Yesterday morning the girls came into the kitchen while Topher and I were eating breakfast. Each girl clutched her precious Wellie Wisher doll that Bryan's mom gave them a few years ago. In their game, the dolls were the daughters and the girls were the moms. That's when this conversation took place:
Phoebe: (holding up her doll to me and acting as a ventriloquist) Hi Aunt!
Me: Wouldn't I be grandma?
Phoebe: What? No! You're not a grandma! You only have (pauses to look at my scalp) one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen (pauses again, perhaps deciding she doesn't want to count the rest) white hairs!
True story.
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3 comments:
One things kids are really good at us keeping us humble. My kids would like me to be the grandmother in their role plays, but I always refuse. True story.
I never considered Grandma or Grandpa to be an insult. I aspire to be Great-grandpa. Great-great-grandpa is just too glorious to contemplate.
She didn't mean it as an insult, she was just trying to convince me that I still appear youthful. Phoebe's love language is words of affirmation.
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