Birthday Cake & Boobies
Monday, May 10, 2010 at 8:19AM Last night I laid in bed with the boy like I always do, shooting the shit, making him laugh, making up stories...
Ten minutes later the wife hopped in bed to say good night. One minute later the daughter jumped in too.
For the next 10 minutes “boobs” were focus of this unique impromptu family gathering. And here’s how it went:
Daughter: “Grayson, you remember the story about you pooping and getting a birthday cake?”
Me: “You mean when we promised brother we’d give him a whole cake if he ever pooped in the toilet instead of his diaper?”
Wife: “And he did!”
Daughter: “Why didn’t I get any of that cake daddy?!!”
Me: “You did. Trust me…you were a baby, mommy chowed down on that cake and you got it through mommy’s milk!”
Son: “Hahaha you drank birthday cake through mommy’s boobies!! Haha”
Me: “Umm soo did you chief. For 13 months you drank from mom’s boob.”
Son: “NO I DIDN’T!!!”
Daughter: “Haha Grayson drank mommy’s boobie!”
Wife: “So did you dear…for six months you drank from my boobies.”
Son: “Yeah!!!!! See Macy…haha…you drank on mommy’s boobs, too!”
Daughter: “Yeah, but I got birthday cake!”
Son: “Daddy did you get any birthday cake through mommy’s boobies?”
Despite my natural desire to want to answer the question with exaggerated stories surrounding the glories breasts of my wife, I (for once) looked at my wife and reacted accordingly to her “say one word and I’ll cut you” glare.
Me: “No son…I have never, nor will I ever have cake from mommy’s boobies.”
Wife: “That was one of the most painful things you’ve ever done wasn’t it?”
Me: “You have no idea. I need to be alone for a while.”
Wife: “Just make sure you clean-up afterwards.”
Son: “Why does daddy need to be alone mommy?”
Wife: “Your daddy really really LOVES birthday cake and talking about it really made him want some.”
Daughter: “Do you have birthday cake in your boobies right now mommy?”
Wife: “No dear, mommy’s boobies have all dried up and are purely ornamental at this point.”
Son: “Your boobs are like ornaments on a tree?”
Wife: “Ummm…yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it.”
Son: “You’ve got big ornaments mommy.”
Wife: “OK…and with that let’s go to bed kids!!”
Reader Comments (16)
Pure awesomeness. I imagine when my son is old enough to talk it'll be both a wonderful and frightening thing. Birthday cake through the boobies...you just never know where conversations will lead, huh?
Now that's real family life, alright.
I will never look at cake or cup cakes the same.
Wow - that's a heckuva conversation, particularly at bed time! I usually stick to "Goodnight Moon" (which I hate).
So that's why Kim cringes when you call her sugar tits. Now I get it!
LMAO. That is one amazing conversation. Definitely one of those priceless moments.
Wait til you get a teacher's note about it. Gonna be a lovely bedtime conversation that night ;)
My favorite part of this hilarious post is the hyperlinks. HIlarious!!
OMG, that is hilarious! There are tears running down my cheeks. After reading your blog for a little while now, I could just picture the answers that you surpressed there. What wasn't said is just as funny as the picture painted with what WAS said.
Oh my!
HA ha ha ha hah ahahahahhhhaaa. Hilariosity. I can't help but imagine you all having this same conversation in 15 years.
WOAH. I am a father to be and that is great conversation the amazement of kid saying what they think.
Ahhh I love your family storytimes... :) I look forward to these moments with my son - I'm still training him to bang on the table and say not the mama - so she'll have to do more of the work load :D
LOVE IT ! One of my best parenting days was the day my kids got in a fight over whether we are mammals or not. I explained we were, the science kid said nope, mammals feed their babies milk, I grabbed the boobs and said yep that's what these babies are for. Both my kids ran gagging and rolling thru the house for hours. Justice was served.. Now go get you some cake.
I love it. The best possible discussion ever. Excellent.
Boobies are bloomin' great. I love 'em.
Whether I love them in fifty years when they're slapping at her knees is another story.