Morning Wood

We've been noticing some symptoms of allergies in Shea over the last little bit and have been discussing it a bit around her.  She doesn't necessarily have a runny nose, but her nose and eyes are always a bit itch.  She's constantly running her fingers into the tight corners of her eyes against her nose.

Because of this, Shea has started to diagnose herself with "allergies."

"I'm allergic to the butterfly plant," she said the other day.

"I'm allergic to Neera," she said one morning as the two of us got ready for the day with the dog lounging at the end of the bed.

Each time she brings up a new cause, her mother and I poopoo her wild notions.  It wasn't until tonight that things took a turn for the bizarre.  As I washed the dinner dishes, Tracy came down from upstairs with quizzical look on her face.  I raised a question mark of an eyebrow at her, and she laughed briefly.

"So," she said, putting a finger to her mouth as if physically restraining her laughter, "guess what Shea just told me."

I love these moments because there is no way a rational human being can guess what a five-year-old is thinking.  I say, "What?"

Tracy says, "Shea thinks she's allergic to morning wood."  The both of us pause for a moment and look at each other.  Then, we both laugh.

"Well, I would hope so," I say.  I've never been grateful that someone else has an allergy before.