You can’t make this stuff up. And no, there’s no redeeming value in the telling of this tale. But this afternoon I’m sitting in the car with three of my g-babies while my daughter, Devyn, runs into the toy store to buy birthday present for a friend.
Kindergarten Tennyson climbs up front with me. “My mom’s going to buy Rosie a Monster High doll.”
Her little eyes roll back and forth, the way they do when she thinks hard. “Let’s see…I’ve got Frankie. Atticus has Lagoona. Rosie’s gonna get Draculaura!”
I pretend to feel left out. “What about me—what should I get?”
She sighs and does a couple more eye rolls.
Tennyson’s my eldest, and as you can see from the photos, she’s the one who gets into the spirit of Halloween with me, so I growl and make my hand into a claw because there’s a doll called Clawdeen.
Tennyson is thinking hard, but really struggling to recall the name.
To prod her, I growl again and bring my claw hand toward her face.
“I got it, G-Mom!” she shouts. “You should get Clawmydia!”