I had finished my Christmas shopping early and had wrapped all the presents. Having two curious children, I had to find a suitable hiding place. I chose an ideal spot—the furnace room. I stacked the presents and covered them with a blanket, positive they’d remain undiscovered.
When I went to get the gifts to put them under the tree, I lifted the blanket and there, stacked neatly on top of my gifts, were presents addressed to "Mom and Dad, From the Kids."
When my daughter was little, we took a vacation to Florida. Seated on the airplane near the wing, I pointed out to Rhonda that we were above the ocean. "Can you see the water?" I asked her.
"No," she said, peering out the window at the wing, "but I can see the diving board."
My sister had been ill, so I called to see how she was doing. My ten-year-old niece answered the phone. "Hello," she whispered.
"Hi, honey. How’s your mother?" I asked.
"She’s sleeping," she answered, again in a whisper.
"Did she go to the doctor?"
"Yes. She got some medicine," my niece said softly.
"Well, don’t wake her up. Just tell her I called. What are you doing, by the way?"
Again in a soft whisper, she answered, "Practicing my trumpet."
A cop pulls over a carload of nuns.
Cop: "Sister, this is a 65 MPH highway -- why are you going so slow?"
Sister: "Sir, I saw a lot of signs that said 22, not 65."
Cop: "Oh sister, that's not the speed limit, that's the name of the highway you're on!
Sister: "Oh! Silly me! Thanks for letting me know. I'll be more careful."
At this point the cop looks in the backseat where the other nuns are shaking and trembling.
Cop: "Excuse me, Sister, what's wrong with your friends back there? They're shaking something terrible."
Sister: "Oh, we just got off of highway 119."