We've got a what? And a what?
At my daughter's school, they've just finished a unit on home and family. The kids made construction paper booklets about their respective families. A's teacher showed me the one she made.
She speaketh the truth . . . well, sort of.
Miss Angela (flipping through the booklet so that I could see each page): She said you have one bathroom.
Me: We have two, but close enough.
Miss Angela: She said you have two bedrooms.
Me: We have three, but close enough.
Miss Angela: She said you have three dogs, one cat, and one fish.
Me: Hey, she got that one right!
Miss Angela: Oh, and she said the fish lives next to her bed.
Me (picturing our 35 gallon aquarium in my daughter's bedroom): Ah, no.
Miss Angela: She also said that a rabbit or gerbil of some sort lives next to your husband's side of the bed.
Me: Um, definitely a "no" on that one.
By the way, that fish (a Kissing Gourami) is immortal. My sister-in-law gave us the aquarium when she was moving to Kentucky some 11-12 years ago. A "Christmas present," she called it. It wasn't long before I had other names for it. I understood almost immediately why people are always trying to unload those things on Craigslist or in the paper. Space has gotten pretty tight in our home, and I'd dearly love to have the square footage occupied by the aquarium. Fish I'd gotten in my youth had always been gracious enough to pass on to the sweet hereafter within a year or two, so I thought that was how long fish were supposed to live. Our immortal fish is now old enough to be a sixth grader. I mean, who knew?
But, back to the topic at hand . . . like most parents of toddlers/preschoolers, I live in constant fear of what my daughter might be saying while I'm not around. She comes up with some real gems in our presence, so we can only imagine what she says when we're not within earshot. I cringe just thinking of my cherubic child regaling Miss Angela with tales of Father, who - would you believe it? - has a penis. Or Mama, who let her eat a chocolate doughnut for breakfast last week (twice!). I can only hope that Miss Angela takes it all with a grain of salt. In the meantime, I'll just try to console myself with thoughts of some pot-smoking mom whose kid is in the same class, who surely must be more terrified than I.