaurs are ‘stinct, right?”
“Yes, they’re all gone. They all died a very long time ago.”
“Well, Jesus came back from the dead…”
“No honey, they’re not coming back.”
I tutored a kid with Asperger’s who had wonderful ways of phrasing things.
Me: So how did you approach this math problem?
Him: Well, first I tried x = 4, and that… did not bring about good fortune.
This makes me feel old.
When my daughter was 7, she asked me what year I was born. I told her 1978. She replied with a gasp of horror, “You were born in the nineteen’s!”
Very literal kid.
I once asked my potty training son to hold it for a second. He peed in his hand.
Love is a battlefield.
My nephews and I have been watching Beat Bugs on Netflix. The theme song is All You Need Is Love. The five-year-old said, “Why is love all you need? What about Nerf guns?”
I was watching the Spongebob movie with my four-year-old the other day and I was singing along to the “I’m ready promotion” part.
She turns straight around looks me dead in the eyes and said “mum you don’t even have a job!”
Well thanks, kid. Looking after you is enough for me.
The funniest thing I heard while working at a daycare was a conversation that went like this.
5-year-old: “You’re old!”
Me: “I’m not that old (with a slight tone of indignation). How old do you think I am?”
5-year-old: “The last number.”
Lest we forget.
I teach 7th grade English and was attempting to explain to my class that many authors were not famous during their lives, and only became well-known after they died.
One of my students looks at me, and I can see the wave of realization hit her as she throws up her hand and shouts, “JUST LIKE HARAMBE!” with the biggest smile on her face.
Yes, kid, just like Harambe.
Kid’s gonna be an improv genius.
My younger brother didn’t understand the concept of identity or something. I don’t really know, he was like 3-years-old and barely coherent. He’d always ask about things that he saw people doing like why the man came to our house every day to deliver mail, or why girls played with dolls.
He was also quite the talker and whenever we would sit around and tell stories about our day, as people do, he would try and chime in with an anecdote of his own. Now of course, he also didn’t understand the concept that these stories actually happened so his would go like this…
“When I was a girl, I would play with dolls all the time and make Barbie go up the stairs and cook dinner.”
“When I was a mailman, I drove the truck around all the city and gave people letters.”
“When I was older, I had a job and lots of money.”
The pig goes…?
My mom was a camp counselor back in the day in southern Ohio and tells this story all the time. She helped city kids experience the outdoors for the first time.
One kid was scared of a pig and proclaimed, “Get that wolf away from me!”
Kid’s cool in a crisis.
I’m a part-time nanny. The girl I care for was about two-and-a-half when she potty trained. She trained really quickly and had only had one other accident at this point. She got really engrossed in play, stood up, and froze as the pee ran down her leg.
I was doing dishes and only saw her top half from the other side of the counter, but I’m also a preschool teacher and I know the look well.
“Did you have an accident?” I asked.
With a very serious look on her face, she said, “Go get the Clorox…”
But still a Kardashian.
I used to be a camp counselor. One time a five-year-old boy told me I was his “least favorite Kardashian.”
Only the brave.
I work at a community center that hosts a preschool and an after-school program with a wide age range.
One little smart-aleck comes up to me and we have this delightful dialogue.
Child: Your hair looks like a bird’s nest. (I have long curly hair that afro’s a bit)
Me: That’s because birds live in my hair.
Me: Yeah, they’re the kind of birds that eat little kids with blonde hair and green eyes and are named Tristan.
Child: (looks at my hair uncertainly then stares into my eyes with cold focus) Show me.
Nice and specific.
One day my daughter leaned in and said to me, “Don’t worry mommy, I love you and would never kill you.”
Maybe he’s part garlic bread.
I’m an ‘English as Second Language’ teacher. I decided to teach the first graders the classic song “Head, shoulders, knees and toes.” It seemed to go well and we moved on to something else.
While absorbed in the new activity, the little boy at the front was quietly singing the new song he had just learned, “Head, shoulders, cheese and toast, cheese and toast.”
Close enough I guess.
That’s baby logic.
My youngest kid recently told me he thought the lyrics for the Rolling Stones song were, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you cry sometimes, you get what you need.”
Which actually kind of explains a lot.
For context: My little cousin (6 at the time) called me over hangouts for a video call. I was sick at the time. Here’s the conversation.
Me: “Do you want to see auntie? I’ll take the phone to her.”
Her: “NO! You can’t go see her!”
Me: “Why don’t you want to see auntie?”
Her: “I want to see auntie, but you’re sick. You’ll get auntie sick!”
Me: “Aww, that’s so sweet! Wait… Don’t you care if I’m sick?”
Her: “Auntie has a car and can buy me candy! You don’t, so I don’t care.”
And that was the day I was put in my place by a first grader.
I’m on his side.
I asked an 11-year-old student, “How are you?” and his response was that he was happy because his side burns finally grew in.
Stop, drop and roll.
When my students were lining up for lunch one day, we heard an alarm go off, but not a tornado, fire drill, or lockdown alarm, probably just a glitch in the system.
Without missing a beat, one of my students says, “Stop, drop, and roll” and casually bent down and rolled a few feet. Just the randomness of it and how committed he was to the joke had me holding back laughing so hard my stomach hurt.
His actual teacher (since I’m student teaching) gave him a silent lunch.
Hand clap games gone wrong
I was watching two 5-year-old girls try to learn a hand clap song, where they had to hit hands diagonally across.
One of them kept messing up and the other girl charmingly shook the other with both hands saying “You simply don’t understand it!”
I taught inner city kids through a volunteer group. They were sometimes awful to each other in hysterical ways.
One of my 11-year-old girls was coloring a picture. This boy Robert kept messing with her, like tugging her paper while she was drawing and knocking into her pencil.
Finally she slammed her hands down and yelled, “Why don’t you go visit your dad picking up trash on the freeway with the other inmates?!” Obviously I intervened but inside I was dying laughing. He messed with the wrong girl.
Just keep truckin’.
As my son was learning to talk, he had a problem pronouncing “Tr” sounds and we didn’t discover it until we were driving down a busy highway and he was identifying the vehicles that we would pass. His attempts to say the word “truck” came out somewhat unexpectedly: “Car!… Car!… [swear]!… Car!… Big [swear]!… Car!”
Baby back ribs?
Last year, around the holidays, I was driving past a nativity scene with my 5-year-old nephew and my sister-in-law.
My nephew yells, “Mama, why are they roasting that baby?”
We are not a religious family.
I was babysitting my friend’s kids and we were playing make believe in the park. One kid wanted to be a superhero, one kid wanted to be a pirate, and one kid told me he wanted to be a “sexy llama.”
Now I’m not one to harsh a kid’s imagination, but there were a bunch of moms and kids in the park that I didn’t know, and I didn’t want a kid to be yelling out how sexy he was to me, so I asked him to maybe call himself a “beautiful llama” and he could be a sexy llama in secret. He agreed, but then proceeded to yell out “HEY! LOOK AT ME!! I’M A SEXY, I MEAN A BEEEYOOTIFUL LLAMA, JUST LIKE YOU WANTED ME TO BE!! JUST LIKE WE TALKED ABOUT!! I CAN KEEP OUR SECRET!!”