As most families do after a very full weekend of food and family and laughing and more food, we were pretty worn out come Monday, so worn out in fact that we had dinner at Taco Time. I know, classy, because that's how we roll.
Anyway, the last (and I DO mean last) thing I want to think about after a big weeekend is making dinner.
Or doing laundry.
Or paying bills.
Or making my bed.
Yes - so there we were, the 4 of us because 1 kid decided to jump ship and spend the night with a friend, sitting at Taco Time when the endless conversation with our 7-year-old went in a new direction.
You see, she'd been probing me all day about the reasons WHY she couldn't have a baby sister. She'd even gone so far as to ask me how much money it would take to adopt one, because she could save enough. Sigh. Like that's going to happen! She talked on this subject for 3 hours. I am so not kidding. So when the conversation took a different turn, I was welcoming the change.
"Dad, how old will I be in 2nd grade? Will I be nine? Because my friend so-and-so is in 2nd grade and she is nine. So, um, Dad, what age will I be in 2nd grade?"
My husband slowly explained that usually, people turn 8 in 2nd grade.
"So Dad, that means I'll turn 9 in 3rd grade?"
He nodded patiently, having not spent the entire day listening to her which, don't get me wrong, I love that she wants to narrate everything we do but sometimes, oh boy, sometimes I wonder if she will ever stop. She talks when she feeds the cat. She talks while she brushes her teeth. She talks while she ties her shoes. She talks and talks and talks.
Yes mom, I know you're sitting there nodding your head at the daughter who was constantly put IN THE HALL by her 2nd grade teacher for TALKING who now has a little chatter box of her very own (and I wouldn't have it any other way).
I sat across from them, my mouth full of refried beans, enjoying the fact that I wasn't the parent being given the third degree.
This lasted for a good 5 minutes, long enough for me to finish my salad. It was like a Christmas miracle, only, without the Christmas. Let's just say I was enjoying it, right up to the part where they were talking about how old you turn in 7th grade and my husband turned to her and said, "And after you turn 12 in 6th grade, you turn 13 in THE MONASTERY. With THE NUNS."
Oh yes, THE NUNS.
Because that, much like the dream of paying for a baby sister with the coins saved in her giant crayon piggy bank, is ever going to happen.
There is no talking in THE MONASTERY. Or so I've heard. She'd never survive.