You Can't Marry a Worm

Every once in awhile I stop and hear myself talk and wonder how I began saying such weird things and thinking nothing of them. I've kept track of some of the things I've said over the past few days. Enjoy.

Get your foot off of his face. (I say this at least once a day)

I notice that you still have dust in your ears.

So you did try to eat the broccoli off the floor.

No! Do not hold your poop that long!

Don’t climb in the dishwasher.

Why is the hockey puck in the sink?

No! Stop eating your shoe!

Please don’t have a breath fight with Margo, that’s gross.

The doorknob is the worst place ever to lick.

I have no idea how many pockets there are in the world.

That’s a good idea, but you can’t put airbags in your body.

No, you can’t marry a worm.



On a similar note, these sights have become commonplace:

Poopy onesie at a ball game

Dressing like this in public
(inside-out tie dyed shirt, athletic shorts, hiking boots)

Boy fallen asleep in hockey jock strap and cup

So that's where all the toothpaste went.

Drool/ boogers/spit-up

Boys in sunroofs 

Seventeen balls and fourteen gears and ten books among other treasures
under furniture while looking for a remote control

Little man in lots of dirt by tee

Spiderman on the playground/ sidewalk/ grocery store/ bathroom

These three dudes. Everywhere. Always.