“Daddy,” My Four Year Old said, “I wish I was as tall as a windmill.”

“What would you do if you were that tall?” I asked.

“I would go all over and meet people.” she said.

“Oh my Goodness!  That’s not good!  Are you sure?”

“Why did you say that?”  she asked confused.

“Didn’t you say you would eat people?” I asked, still surprised.

“No silly!” she said laughing.  ”I said MEET people.”

“Oh,” I said, relieved.  ”But if you were as tall as a windmill, where would you sleep?” I asked.

“I would just sleep in the street.” she said, matter of factly.

“But then, how would the cars drive on the street?” I asked.

“That’s easy,” she said, “I’ll just get up before anyone else, so I won’t get in their way.”

“Daddy, what would happen if you caught your own germs?” My Four Year Old asked.

“Hmmm,” I replied, “What do you think would happen?”

“I think you would get sick.” she said matter of factly.

“But, how would someone catch their own germs?” I asked.

“Maybe by touching themselves?” she responded.

“Okay,” I said, playing along, “So no more touching your feet, or your head or…”

“NAH!” she yelled, “That’s silly!  Maybe you catch your own germs by touching something else.” she said.

“How would that work?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, “if someone touches something, like a doorknob, and then you touch it you get their germs.  Maybe if you touch something and then touch it again you get your own germs.”

“Ah, I see.” I said, “so from now on we can never touch anything more than once.”

“NAH!” she said, laughing.  ”That’s silly Daddy!”

“But then, how will we keep from getting our own germs?” I asked.

“I guess we’ll just have to risk it.” she answered.

My Four Year Old: “Dad, I have a hair on my bottom.”

Me: “Okay, just brush it off.”

Her: “Did you think I meant the other kind of hair?”

Me: “What?”

Her: “Hare means rabbit.  Did you think I meant that kind of hare?”

Me: “No.”

Her: “Why not?”

Me: “Because that wouldn’t make sense.”

Her: “Oh yeah.”

My Four Year Old: “There’s a really funny commercial on the TV at Mom’s house.”

Me: “What is it a commercial for?”

My Four Year Old: “It’s to make you want to buy something.”

Me: “Right, but what did it make you want to buy?”

My Four Year Old: “I don’t remember.”

Me: “The marketers really got their money’s worth with you!”

My Four Year Old: “They did though!  Because I want to but it!.”

Me: “But how can you buy it if you don’t remember what it was?”

My Four Year Old: “I remember it was purple.  So I’ll just look for the purple box.”

My Four Year Old: “Look Dad, that guy is jogging in the rain.”
Me: “That’s dedication.”
My Four Year Old: “How is that dedication? ”
Me: “Do you know what dedication means?”
My Four Year Old: “No, what does dedication mean?”
Me: “It means you do something no matter what. I bet he jogs every day.”
My Four Year Old: “Would he jog even if he had an almost sunburn?”
Me: “I bet he would.”
My Four Year Old: “What if he had an actual sunburn.”
Me: “I bet he still would.”
My Four Year Old: “Wow! That’s dedication!”

“Daddy, I wish your car was bigger. Can you grow your car and make it bigger?” My Four Year old asked as we were driving in my car.

“You wish it were bigger?” I asked with surprise. “Why would you want it to be bigger?”

She answered, “So it could be covered with gas.”

Now, thoroughly confused, I asked, “What do you mean covered with gas?”

“I don’t mean the kind of gas you put in the car,” she clarified, “I mean the kind of gas when you pass gas.”

“Oh?” was all I could think to say.

She nodded, “If the car was big enough to be covered with gas then when you fart it wouldn’t smell bad because it would spread out.”

“Did you just fart?” I asked.

“Yes.” she said in a serious voice. “I know it was me, because I felt it. Now I wish your car was bigger.”

My Four Year Old: “Daddy!  I made up a new game.  It’s called stick the feather in the hippo.  Wanna play?”

My Four Year Old: “Daddy, I brought my R.C. Ladybug over from Mom’s house!”
Me: “You have that exact same toy at my house.”
Her: “I know, but we can play with both of them now!”
Me: “You mean like play chicken with them?”
Her: “Daddy, they aren’t REAL ladybugs, they’re robots. There is no such thing as Robot Chicken.”

While tapping her feet, My Four Year Old said, “I’m trying to take a nap, but first I have to show you this funky rhythm.”

Me: “It’s okay, don’t get excited!”

My Four Year Old: “I’m not getting excited, I’m just freaking out.”