Open call for funny kid stories

All dolled up for a night on the town

All dolled up for a night on the town

Have you heard the one about the little boys who got into their mom’s makeup kit? We’re looking for more stories like this one for our Tales to Warm the Heart series.

Your story will be published on this blog, as long as you don’t mind it being subjected to light editing and delicate embellishment to fit the tone of the series. Submit your story here!

Tales to Warm the Heart—The prickly head

Source: ibtimes.com

Source: ibtimes.com

This story was sent in by Melanie from South Africa. Her blog can be found at Momohyeah. [Submit your own]

“Dad, don’t kiss me! Your beard prickles.”

Ever since he could talk, this was the mantra of our three-year-old son, Andy. Of course, my husband is absolutely in love with him, so he would do anything to make him happy. And recently, that included reluctantly removing the stubble from his face.

Now, Andy has a love-hate relationship with hair—likes beards, hates stubble. Likes spraying his hair green and blue, then wants to chop it all off. And he really, really likes to copy his dad’s every move. So you can imagine that when Father Christmas brought him a toy shaver that year, well, it was like gold had rained down on a beggar.

One Friday night, Andy and I were playing barber shop. He was thoroughly enjoying pretending to shave my hair off, then his dad’s, then sitting while dad “shaved” his hair off.

But the next morning, Dad walked into the kitchen and asked Andy, “How would you like to play barber shop for real today?”

“Oh boy!” Andy shrieked, the sparkle in his eyes so bright I thought they had been replaced by diamonds. I knew this couldn’t end well, but off he dashed to get the real electric razor, then sat begging his dad to plug it in.

Here I’d like to mention that my husband is very particular about the way is head gets shaved. He complains that his barber is constantly pulling his hair. So already this wasn’t looking good—thinking that a three-year-old could do it without tugging on a few locks?

But hubby sat down anyway, and waited for the buzzing to begin. To my shock, Andy proceeded to shave off every single strand of his dad’s hair without pulling even one. He did an absolutely superb job.

Then Andy handed his dad the razor and said it was his turn. I cringed. Andy’s hair had just started to grow in nicely after being bald the first two years of his life. Now the second he could feel the wind blow through it he wanted to shave it all off? But it was his head, and he seemed to know what he wanted, so I told my husband to go ahead and do it. All his hair was gone in two minutes, and my heart was bleeding, but when Andy looked in the mirror, he couldn’t help but grin ear to ear.

And as he sat rubbing his hand across his head from top to bottom and side to side, Andy announced with pride: “Mom, my head has a beard now!”

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Do you like these stories? Take a few seconds to sign up for the separate e-mail list for Tales to Warm the Heart! You’ll look forward to getting heartwarming stories like this one in your inbox. Sign up here
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Your turn

Your turn! Even though Quippsy is geared toward the one-liners our kids seem to come up with on a near daily basis, this series is a chance to get more than just the line. It’s the story behind the story, the brilliance gone unseen, the words unposted. Heartwarming stories that can’t be summed up in a single Quipp, but nonetheless need to be remembered, shared, and laughed about for the rest of our lives. We know you have some great stories about your kids, and guess what? This is your chance to share it with all of us. It doesn’t even need to be about something they said, it could just be something memorable that happened on a road trip. Submit it here, and if it fits our theme, we’ll share it with everybody. Submit your own story

Tales to Warm the Heart—A night on the town

All dolled up for a night on the town

All dolled up for a night on the town

This story was sent in by Beth from Mouthy Mother. [Submit your own]

My sister had just had her first baby, and I my third. As I was drowning in an endless day of trying to keep two active boys occupied while keeping a newborn on schedule, she called me. Being the good sister that I am, I took the call and listened to her drone on and on about how upset she was because she had only lost twenty-five pounds since having her daughter (a week before!), and how she didn’t like breastfeeding but was worried that if she stopped, her daughter wouldn’t be as smart as she could be, yada, yada, yada.

At that moment, I watched my never-breast-fed knuckle draggers race upstairs to play. I interrupted my sister and said, “Well, Harry and Leo just ran upstairs, and I have about ten minutes before they start dumping toothpaste and shampoo all over the carpet.” So for ten more minutes I listened to my sister lament about how hard it is to have a newborn baby, how little sleep she was getting, and how upsetting it was to still be in maternity clothes, blah, blah, blah. (Again, she had given birth a week prior to this!)

