(As we exit the highway onto tree-lined road 38)
"The trees are crying."
"The trees are crying?"
"Why are they crying?"
"Because they're sad."
"Why are the trees sad?
"Because I hit them."
"Oh." (Note - that's the same 'Wise Parental Oh' from last post. I'm thinking about trademarking it.)
"The cars are hitting them."
"Well Sarah Rochel, we try not to hit the trees with our cars."
"No hit trees! Stop! STOP cars!" (We've been saying 'stop cars!' to our fellow traffic a lot lately. Hasn't done a lot of good, something I'm grateful for at 100 KPH on the highway. Now if only 'move cars!' would work when we're bumper-to-bumper, but I digress...)
"Yes, cars should not hit trees." (See how supportive I am?)
"Trees happy now. No more hitting." (I'm NOT making this up:) "La la la laaa."
We continue to talk about other things, and fortunately the cars all keep moving and one can only presume the trees keep smiling, when she gives a big yawn.
"Sarah Rochel, why didn't you take a nap today?"
"Because Nesanel took the nap."
(Here it comes...) "Oh."
My mother wants to make sure I have duly blogged other recent poetic flights of my daughter... for example, before our beach trip when I showed her an animated gif of waves crashing on the beach, she said "waves kicking the ground." And she will often lay down on the floor and move her arms (like the classic snow angel) and say, "I dragonfly." She's never even SEEN a real dragonfly, just pictures in a book!
Bli ayin hara. Bless her little imaginative, active, smunchy loveable brain. Her substitute metapelet (who loves her, as of course she should) said to me today, "She's so bright and so verbal, she really could be trained!" As in, toilet. As in, yes, baruch Hashem, she is so bright and so verbal... that she ain't getting trained to do nuthing she don't wanna do, honey. And that's the truth.
Oh, postscript. Wanted to add that due to a little too much experimentation with the lid of a sippy cup, we had opportunity yesterday to completely machine wash and dry our 1984 vintage Cabbage Patch preemie (aka Sarah Rochel's "Baby", whose name I had had 'legally' changed back in 1985 to Sarah Rivka, I kid you not)... and thank God, it worked like a charm. She was washed and cleaned and dried in time for bedtime.
Yet another useful household tip by Ah, the Druyanity.
Now go click on my Google ads and make me wealthy.
I didn't tell you that, of course.