The Mailbox

Usually my husband takes our 3 yr old son to the bathroom when we're somewhere in public, but sometimes I end up having to take him into the women's restroom. Generally nothing goes wrong, but when it does....

*3 yr old boy enters stall*

3 yr old: I locked the door, Mommy

me: good for you

3 yr old: I'm getting on the potty now

me: ok

3 yr old: Hey!

me: what?

3 yr old: There's a little mailbox in here!

me: no. no there isn't.

*woman washing her hands starts snickering*

3 yr old: YES! There is! Cool! We don't have to go to the post office, WE CAN JUST BRING OUR MAIL HERE!

me: No, it's not a mailbox. PLEASE don't touch it.

*woman behind me is done washing her hands and comes to stand by me, while laughing quietly*

*sound of "mailbox" opening*

3 yr old: it IS a mailbox! there's lots of room for mail in here!

woman beside me: OH MY GOD!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Realizing what she's done, the woman covers her mouth, quickly apologizes, and runs out of the bathroom, no doubt to laugh her butt off while telling the rest of the people at her table what's going on.

me: Please, just finish going potty. Don't touch that thing.

Finally my 3 yr old got the idea that maybe he shouldn't be touching the "mailbox," finished his business, and got a very thorough handwashing.

When I grow up...

This afternoon my kids were sitting around discussing their futures. While I listened in, the following dialogue took place:

8 yr old: When I grow up I want to be a famous scientist. I'm going to change the world with my new ideas!

5 yr old: When I grow up I'm going to be anything I want, and I'll be the best there ever was!

3 yr old: When I grow up I'm going to put a fork on top of my head.