Rooby reported a dream that I sent her to daycare without any clothes on, just underpants. She emphasized that this was something I had done, not just something that happened.
Rooby: And when I got to daycare, I realized you forgot to put my clothes on me!
Me: What did you do?
Rooby: I covered up my belly like this [puts her hands over her belly button] so my teachers wouldn’t see. Then: SUPERHERO COSTUME.
She may believe that I have not adequately prepared her for junior kindergarten, which she begins in just over a week, but I believe she’s in pretty good shape.
We’re in Bemus Point for the weekend, for Baby Felicity’s baptism, staying in the house on the lake where we’ve come for the past three years. There’s this print hanging in our room:
Rooby, looking at it, says, Aw, it’s a bunny! I say, A bunny? and she says, Yes, right there in the sunflowers, see it?
And then I do see it.
(Not until I write this down do I remember that we collect rabbits to remember my dad, a rabbit himself in the Chinese zodiac–there’s one on his gravestone in the cemetery up the road from here–and now this one has greeted us on our return to his home.)
Me: Why are you always talking about poop?
Rooby: I’m just telling jokes about poop.
Me: But aren’t you interested in telling jokes about anything else?
Rooby: Yes. I’m interested in telling jokes about…ice cream.
Me: You are?
Rooby: Do you want any ice cream?
Rooby: Well, I don’t have any.
Me: Is that the joke?
Rooby’s friend Emma has a toy (flip) cell phone. Rooby wanted to call me on it. She tried to dial “G-E-N-A” but then realized there were “only numbers”—“I’ll just dial a bunch of numbers,” she said, pressing at random.
Rooby: It’s ringing.
Me: Hello? This is Gena.
Rooby: Hi. This is Ruby.
Me: Oh, hi! My daughter Rooby?
Rooby: No, Ruby, your Grandma.
Me: Hello! It’s nice to hear from you.
Rooby: I’m calling to tell you that I’m still dead.
Me: Well, thank you. That is very helpful information.
Rooby: You’re welcome.
Rooby: Do you think there are any edgetarians on this bus?
Me: Do you mean vegetarians?
Rooby: No, edgetarians.
Me: What is an “edgetarian”?
Rooby: That’s someone who doesn’t eat meat.
Me: That’s a vegetarian.
Rooby: Oh. Do you think there are any vegetarians on this bus?
Me: Quite possibly, yes.
Rooby: And I’m a vegetarian.
Me: Oh, you don’t eat meat?
Rooby: No. It’s too spicy for me!
Me: But you know what is made of meat? Hot dogs.
Me: And hamburgers. And also chicken noodle soup.
Rooby: What?? [theatrical scowling]
Me: But we could make vegetarian versions of all those things, if you’d like.
Rooby: Mom, you’re cracking me up.
Rooby: What would you do if a giant came up to you and broke your arm off?
Me: Hmm. I guess I would say, Ouch!
Rooby: No. You would bleed, and then you would die.
Rooby: Happy birthday, Mama!
Me: Thanks, Rooby!
Rooby: You’re turning thirty-nine!
Rooby: But how old are you now?
Me: Thirty-nine. Because today’s my birthday.
Rooby: But…how old were you yesterday?
Rooby: Thirty-eight! That’s very old.
Rooby: But thirty-nine is very, very, very, very, VERY old!