Tax Day funnies

I suppose I could have waited and put these in the next "Wit & Wisdom" entry, but since each requires a little more explanation, I thought I'd post them together here. Maggie has been cracking us up today! Here are three examples:

• After dinner, she was trying to throw a tiny frisbee along our downstairs hallway. Without fail, the frisbee would leave her hand and fly away 90 degrees from her intended target, the front door. Bobby was trying to teach her the right way to throw it -- something about standing with your left shoulder pointing where you want the frisbee to go ... he tends to make his explanations a little long-winded for 3-year-old logic (I really hope she comes to me for the sex talk and not him). She was absolutely determined to figure it out, and she prefaced every throw -- every single throw -- with this phrase, said in a tiny whisper: "I'm sure I can do this." (And eventually, she did.)
• To fully appreciate this next story, you have to know a little bit about Bobby, namely that my nickname for him is "delicate flower" because he can be really squeamish about certain things, bodily functions being one of them. (The word "booger" is another; remind me to tell you more about that one day.) So early this evening, I was fixing dinner and Bobby and Maggie were playing in the backyard. All of a sudden, Bobby came running into the house holding a small (1/2" or so) but very obvious ball of animal poop. "It's poop, it's poop!" he was screaming. "Maggie, it's poop!" with her following close behind, laughing hysterically. "Why in the world did you pick up poop?" I asked, since I knew full well that Bobby would NEVER willingly do so. He looked at me dead-serious, nodded toward Maggie, and replied, "She said it was an acorn."
• Maggie's bedtime routine involves the usual -- brush teeth, read stories, say prayers, etc. When she gets into bed, she likes for me to lie next to her and tickle her. Her "tickle" is more like light stroking; she'll pull her pj top up for me to tickle her back, then her tummy, then her arms, then her hands, then (if she's still awake) her legs and feet. "With your thumbkin, please" she always specifies. So tonight, we'd just begun the Ritual of Tickling when Bobby asked where Caca was. (For those of you not familiar, Baby Caca is Maggie's favorite, can't-live-without, go-everywhere doll.) Long story short, we had trouble finding her tonight. Which wasn't as big a deal as it might initially seem, since I keep a spare Caca in the closet of our guest bedroom, bought for just such an occasion. To some a frivolous purchase, no doubt, but if you knew how quickly life as we know it would end if Baby Caca were ever to be lost, you'd know this was $15 well spent. Just in case. So anyway, Bobby was a one-man Caca search party (she was eventually located in my car), and I was trying to distract Maggie by tickling her. The whole time, Maggie was lamenting under her breath, "No Caca. She's lost. I'll never sleep with her again. Never sleep with her ever again. Poor Caca. I'll never see her again. Never sleep with her again." Can you say drama queen?