This morning as I was brushing my teeth, my trusty sidekick instantly appeared as she often does — by my side. (Yeah, that’s why I call her my sidekick.)
She’s only six years old, but with her keen observation skills, she’s always ready to fire off a stinging quip or two. Most of the time, she doesn’t even realize she’s making a joke. She’s just telling the unvarnished truth as she sees it.
“Mom?” she asked.
“When you were born…..”
“Yes?” I put down my toothbrush, stooped to her level, and looked into her big brown eyes.
“Um…when you were born….did you have a football face? Cuz your face kinda looks like a football,” she shrugged and then skipped away.
I looked back at my reflection in the mirror.
You know what? She’s right. I do have a football for a face.
Yes, Little Miss J is wise beyond her years. She often cuts straight to the heart of the matter and forces me to question why we do things in life.
Last night, we had the same argument we always do, about how she needs to pick up her toys. I scanned the living room, sighing at the Polly Pocket carnage. I explained to her for the millionth time that she needs to be responsible for her own toys and put them away.
“But I hate to pick stuff up,” she protested. “I just hate it!”
“Yeah, well, did ya ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe Mommy doesn’t want to pick up your stuff, either? Hmm?”
I saw a light go off in her brain. Her eyes widened. She was getting it. She was finally putting herself in my shoes! Crossing that bridge between a mother and her daughter! Realizing all the hard work I put into being a mom and taking care of the house!
“Hey! I know!” she yelled. “How about this? How ’bout both of us don’t pick them up? Yeah! Then we’re both happy!”
She’s a genius.
She also has a knack for saying things in a slightly snooty yet deadpan way that cracks me up. It’s like she’s Queen Elizabeth trapped in a 6 year old body.
Yesterday, after her older brother ran over to her, stuck his butt in her face and let out a loud and long fart, she wrinkled her nose, slowly turned to look at me, and said,
“I am not happy.”
Last week, while we were discussing with my in-laws what fast food joint they would take the kids to lunch, she put up her hand dismissively, shushed us, and said in a heavy somber tone,
“I don’t like Wendy’s.”
You can almost see it behind her soft hazel eyes how much she thinks the world around her is filled with nothing but bumbling idiots.
Football-faced flatulent idiots that like to eat at Wendy’s.
As much as I admire her candor, brevity and wit, there is one person I do worry about –her future spouse.
Let’s hope he doesn’t have a football for a face.
What zingers have your kids said lately? Maybe I can use some of them for future witty comebacks.
Like this? You’re in luck. I have another child.
Read about him here—My Son — aka The Human Garbage Disposal.