G-ism

I love being a mama. I know I've said it before, but I really do. I love not knowing what the next thing that is going to come out of my children's mouths will be. So... G had some doozies this weekend. Here are a couple:

Last Friday night, families waiting for their Soldiers to return gathered at Gatti's Pizza to socialize. The last week of "They're coming", "They're delayed", "They're coming", "They're delayed", etc... was rough on us all.

So, we were sitting, eating, chatting, etc. A friend of mine came over and was asking if we were excited (duh?) that Rob was coming home. G said... mom's excited because she can lay on daddy!

WHAT?!? Huh? I just looked at her. Looked back at my friend.

My friend started snickering. Again, I looked at G. She came back with, "what? You do lay on him when he won't move over on the couch."

Clarify, G, clarify.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Next... yesterday, Bones had gas. Pretty rough, smelly gas. My poor, lactose-intolerant baby boy.

G came into the living room from her room (followed by Bones) with her nose pinched. She said:

"Mom, he sliced a piece of cheese"

Silence.

me: What?

G: You know, that's what some people say when you toot: Slice a piece of cheese.

Silence. Then absolute hysterics from me and Rob.

Cut the cheese, baby. The saying is CUT the cheese.

Oh. Isn't it the same?