So ever since the election, A. has been very fond of our president. You might even say a little obsessed. Every time she sees his face on television or on a magazine, she says "Obama yay!" She will tell whomever will listen "Obama won!" That's our crunchy liberal Brooklyn girl.
Yesterday, I asked how her day was.
A: Had a playdate.
Me: That's nice. Who was your playdate with?
A: JP. Erin. And Obama.
Me: Was he nice?
Me: Obama was playing with you.
A: Uh huh.
(Momentary pause to eat sweet potato fries and then thoroughly reject turkey burger.)
Me: So you played with Obama today.
A: Yes. Ice pop, please.
Me: Was he a man?
A: No. A boy. Ice pop. Green one.
Me: Anyone else at the playdate?
A considers this question.
A: A bumblebee.
Okay. So. I chalk up this little tale to her fantastic imagination. I tell the story to my husband. We have a good chuckle.
Next morning, I share the tale with our nanny. She says "We did have a playdate with a little boy named Obama. And we were painting bumblebees."
Of course. Of course there is not one Obama in the whole wide world. And of course, a bumblebee was at the playdate. Silly mommy for thinking it was all a figment of A's imagination.
Our nanny says, "You know her. She tells it like she sees it."
So she may not wind up a creative writing major. Maybe she's headed more towards journalism?