Earlier this summer, Becky came bounding up to me and happily announced she had figured it out. I asked her what she was talking about, and she explained that she was pretty sure she knew why someone had named the days of the week Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, etc. Here is her (I think) brilliant conclusion:
Sunday: Because it was really sunny and hot out when they named that day
Monday: They ate a lot of hot dogs (this one was a stretch – it’s because “Mon” rhymes with “Bun” and hot dogs have buns)
Tuesday: Their kid counted to two for the first time
Wednesdsay: There was a wedding (“Weds-day” is how she pronounces it)
Thursday: They were really thirsty
Friday: They ate a lot of fries
Saturday: They were really sad, or they explored Saturn for the first time
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Given that the kids each have very different taste preferences, usually someone is unhappy with whatever I made for dinner, but I have a strict policy that the kids are all going to eat whatever I have cooked for Jim and myself – no separate meals. So whenever I hear them whining about their dinner, I coach them that instead of the complaint, they should just say “thank you for the dinner.” However, I’m not sure if the lesson got through to Danny yet. The other night when he wasn’t thrilled with the food I put before him, he grimaced and said, “Thank you for this YUCKY dinner.”
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As Danny ran past me making a beeline for his toy toolbox, he shouted, "I need my tools. I’m goin’ to Mexico!"
Me: “What are you going to do there?”
Danny: “Fix stuff.”
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Me, to Danny: “Take off your wet socks so you don’t get the house all wet.”
Danny: “Because then we’d have to get a new house?”
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Danny: “If you drink too much, you’ll turn into a water bottle.”
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Me, wondering what a sound outside was: “Are those crickets?
Jimmy: “They’re definitely not rabbits!”
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