Judging by some of her latest word replacements, I think we may need to get S's hearing tested, even though it's her sister who's had chronic hearing problems over the years.
The other night at dinner, D. was eating spanakopita, and S. asked him if it was good. She wasn't having any, herself, because she doesn't like "Spanish coconut."
Today when I went to pick her up from a playdate, her friend marched into the room with a toy medical kit and warned me, "Your daughter is really sick." S. staggered in behind her and leaned against a table for support "Yes," she agreed in a dramatically weak voice. "I have Charlotte Fever."
(Whew, I think now. That's serious, but at least it's not Emily Disease or Branwell Complex.)
During the playdate, our youngest must have also been explaining the (misleadingly alarming) heritage of our dog. Albion's mother was an amazingly regal half-wolf dog owned by Kate. His father, as far as anyone knows, was a pitbull mix from the neighborhood. Our dog is therefore part this, part that, and not necessarily the kind of mix that you advertise to parents whose children are playing at your house, even though the reality is that he's 95% dopey noodlebrain, completely harmless, and wonderful with kids.
But S. apparently was sharing Albion's lineage with her friend today, because the friend's mother said (with a suppressed smile), "So. Your daughter tells me that your dog is part wolf and part pimple."
After we had a good laugh, I said, "Sure, he is." And sue me, but I just could not resist adding, "We call him the pussy pup."
No comments:
Post a Comment