I keep a running document of all the funny things Monkey has said. This is what she said when she was two. The following conversations took place in our house in 2011.
Monkey: “Mama, you’re not daddy’s wife.”
Me: “I’m not? What am I?”
Monkey: “You’re a mama.”
Me: “I know, but I’m not daddy’s mama.”
Monkey: “Mom, where do sandwiches grow?”
Me: “Oh! Well, great question. Let me tell you.” (I then proceed to take her through the steps of how we plant wheat, it grows, we harvest it and use it to make bread. I also explain how tomatoes and lettuce grow, we get milk from cows, which we use to make cheese, and ham comes from a pig.)
Monkey: “Mom, where do cups grow?”
Me: “Cups don’t grow from anything honey. They’re made of plastic, which is a chemical.”
Monkey: “Mom, where do carrots grow?”
Me: “Carrots grow in the ground like lettuce and tomatoes.”
Monkey: “Mom, where does nice grow?”
Me: (thinking “Aww, what a sweet question.”) Looking at her sweetly I answer, “In your heart,” and then take a big drink of milk.
Monkey pauses, looking a little confused about how nice grows in her heart, although I thought my response was appropriate because it’s kind of an abstract thought. Meanwhile, Husband has a mouthful of sandwich and can’t speak. When I look up from my plate I notice he’s looking at me with furrowed eyebrows and kind of grunting and pointing at the table. I look down and see a knife.
OH! Where do KNIVES grow from?
I start laughing so hard that I’m snorting and choking on my milk. I can’t breathe. I get up from the table and run to the sink to spit out my milk.
Me: “Oh buckets.”
Monkey: (excitedly) “Mom! Bucket and fuck it rhyme!”
Me: “Umm, yep. They sure do. Let’s not say that to anyone else, okay?”
Monkey: “The mama bird doesn’t like womans.”
Me: “What? Womans is not a word.”
Monkey: “Yes it is. The mama bird doesn’t like womans.”
Me: “You mean women? Women is the word we say when we mean more than one woman.”
Monkey: “No, not women. Womans.”
Me: “No, womans is not a word. (pauses) Wait, do you mean humans?”
Monkey: “YES! HUMANS!” (as if she’d been saying that all along.)
Monkey: “Mimi you need to settle down.”
Mimi (my mom): “Why?
Monkey: “Because you’re acting like my mom — laughing and being loud.”
Later when I asked Monkey why Mimi was like me she said, “Because she was getting wound up.”
Monkey: “I’m going to sleep with my eyes open so I can see my dreams.”
Monkey: “You have marks on your belly.”
Me: “Yeah, that’s from you. Thanks a lot.”
Monkey: “Mom, when you were a boy you liked peppers and onions, right?”
Me: “Well, I was never a boy.”
Husband: “Thank goodness for that.”
Monkey: “I want a dog.”
Husband: “When you’re older.”
Monkey: “I’m older now! I want a dog when I’m older. And a brother!”
Monkey (throwing open the door, walking in from the garage and shouting): “Where-is-my-MOTHER?”
Husband: “Oh yeah, she’s in rare form today.”
Monkey: “Bean, what did you give me? It’s my birthday today.”
Bean: (incoherent babbling)
Monkey: “Daddy, where’s my right nose hole?”
Husband: “Nose hole? You mean nostril.”
Husband: “Yeah, they’re nostrils.”
Monkey: “Daddy, do you have nose holes?”
Husband: “Yes, but they’re called nostrils.”
Monkey (considers this): “Mommy has nostrils, daddy has nostrils, I have nostrils, Bean has nostrils (repeat for every single person she knows).
Monkey (holding up four fingers): “Mom, this is how old I am, right?”
Me: “No, that’s how old you’ll be on your next birthday.”
Monkey: “YEAH, and then I’ll be able to drive a CAR!”
Monkey: “When Bean gets to be a big girl we can drive a car together!”
Me: “God help me.”
Monkey: “I didn’t hear that because I took my listening ears off.”
Monkey: “When I grow up, I’ll be able to carry a baby everywhere all by myself. I’ll be able to change diapers with Bean’s wipes. I’ll be able to open the gate and open doors. I’ll be able to do everything.”
Monkey: “When I grow up I’ll be able to drive a car, a truck, an airplane and a helicopter!”
Monkey: “When I’m a mommy, I can get Bean out of her crib all by myself.”
Monkey: “Before I have a baby, I’ll have to get married, because I can’t have a baby without a daddy, right?
Me: “Ding, ding, ding, ABSOLUTELY RIGHT.”
Monkey: “At my wedding I’m going to have a flower girl. I wonder who it will be. Because it won’t be my kid.”
Me: “Nope. It sure won’t.”
Monkey: “This is my baby. She was just born. She was just in my belly.”
Me: (quickly changing the subject so that she doesn’t start asking questions about THAT)
I can’t wait to see what Bean comes up with.