My Daughter Would Make a Crappy Santa

--The other day, my daughter, Belle, approached me wearing a Santa mask. (When is it not Christmas to a 4-year-old?) "What do you want for Christmas?" Santa Belle asked.

"I want you and your brother to get along," I said.

Santa Belle paused then said: "Santa can't make it this year."

Belle's performance as Santa was matched only by her rendition of a Belle-ephant doing tricks, a role she had in the preschool play:


Who knew elephants wore fairy dresses and said "TA-DAAA!" during their tricks?

Her brother, Johnny, who's almost 3, has learned new tricks lately, too, now that he's tall enough to reach every stereo in the house.
He cranks The Beatles like he's 16.

Johnny also recently discovered how to self-administer a face wash:


To Grandmother's House We Go
Recently, we took a trip to grandma's house and stayed overnight. Johnny slept in his little tent and woke up in the morning saying, "Where me? Where me? I OK. I OK!" I went running in to comfort him.

The next night, I fell asleep watching TV with my wife. She got up and went to bed and turned off the lights. I woke up about midnight in the Lay-Z-Boy, looked around in the dark and said, "Where me? Where me? I OK. I OK!" But nobody ran in to comfort me.

Having 'The Talk'
Now that Belle is 4.5 years old, she can carry a fairly normal conversation. Emphasis on fairly.

"How old are you, Daddy?"

"I'm 33."

"Being 30's not so bad," Belle counseled.

"It's not?"

"No," she said. "When I'm 30, I'm going to still live with you."

"OK," I said, "as long as you don't start dating until you're 30."

Belle broke into laughter. "You're funny, Daddy! Hold out your hand, I have something for you."

I complied. "What is it?"

She set it in my palm. "Dirt from my nose."