I’m breaking my silence. At least a little. I suppose this would be considered a whisper of sorts. “Pssst…here’s something my kid said that disturbed me”…enjoy.
Teagan (newly 4 years old): “What’s that smell?”
Her father, Gabriel, and I: “What smell?”
Teagan: “I don’t know; it smells a little stinky.”
Gabe and I, after sniffing around and hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t what we thought: “The grass? Are you talking about the grass? It’s the grass, sweetie. It’s grass.”
Gabe and I, to each other and the Heavens: “Dear God, help our children.”
Note to self: If we live by the beach for any extended period of time, make sure we walk around a field or something every so often so that our kids know what friggin grass smells like. Sheesh.
Parenting fail? Oy. Wait. No. I’m not even taking the blame for this one. I don’t know what’s wrong with her nose. It’s cute as a button, but clearly defective in some way. Maybe we’ll get her a new one for Christmas.