Pockets

Wife: Nope! Books are not pockets—ever!

Holy

Thirteen-Year-Old: Holy water! Holy water! Holy water! I needs it! Holy water! Holy water!

Rob

Ten-Year-Old: I’m going to rob the bank while you’re gone.

Vervet

Me: He’s a human, not a vervet.
Five-Year-Old: What are you talking about? I’m not a teenager.

Regenerating

Me: You’re constantly eating your face and regenerating at the same time.

Scissors

Brother: Is that what the kids are doing now, yelling, “Scissors!”?

Your Face

Wife: Touch my computer, I eat your face.

Live

Me: Wow, that smells terrible under there.
Thirteen-Year-Old: Oh, yeah! It smells like dead paint.
Wife: What does live paint smell like?

Multigrain

Me: If she throws those at you, you’ll be multigrain.
Thirteen-Year-Old: No, I’ll always be all white.

Semi

Thirteen-Year-Old: Aaah! My butt! Why did you throw chocolate chips at my butt?
Wife: Becuase you’re semi sweet.