Emilee Conversations

I love my kid. Seriously.

She is such a combination of her father and I, it kills me.

So please, read, enjoy and laugh with me.

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I had to hide my laughter last night, when Emilee pipes up with, “Hey mom! How come when I ask Daddy why you guys got divorced he says he doesn’t know?”

I grinned at her and responded, “Well I’m pretty sure Dad knows why, but I’m more sure that he’s just not comfortable talking about it.”

She looked serious for a moment, then said, “Well, he didn’t look too happy when I told him I could so totally see why it didn’t work out.”

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Em and I were looking at pictures one day when she saw a young picture of her dad and I, pre-Em days.  She asked, “You use to live with daddy, right?”

“Yup!” I said, “For almost eleven years!”

“How’d that go?” she asked.

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“Seriously? Right now, I’m so the P-Word!” Emilee yelled from her bedroom.

“What’s the P-Word,” I asked, not really thinking as I was distracted a bit.

“PISSED. I’m just PISSED OFF!” she yells back.

“I don’t want to hear that language from you, Emilee,” I yelled back.

“I KNOW! Which is why I originally said I’m the P-WORD!” she yelled back.

Oh. Well, yeah. Okay.

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“‘Little Girl at school’ said she didn’t like my shirt,” Em said one day when I picked her up.

“Really? Why, what’s wrong with your shirt?” I asked. “Why didn’t she like it?”

“Probably cuz mine fits.”

(Note: This little girl always wears clothes that are VERY clearly too small for her.)

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“When I grow up, I’m going to college!” Em told me one day.

“Yes you are going to college hon, for sure,” I told her.

“And then I’m going to be an ice cream man!” she said, pretty seriously.

*Blink*

Uhhhhhhhh ….

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“Why do dogs sniff each other’s butts when they first meet?” she asks me.

“Um, well … okay so I think that’s how they get to know each other’s scent or ya know, get to know each other,” I answered her.

“They get to know each other by sniffing a butthole? I wonder what a dog learns from that!” she said.

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“At dad’s house, I have to eat the crust on my sandwiches!” Em whined to me one day.

“Really! Why? Daddy doesn’t even like crusts on his sandwiches,” I said.

“I don’t know. He says we can’t waste food. I told him we could throw my crusts out to the birds and then it’s not wasted, but apparently that didn’t go over so well,” she said, “cuz I still had to eat my crust.”

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“Mom, when I get older and grow boobs, will they look like yours?” Em asked me one day.

“I don’t know hon, everyone is different. You may or you may not,” I told her.

“I hope mine are smaller,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“People stare at yours all the time,” she answered.

*Blink*