Gabby was in the preschool at Christ Lutheran School, and her classroom had a caged parakeet. One day Gabby told me that their bird was dead. Since she was only three years old at the time, I didn’t think she knew what that meant, so I asked her about it:
Me: What do you mean, dead?
Gabby: I mean, the bird died.
Me: But what do you mean when you say that it died?
Gabby: It began to stink, so my teacher had to put it in a box and bury it.
Oh. I guess she knew what she was talking about after all.
We got a used piano a few months ago. After we cleaned it and put it where we wanted it, I played a few short songs (poorly). Throughout the rest of the day, we’d occasionally hear one of the kids hitting a few keys and laughing.
Several hours later, Jake came up to me with some bad news:
Jake: Daddy, I think the piano’s broken.
Me, alarmed: Why? What happened?
Jake, upset: I pressed all the keys, but it didn’t make the right music come out.
Well, today was the big day – Jake and Ari had their tonsils removed. The doctor said Jake’s were nearly as large as golf balls, so the poor little guy had to have been miserable.
The operations went off without a hitch, and they’re both recovering nicely (if irritably) at home.