I’m going to eat your eyes (and the other darndest things kids say)

Dear Loinspawn,

Since the day you were born your mother and I have often found ourselves proudly imagining the inner workings of your precocious mind solving the mysteries of the universe.

Then, as you started talking, we realised there were other matters which you considered far more important. Like your penis, for instance. Your mother is worried about your phallic infatuation, but I have assured her that it is quite normal. You should, however, stop telling her how big it is. Or ask either of us to kiss it.

Sometimes you think about seagulls and ducks driving in a car to visit the dinosaurs. Other times you think about murder. Like last night when you told me: “I’m going to kill you.”

At first I thought there was some confusion. Obviously, you meant you were going to kielie (tickle) me, but then you came closer and whispered with firm conviction: “I’m going to take your eyes out and eat it.”

Now I sleep with that eye open.

We’ve always tried our best to cultivate deep critical thinking in you so that you can question the way the world works. Lumpy custard literally dribbled out of your mother’s eyes a week ago when you asked her how the stars came to be in the sky. Unfortunately, you now also question why you have to sit in your car seat, eat anything other than fish fingers, bath, brush your teeth, put on clothes, sleep, or really do anything we tell you to.

Here are some of your more insightful musings that you have shared with me. I’ve had to write them down because half of the time I can’t remember what I said yesterday and the other half I think I said stuff, but never did. 

ON SHARING (Or becoming a smartarse)

YOU: Pappa, can I have some beer?

ME: No, beer is only for pappas, not little boys.

YOU: But I’m big!

ME: I know, but you’re not big enough.

YOU: But you must always share! Good on sharing, pappa!

ME: Okay. Can I have a bit of your ice-cream?

YOU: No. This is medicine, it’s hot, it’s going to burn you.



YOU (sitting on the toilet): You must also make a poopoop.

ME: Why?

YOU: Otherwise the poopoop is going to come in your sleep and give you a fright.



YOU: What’s that?

ME: It’s a doorstop.

YOU: No. It’s an… owl!

ME: No, it isn’t.

YOU: It’s an owl!

ME: No. It’s an inanimate object used to keep doors open and has no resemblance to a nocturnal bird of prey whatsoever.

YOU: It’s an OWL!

ME: Okay. I give up. It’s an owl.

YOU: No, pappa, it’s a doorstop!



ME: Why are you hitting me with your hammer?

YOU: I fix you!

ME: What’s wrong with me?

YOU: Pappa is broken.



ME: You must sleep.

YOU: No, I am never, never, never going to sleep!

ME: Why not?

YOU: Because I’m too tired.



YOU: Pappa?

ME: Yes?

YOU: I think you are a little girl.



ME: You are my everything. I love you.

YOU: Bluuuugggghhh! I made a burpee, pappa!



(You are pretending to shower)

ME: Come, you’ve been in there for 10 minutes. It’s time to get out and put some clothes on.

(You open the shower door)

YOU: No! I don’t want to! Go make some compost with the worm poopoop.

(You slam door shut)



ME: I am the boss.

YOU: No, I am the boss.

ME: You are definitely not the boss. You are a little boy.

YOU: No, I am the boss with Mamma!

ME: You are not.

YOU: Yes! I am a boss and Mamma is a boss!

ME: Okay, so what am I?

YOU: You are only an astronaut on the rocket ship with the dogs.



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