If dogs could talk, here’s the conversation Belle, my furry toddler, and I would have been having yesterday when I snapped this picture of she and Meg in my office.
Me: Yes, Belle?
B: When is K coming?
B: So later today, when you’re done working?
M: No, tomorrow.
B: What’s tomorrow?
M: You know how later tonight, it’ll get dark? Well, tomorrow is when it gets light again.
B: Are you sure?
M: Yes, Baby Girl, tomorrow. Your new girlfriend will be here tomorrow.
B: Good. Because…
(Here’s where her voice dropped to a whisper. She stole a quick glance at Meg then back at me.)
B: … because this grumpy old bitch is boooorrrriiiinnnngggg.
I have had similar conversations with Gaige, my 6-year-old grandson (minus the “bitch” part), who still has no real concept of time or distance. Just last night, in fact, while I was at Amy’s house visiting for a pseudo Thirsty Third Thursday with Shannon (currently in Egypt) via Skype.
“Well,” Shannon said as she thought about it, “I think it would be about a 15-hour flight.”
“Fifteen hours?” Gaige said.
“Yep,” she replied.
“Is that like three hours?” he continued.
“No. Fifteen hours is a long time,” she explained.
Gaige thought about it for a minute, then said…
“Oh. But what’s a flight?”
Note to Shannon: In case you were wondering why the kids were so wound up when you called, in addition to all the excitement about seeing and talking to Aunt Shannon, they were wrestling and generally having a wild time right before you called.