“The name of my dance is ‘T-Rex eats eggs.’”

I called V to come put toppings on her pizza.

She responded, “OK, I can come because my dinosaurs are eating right now.”

Her dinosaurs:

“I’m too full. The meat didn’t scoot over.”

(V points to the floor at the fork she just dropped.)

V: “Meow”

M: “What are you asking for, V?”

V: “Meow”

M: “‘Meow’ doesn’t mean ‘please pick up my spoon.’”

V: “No it’s not a spoon. It’s a fork.”

M: “Oh sorry. I guess something was lost in translation.”

S: “Cats don’t use spoons or forks so the distinction is lost on them.”

V: “May I have my fork please?”

“That dog woofs a lot. Every night and every day when I go out that dog is woofing. He’s nice but he’s a little woofy.”

V: “I peed in my green dress. That’s why I changed.”

M: “You didn’t pee in your green dress; you spilled oatmeal on it.”

V: “No but—oatmeal is kind of like pee.”

S: “Why are you eating your toe?”

V: “Because the food isn’t here yet.”

V: “A cat hissed at me today.”

S: “Why did a cat hiss at you?”

V: “It just wanted some alone time.”

S: “V, you really should go potty so you don’t have an accident.”

V: “In a second, OK?”

We’re raising a two-and-a-half-year-old teenager.

(Holding her Spider-Man doll) “Spider-Man has baby bad guys in his tummy.”

That’s what we get for letting her watch me play Spider-Man while also expecting her baby brother.