I used to think there weren’t too many things my kids could say that would surprise me.

My 9-year-old, Jonah, has told me to “stay in your lane, bro,” and without prompting on more than one occasion, started singing, “We don’t give a darn for the whole state of Michigan.”

I took it very matter-of-factly because he has inherited my sense of humor.

But my 4-and-a-half-year-old, Ethan, has absolutely dumbfounded me lately.

On more than one occasion I have flashbacks to the Mel Brooks hit “History of the World, Part I” in which Brooks’ Roman Empire character Comicus is trying to collect unemployment. When asked his occupation (by “Vnemployment” clerk Bea Arthur) he replies “stand-up philosopher.” Arthur replies, “oh, a bullsh-t artist.”

The conversation continues.

“Did you bullsh-t today?”

“No.”

“Did you try to bullsh-t today?”

“Yes.”

That’s my Ethan.

While I’m not officially keeping track, I offer you a sampling of how he explains things … Ethanisms.

Minutes after putting him to bed one night, he comes lumbering into our bedroom, interrupting a rerun of “2 Broke Girls.” He doesn’t want to sleep in his own bed, he claims.

“My blanket isn’t soft enough.”

Seriously, dude?

This is an uber-soft, fuzzy blanket with one of the Paw Patrol characters on it. Funny thing is, while my wife was in Israel a few weeks ago I let the kids fall asleep in our bed and just hang out there mostly because I was too lazy to move them.

Ethan asked for that exact blanket.

When I spread it out over him, he said “ahh, so comfortable.”

I think I got hoodwinked.

Recently, he came up with another reason to need to sleep in 0ur room.

“My bed is boring.”

I’ve got news for ya kid, so is mine. So is your brother’s. Beds aren’t supposed to be exciting.

He also has a way of blaming parts of his body for bad decisions.

We were adamant one night that he stay in his room all night. We even read a book about the Sleep Fairy, who would leave him a present under his pillow if he didn’t get up all night.

The next morning as I’m helping him get dressed, discussing why he didn’t stay in his bed, he said he had a bad dream.

“My brain is bad.”

Me: “No you have a very good brain. Your brain is very smart.”

“My brain told me to have a nightmare,” he said.

I was right. His brain is smart enough to help him end up in our room.

Another day, my wife put some sanitizer on her hands and naturally, Ethan had to have some too. Seconds later she looked at him and he had that face that every parent recognizes. Karen asked him if he put some in his mouth.

“My brain told me to taste it and I accidentally listened to it.”

One night after declaring it a snack free hour because dinner would be served, Ethan comes sneaking into the living room obviously munching on something.

“My stomach says I’m hungry.”

Oy.

My brain says it’s cocktail time.