There was a greenhouse.
Inside the greenhouse, there is a white house.
Inside the white house, there is a red house.
Inside the red house, there are lots of babies.

What is It?

What is in seasons, seconds, centuries and minutes but not in decades, years or days?

Two in a corner, one in a room, zero in a house, but one in a shelter. What am I?

You see me once in June, twice in November, and not at all in May. What am I?

Until it is measured, not known. Yet how you miss it when it has gone. What is it?

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. What am I?

Your mother’s brother’s only brother-in-law is asleep on your couch. Who is asleep on your couch?

I shave every day, but my beard stays the same. What am I?

I come in different shapes and sizes.
Parts of me are curved, other parts are straight.
You can put me anywhere you like,
but there is only one right place for me.
What am I?

I am a five-letter word and people eat me. If you remove the first letter I become an energy form. If you remove the first two letters, I am needed to live. Scramble the last three letters and I am a drink. What word am I?