Probably Not Going to Happen

I worry periodically (every day) that my habit of agreeing to do something with Naomi- but just not right this minute- is going to get me into trouble. She reminds me constantly of things I just agreed to. "You didn't get me a napkin!" "You forgot to get my milk!" These are the before 7:30 a.m. examples...the setup for tonight's anecdote is tortuous- feel free not to bear with me. But anyway...

Last night I took Naomi to to the store for our usual bread-bananas-eggs run. In the self-checkout line we encountered a kid (a thirteen or fourteen year old boy) with a chihuahua in his hoodie (peeking out over the top of the zipper). Naomi was delighted by this, and immediately asked me if she could have a pet that she could put into her coat. She did her usual elaboration, a dog, a puppy, maybe a cat? I tried to explain to her (ridiculously- why do I always think it's best to have a real conversation about everything?) that she is so little that there does not exist in the world a dog or cat small enough (puppies and kittens exempted) to snuggle in the front of her jacket. As I am typing this I cannot believe that I have these conversations, and that I am now sharing them, but you know, this is the setup for the real anecdote. Where we left it was, she would have to get a little bigger before we could make this dream a reality.

Today when we were walking Luna, I was pretending to be a giant, for whatever reason, maybe because after this morning's princess party for Naomi's school chum, she pretended to be Cinderella the whole day. When I am pretending to be someone other than Mom, Naomi loves to talk to me. She will sometimes say, talk like the wicked gnome! (Don't ask...) So she really enjoyed talking to her mom talking in a slightly slower, deeper voice (really, I don't try that hard). Tonight, on the way home from a super fun dinner outing involving pizza and spumoni (mmmmm), she wanted me to be the giant again. As chianti was part of my dinner, I was game for some more giant impersonation. So, as usual, she got going, telling the giant anecdotes from her life, inviting the giant to admire the Hello Kitty painted on her cheek (by Cinderella, no less). Then she told the giant about the kid she had seen at the grocery store, with the dog in his jacket.

"I asked my mom if I could get a pet like that," she said. I asked her what her mom said.

"She said I could when I get bigger," she said. "But it's probably not going to happen."

It was so funny at the time. The "daddy giant" and I laughed out loud in the car, crossing the bridge back to our city. But now I'm not laughing.