Mom, I don’t like crabs because they have pinchy hands.
Remember? At the hotel? With the hot square pool? I didn’t like it. It was too hot.
Owen: Mom, guess what?
Me: What?
Owen: Chicken butt!
Me: Oh you stinker!
…
Me: Owen, guess what?
Owen: What?
Me: I love you.
Owen: Awwww!
Me: You know why?
Owen: Why?
Me: CHICKEN THIGH!
Owen: Oooooh! You got me mama stinker!
We were trying to Skype with Tom but his connection was bad.
Owen: What’s wrong?
Me: Daddy’s computer isn’t working.
Owen: Well he needs to fix his computer so we can Skype.
Owen: Mom, lets play restaurant. I’m the waiter. You’re the customer.
Me: Okay.
Owen: What would you like?
Me: A peanut butter and jelly sandwich and French fries.
Owen: You can’t have that—I like that.
Me: Okay, lobster and a Caesar salad.
Owen: Okay, what drink?
Me: Lemonade.
Owen: Lemon-ade.
He goes off with my order.
Owen: I’m sorry, we don’t have lemonade.
Owen was hunting for pieces of his tiny rubber Easter bunnies that got chewed up by the lawn mower today (they were left in the grass).
Owen: Mom! I found an arm! Arms are my FAVORITE!
We were outside since it was FINALLY overcast and cool (probably 75 with no humidity) and I smelled something resembling a fire but not terribly strong. Owen obviously smelled it, too.
Owen: Mama, what’s that smell?
Me: I don’t know, what do you think it smells like?
Owen: MARSHMALLOWS!