My husband and I both work, so our family eats out a lot.
Recently, when we were having a rare home-cooked meal, I handed a glass to my three-year-old and told her to drink her milk.
She looked at me bewildered and replied, "But I didn’t order milk."
A couple of hours into a visit with my mother she noticed I hadn’t lit up a cigarette once. “Are you trying to kick the habit?”
“No,” I replied. “I’ve got a cold and I don’t smoke when I’m not feeling well.”
“You know,” she observed, “you’d probably live longer if you were sick more often.”
The first time my son was on a bike with training wheels, I shouted, "Step back on the pedals and the bike will brake!"
He nodded but still rode straight into a bush.
"Why didn’t you push back on the pedals?" I asked, helping him up.
"You said if I did, the bike would break."
I had finished my Christmas shopping early and had wrapped all the presents. Having two curious children, I had to find a suitable hiding place. I chose an ideal spot—the furnace room. I stacked the presents and covered them with a blanket, positive they’d remain undiscovered.
When I went to get the gifts to put them under the tree, I lifted the blanket and there, stacked neatly on top of my gifts, were presents addressed to "Mom and Dad, From the Kids."