On Sunday night some friends of ours invited us over for dinner. And their offer of homemade fish tacos sounded much more appealing than what I had planned to cook, which was nothing. Not to mention that we love spending time with them, and their daughter, Ella, is one of Caroline’s good friends.
While we visited in the kitchen, the girls ran back and forth between the house and the backyard playing soccer and I don’t know what else but just doing what nine-year-old girls do. Then at one point they ran in the kitchen together and Caroline asked, “Mom? What are those small horses called? I said the name but Ella said I said a bad word!”
I was slightly confused because my mind wasn’t really thinking about small horses and so I asked, “What? What are you talking about?”
Caroline replied, “Aren’t those small horses called Shi*land ponies?”
I laughed and said, “No. They’re called Shetland ponies.”
And then she and Ella died laughing because I had confirmed that Caroline had said a bad word and there isn’t much funnier than an inadvertent cuss word when you’re nine.
Then tonight I was tucking her in bed and she began to laugh and said, “Remember last night when I said ‘Shi*land pony?”
“Yes. I remember.”
“That was so funny!”
“I know. But it’s not a word you need to say. It’s a bad word and not ladylike.”
She looked at me for a minute and then asked, “What does it mean?”
And so I opened Pandora’s box and said, “It’s another word for poop. So maybe you were just describing a horse that poops a lot.”
Listen. That line was a crowd pleaser. She collapsed into giggles and gave me a smile that was totally worth the inappropriate conversation.
I finished tucking her in, we said our prayers and then as I kissed her goodnight she let out a huge toot from under the covers.
And she exclaimed, “MOM! I THINK I JUST SHI*LAND PONIED IN MY PANTS!”
I blame her father.
*****
On a serious note, prayers and thoughts going out to Boston today. Our hearts are heavy.