I’m just going to say it outright: children are ridiculous.
The things that come out of those tiny mouths make no sense what-so-ever. Sometimes it’s hilarious. Other times it is incredibly painful, and you suddenly realise what it is that has made you slowly lose your mind (i.e. years of nonsensical waffling). But sometimes it’s hilarious.
Here’s the highlights from the past twenty-four hours:
Kid: I don’t like this biscuit.
Me: What’s wrong with it?
Kid: It tastes like bats. Cricket bats.
Kid: We should call the baby “Whoody” [think a cross between the lead in Toy Story, and a jacket with a hood] … or “Ketty” [yeah I don’t even know]
Kid: I’m going on holiday! Bye!
Me: Where are you going on holiday?
Kid: I’M NOT GOING ON HOLIDAY!
Kid: my name is Super Baby. But don’t call me Super Baby.
I have also been argued with about how the half an hour allocation of television time that day was somehow a different length to the half hour they’re allowed every other day.
Oh, and I never make anything for dinner that children actually enjoy therefore everything in the world is entirely my fault.
(… we’re having home-style fish and chips for dinner tonight. I’m expecting child services on my doorstep for starving my children)
So thanks, kids. I never really wanted my sanity anyway.