S (youngest child, 8 y/o): The first born child in the family is the smartest. D (eldest) is very smart.
Mother: You know Daddy was the first born in his family.
S (immediately concerned that her assumption might have a flaw, but recovers well) : Ah, so that's why he has the best Dad jokes.
While shopping...
Mammy: Get 8 litres of milk, please.
C: (11 y/o): Do you want big litres, or small litres?
To truly experience the meaning of arrogance, perhaps one should experience the arrogance of an 11 year old, speaking to her 8 year old sister.
C (11 y/o): S, S, let me show you how to be better.
Aside: My children know about this website, and are often entertained by the quotations I record here, and so they have started collecting quotations for the site themselves. I found this posted on our kitchen noticeboard, with a request that it be added to the site.
On greeting my youngest child this morning...
Me: Good morning, my best Siún!
S: (8 y/o): I'm not your best Siún. I'm your WORST Siún!
That's me told, I guess... it's going to be a long day
Just regular dinner table conversation with S, the 8 year old...
S (8 y/o): Daddy, I hope you die some day...
... because I don't want you to suffer.
"Boys go to school to get more cool!
Girls go to Jupiter to get more stupider!"
-- The considered opinion of my 8 y/o son, shouted unprompted for all to hear.
My 7 year old is very smart, and sometimes I clearly fail to understand the the difference between being nice to her, and over explaining things. Her knowledge is wide-ranging and thorough, and my wife and I are glad that while she wants to be a surgeon in the future, she has agreed she may benefit some form of medical training before operating on actual people, and not - as she claimed previously - know enough already from YouTube.
Me: I have plugged my phone in, but if you need the charger for your tablet, you can just unplug my phone.
S ((7 y/o): I know Daddy. I know physics!
Being the gourmet cordon-bleu chef that I am, I have an oven tray of fish fingers laid out, and am waiting for the oven to reach cooking temperature before I put them in. S is clearly hungry and impatient.
S (7-years old): Daddy, are you going to put the fish fingers in the fish finger press, where they belong?
Me: ??? Do you mean, the oven?
S: Yes.
P.S. We shall henceforth be referring to the oven as the "fish finger press."
P.P.S. For non-Irish readers, in an Irish kitchen, a press is a cupboard. I don't know why.
