The Boogie: "Honey, what's a 'rayer mekest?"
Me: "A prayer request?"
B: "Yeah, what is that?"
Me: "A prayer request is when you ask for prayer about something."
B: "Oh. Well, what's that other word, when you're thankful for something?"
Me: "That's a praise."
B: "Oh, a praise?"
B: "Well Honey, what's a praise?"
Me: This is why I don't have any brain cells left.
B, looking at a belt that Peabody was wearing: "Honey, how do you wear that?"
Me: "Wear what?"
B: "That belt."
Me: "Um ... like that?" pointing at Peabody. Seriously, this is why I don't have any brain cells left.
The Boogie wants to know how to spell everything. "Honey, how do you spell soldier? Lollipop? Wawa? Stop? Go? Stoplight? Toothbrush? Hoagie? School bus? Driveway? Playground? Sushi? Target? George? Barney?" She reminds me of Betsy Ray in the Betsy-Tacy books, who asked her mother how to spell "going down the street." Maybe she's going to be a writer.
She heard me and Eric talking about the new Volkswagen Beetle in the car after he pointed one out to me on the road. Now every time we're in the car we have this conversation at least once:
B: "Honey, is that car a Beetle?"
Me: "Which one?"
B: "That one, right there."
Me: "No, that's not a Beetle. That's a _______ (fill in the blank.)"
B: "Oh. Well, what about that car, over there? Is that car a Beetle?"
There's a local bar that we walk and drive past often. One day she asked, "Why don't we eat at that restaurant?"
Me: "That's a bar. They serve alcohol there. We don't drink alcohol, so we don't go to bars."
B: "Why don't we drink alcohol?"
Me: long explanation "can make people do things that God says not to do" blah blah blah "can make people very sick" blah blah blah "so we choose not to drink it."
B: "Well, maybe I will want to choose to drink it."
Me: "When you grow up and have your own home you can make your own decision about it, but when you live in our house we make that decision."
B: "Okay. When I live in your house I won't drink alcohol, but while I'm growing I'll think about what I choose to do."
And so now, from time to time when we drive by the bar, she tells me that she's still thinking about what she'll choose to do.
The Boogie likes to pretend to be married. She announced to me the other day that she was married to Peabody.
Me: "But Peabody is a girl!"
B, laughing: "I know, I'm just pretending she's a boy, and we're married. I wanted to marry ..." long pause while she thought "... Fred, but he didn't want to get married. He didn't want a wife." (Sidenote: we don't know anyone named Fred.)
Me: "I see. He was a bachelor?"
B: "No! He was a mayor! And he already had a wife so he told me, 'I'm sorry, I can't marry you.' And I said, 'That's a shame.' And then I said, 'Good-bye, Fred.'"
One day she told me, "Honey, I want a farm when I grow up. I want a wife and some children and a farm."
Me: "Well, you're a girl and you'll grow up to be a woman, and a woman has a husband, not a wife."
B: "Oh, yeah, a husband. Well, maybe I could marry Mr. Steven and then he could have a wife." Mr. Steven is a young man in our church. I told him that I hope he doesn't mind waiting another fifteen years to get married.
One morning she said that she had a dream. Peabody began asking for a dream, too. When we didn't give her anything she started getting mad. The Boogie explained to her, "A dream is just a story in your head, and when you lie down you can see it." Smart girl!
During a pause of her monologue the other day Eric started telling me something. "Hey guys," she interjected, "I still have more to say."
Ain't that the truth. Today and every day.