A Conversation

I drove young Gertrude to her Grandma’s today because Mommy is sick. She begged us again to stay with Mommy and Daddy, but in the end was swayed to go to grandma’s because I had a bag full of Teddy Grahams. A treat few people can resist. (Seriously, I eat the things by the fistful.)

I loaded everything in the car. Her bag, her cough medicine in case her cough comes back, a change of clothes, an extra pair of shoes, a cell phone should she wander off and get lost, a satellite transponder for easy location should she get lost in Grandma’s basement (trust me), pictures of Mommy and Daddy, lest she forget us, a cup filled with juice, her teddy grahams and my coffee.

Before she could get into her car seat, we had to buckle Dolly® (as a smart child, she subscribes to the literal naming policies set forth in her branch of philosophy) into the seat next to her. After all, should there be a car wreck, Dolly® would fly all over the place and possibly cause great bodily damage to one and all, and therefore she must be contained. Then, after running through a checklist and series of adjustments to her five-point safety harness that would put NASA to shame, we were ready to hit the road.

She was quiet for the first few minutes. Then the flood gates opened. This is an actual conversation:

Gertrude: Dolly® is my friend.
Me: That’s good!
Gertrude: She likes cake.
Me: What kind?
Gertrude: Chocolate. Or vabmilla. (I assume she meant vanilla and not some sort of medicine for treating yeast infections.)
Me: Wow. What do you guys do together?
Gertrude: Play games. And tag. I like to hide her.
Me: Okay. With her permission, I assume.
Gertrude: Of course! (Don’t know where she learned this.)
Me: So, who is Dolly’s® mommy?
Gertrude: Um. Dolly®’s mommy?
Me: Yes. Dolly’s® mommy. (Clearly I’ve touched on a sore subject here. I hope that Dolly® doesn’t have some deep dark secret in her past . . .)
Gertrude: Um. I can’t dermember the word.
Me: (Trying not to laugh)You can’t remember the word?
Gertrude: No! Oh wait! I dermember! Cinderella.
Me: Cinderella is Dolly’s® mommy?
Gertrude: Sure. I did it all by myself! I can do it!
Me: Do what?
Gertrude: Dermember the word! I do it all by myself!
Me: Yay!
Gertrude: Yay!

Then we were at Grandma’s. She became all clingy and sad as soon as we arrived. A nutrigrain bar and a glass of apple juice seemed to change her mind.

“Bye,” she said, “drive careful!”

You know, it’s funny. She’s only two years old and she gave me one of the best conversations I’ve had in a while. She’s much funnier and more engaging than some of my adult friends who describe their dinner from the night before to me.

“And then I had chicken. And I dipped it in ketchup. And I had mac and cheese. The kind from the box. What brand was it? Kraft? No. Velveeta? No. Store brand? Maybe. It tasted like cardboard.”

Snore.

I’ll take a discussion of Dolly’s® parentage any day.

Discuss