WEBSTER: Tell me a story.
ME: Okay. Once there was a little boy, and-
WEBSTER: No. Once there was Eagle Vikings.
ME: … Okay. And what are Eagle Vikings? Are they Vikings who ride on eagles?
WEBSTER: No. They are tigers who ride on motorcycles. Tell it.
We are walking in the park. Webster sees a Collie and runs toward it, excited. He runs right up in front of it, stares it in the eye seriously, then runs back to me.
ME: Everything okay, buddy?
WEBSTER: Yes! It is a wolf!
ME: Oh. Well… it’s a Collie I think, but-
WEBSTER: It is a HIGH LEVEL WOLF.
ME: What do you want to be when you grow up, buddy?
ME: Okay. Anything else?
WEBSTER: Rainbow Batman.
VIOLET: Hey what message did the Mower leave on the machine?
VIOLET: The Mower. What did he want?
MOM: The… Mower?
VIOLET: Yes, he called and left a message on the machine.
MOM: Oh… Do you mean the Mayor?
VIOLET: Yes, I always get those two confused.
WEBSTER: Let’s play.
WEBSTER: Okay, I’m a potato.
VIOLET: I’m an opera singer.
WEBSTER: Yeah, great. Now take me to the potato factory.
I am bathing my three-year-old when he suddenly starts to try to poke his finger into his urethra (no easier way to say it).
ME: OH. Hey buddy, that’s- that’s very, very much not the thing you want to do.
ME: Yeah, you don’t ever want to try to stick anything in there.
My 6-year-old daughter enters, curious.
VIOLET: What are you doing?
ME: Oh, just giving your brother, um… penis lessons.
VIOLET: Those sound terrible.
~what Webster (3) thinks this guy is named.
VIOLET: Stop screaming at me!
WEBSTER: I’m not screaming, I’m whining.