The Magical Food Press...

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.

Christmas Orange

While making school lunch in the morning, and clearly considering the financial position of the school...

C (10 y/o): I want a Christmas orange. In Norway, oranges are very traditional at Christmas.

Me: Are they? They are very delicious.

C: Yes. In Norway, everyone at school gets an orange at Christmas... if the schools have budget.

Santa Claus not watching all the time

 S (7 y/o): I know that Santa is not watching me all the time?

Me: ???

S: Because he brought me loads of presents last year...

Can't argue with that logic...

Schrodinger's Zombie

I'm wearing a "Schrodinger's Cat" t-shirt, with the slogan, "Wanted: Dead & Alive" while eating porridge with S (7 y/o).

S (7 y/o): Zombies are dead and alive. (Thinks really hard about zombies for a moment.) I think zombies just want a hug. They walk around with their arms out because they like hugs. And they only say "Brains!" because they are hungry.

Future career...

C (8 y/o): Daddy, if you work at McDonald's, do you get free food?

Me: If you work there over lunch time or dinner time, yes - you can eat there.

C: Cool. Then I know where I'm going to work when I grow up.

clickbait

At the breakfast table this morning...

S (7 y/o): Daddy, Did you know that all your life, you've been making Weetabix wrong?

Me: ...?

S: First you put in two or three Weetabix, then you put Rice Krispies in the side, and THEN you pour in the milk. See?

We have got to stop watching 'clickbait' YouTube videos.

 Being a parent #315...

Sometimes, being a parent is learning that if you go too far above your station, or overreach, there's nothing quite like a child to bring you crashing back down to earth.

It's dinner time, and I make some hugely hilarious Dad joke. Mirth ensues all around. But then I go too far, and the following conversation results:

Me: "You must be so lucky to have such a hilarious father, who tells such high quality Dad jokes - and who smells so lovely too."

S (7 y/o): "You smell terrible, Daddy! You smell like a rotten rat! A rotten rat that a skunk pooped on! And then the same skunk did a fart on you!"

D (12 y/o): "<Incoherent spluttering as she attempts not to laugh her mouth full of potato and freshly baked salmon all over the dinner table>"