After assuring her that things would get better, I told her I really had to go and see what the kids were up to. She didn’t get the hint, so she stayed on the phone with me as I walked upstairs.

I found the boys in my bathroom, covered in my makeup—lipstick, blush, mascara, you name it (which was also nicely decorating my shower door, counter top, and cabinets). Each kid had also slung one of my free gift totes from various makeup counters over his shoulders. I dropped the phone.

Once the shock wore off, I asked the boys what they were doing. “We’re going to the city!” they both replied very matter of factly. That made me laugh so hard I nearly peed my pants. I made sure to snap plenty of photos of my pretty little men before they went out for their night on the town.

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Do you like these stories? Take a few seconds to sign up for the separate e-mail list for Tales to Warm the Heart! You’ll look forward to getting heartwarming stories like this one in your inbox. Sign up here
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Want more?

Don’t sham Pimmy’s poo

Your turn

Your turn! Even though Quippsy is geared toward the one-liners our kids seem to come up with on a near daily basis, this series is a chance to get more than just the line. It’s the story behind the story, the brilliance gone unseen, the words unposted. Heartwarming stories that can’t be summed up in a single Quipp, but nonetheless need to be remembered, shared, and laughed about for the rest of our lives. We know you have some great stories about your kids, and guess what? This is your chance to share it with all of us. It doesn’t even need to be about something they said, it could just be something memorable that happened on a road trip. Submit it here, and if it fits our theme, we’ll share it with everybody. Submit your own story

“Don’t sham Pimmy’s poo!”

Me a long, long time ago, sitting with He Who Did Not Torture Me At Bathtime

Me a long, long time ago, sitting with He Who Did Not Torture Me At Bathtime

A tale to warm the heart

This is a story about a youngster named Timmy. OK, it’s a story about me. It happened when I was, oh, one? Two? Probably two. Before we get too far, I have to make it clear that I hated bathtime. I mean really hated. Maybe not as much as getting shots at the doctor’s office (as evidenced by the time at the clinic when my mom tried to take me out of the car and I, wanting very much to stay in the car, grabbed the back seat of our Ford Pinto and held on for dear life while my mother tried desperately to pry the rest of me out. Well, something had to give—and what gave was the seat cushion, springs and all. As you can imagine, that was an awkward ride home.)

I’m going to pause here, and ask that you please take a few seconds to sign up for the separate e-mail list for Tales to Warm the Heart, because then your e-mail inbox will be graced every day (or almost every day) with heartwarming stories like this one. It’s okay, go ahead…I’ll wait.

You’re back! Thanks so much. Read on…

But next on the list of things I hated with a soul-crushing passion was bathtime. And I don’t know if No More Tears shampoo was still on the drawing board or if we just didn’t have any, but every time shampoo got in my eyes, it felt like my eyeballs were being carved out with a melon-baller. You know, it stung. At any rate, that particular night, I was frustrated after a long day, plus sleepy, cranky, and not feeling much like having my hair washed. As my mom reached for that infernal bottle of what might as well have been battery acid, the words came out faster than my brain could produce them: “Mommy! Don’t sham Pimmy’s poo!” And I crossed my arms indignantly.

I paused. Reflected. Huh? What did I just say? What kind of a child had my mother raised? And from the way she was slowly setting the shampoo bottle back down again, I could tell she was thinking the same thing. Needless to say, my hair went unwashed that night. After my mom toweled me off, I went back, embarrassed but relieved, to doing all the things 1-year-olds do for the rest of the evening.

That was the bad news. Now here’s the good news: This story has been immortalized on a mug. Not just any mug, a shiny, high quality, dishwasher-safe mug from Zazzle. After all, who wouldn’t want to sip something hot from a beautiful Quippsy-themed mug displaying what some kid so boldly declared one night during bathtime in 1977? I know I would. The even better news: Quippsy Gold members get 10% off! Of course, you can change the wording on this mug to make it special to you, and you can also turn any Quipp into a mug. While you’re at it, get two—one for Grandma this Easter. (Sorry, hot chocolate not included.)

Your turn! We know you have some great stories about your kids, and guess what? This is your chance to give us the “story behind the story.” It doesn’t even need to be about something they said, it could just be something memorable that happened on a road trip. Submit it here, and if it fits our theme, we’ll share it with everybody. And who knows, your kid’s wisdom could end up on a sweat shirt. Submit your own story