::Oliver rubbing his eye with his sunscreened hand::
Oliver: “Dada, it’s spicy on my hand!”

Evie: “Who do you love more, me or Oliver?”
Me: “Oh honey, I couldn’t pick. I love you both the same amount. ::thinking I am clever:: Who do you love more, me or mama?”
Evie, without a moment’s hesitation: “Mama.”

Evie: “Mama, you smell like broth that is made into pudding.”
…
Evie, to me: “Let’s see what you smell like. Hmm…dirty socks.”

Evie: “Mama! You know I’m not designed to be a maid!”