My mother: He did not!
Me: I know! He did. I couldn't do that.
My mother: No. And you wouldn't want to.
My mother: Sure, that wouldn't be good for you.
Well, I am a delicate flower. Then she went on to tell me how she'd won all the races when she was at school. So evidently he gets this athletic bent from her, not from his marathon-running father. Never mind. So long as we all know that I inherited my father's non-athletic genes and I'd better not try running anywhere, that's fine.
Mabel, looking at a photo of me doing a cartwheel: That not Mummy, that a lady.
Me: I suppose I haven't taught you yet that a lady always keeps her knees together.
Monkey, from the other room: What can I do upside down?
Monkey: What can I do when I'm upside down?
I know, without looking, that he's standing on his head on the sofa, watching tv. I'm pretty sure I used to do this too. Somehow, just sitting down on my backside was never interesting enough.
Me, reading an AA Milne poem to Mabel, expecting a comment on this line because she's been playing with her George the chimpanzee this morning: "... George was a goat, and his beard was yellow..."
Mabel, indignant, looking at the picture: That not George. That a moose.