One evening this week, following her bath, the conversation as she cuddled up next to me in all her freshly-shampooed-hair-smelling sweetness:
She: “Mama, before I was born you were a lawyer?”
Me: “Yes.”
She: “And you worked in the lawyer office with Emmy’s daddy?”
Me: “Yes.”
Pause.
She, voice rising to giggles on the last word: “So you had to talk to people when they were being lots of GOOFballs?”
Me, cracking up at both her inflection in the word ‘GOOFball’ and her insight into my former full-time profession: “That pretty well sums it up.”
Pause.
She: “What did you say to them?”
Me: “Please stop being goofballs.”
Intervening melody of small-child belly-laughs.
She, likely recalling the effectiveness of all the times I’ve asked her to stop being one: “Did they listen?”
Me: “Some of them, yes.”
She, considering: “But some of them, no?”
Me: “Yes.”
She: “No?”
Me: “Yes: no.”
She, in three-year-old-declarative fashion: “Mama, you mean some of them are still goofballs right now.”
Me: “Probably so. The lucky ones, anyway.”
‘Cause what did I know about goofballiness back then?
It’s pretty much the best.
Especially this kind.
I’d say it’s your niche…and we’re happy to join you
lol very sweet