I'm in the car with my four year old, which means the verbal flow is on output for the little lady. We're on our way to the store to take back some Christmas gifts and some lottery tickets so I can buy a controller for my PS3. We're riding along and Shea is talking about this or that, there's no rhyme or reason that connects her thoughts when we are in the car.
It starts out with her singing a song that she's made up, but soon she's calling out to me, "Daddy. Daddy."
"Yes," I say without turning around.
"I call Purple, Purp."
"What's that, honey?" I say.
"I call Purple, Purp."
"Okay. That's pretty cool," I say. "You're pretty street."
This is where she gets incredulous. "What?!" she says.
"Street. It means like cool or hip, like you know what's going on on the streets."
"That's not real," she tells me.
"Yes, it is," I say.
"You're making it up to trick me," she says. We go back and forth a couple of times in that way that only four year olds can do. It's the "uh-uh" defense. No matter what you say, it gets a "uh-uh." It's the most maddening thing.
"Okay," I say. "Let's agree to disagree." I'm getting close to pulling into the parking lot of Fred Meyer's, so I'm cutting it short.
From the back I hear her whisper to herself, "Tricking me."
Ah, my daughter the skeptic.
No comments:
Post a Comment