One particular favorite is "Jack and Jill." One day not too long ago, I recited the rhyme slowly, for Michaela Byrd's benefit and then paused at a red light.
A voice piped up from the back seat. It was Natalie, my 5 year old.
Natalie: "Why did Jack fall down the hill?" {slight pause. thinking.}
Me: Uhhh...
Natalie {in rapid succession}: "Who pushed him?"
"Where did he fall?
"Well, where was Jill?"
I'd never quite stopped to consider the fact that Jack may have met with foul play, or that Jill may have caused his cranial injuries and suffered harm inadvertently from her devious actions.
So I gave her my best, thoughtful, Mommy-like reply. "Um, I don't know. He just fell down."
I could see her face in the rear view mirror and knew that my answer was not good enough. I could envision her shouting "I want the truth!" after which I would bellow in my best Jack Nicholson voice, "You can't handle the truth!"
Instead, she became distracted when we passed a thrift shop and she saw all the furniture out in front.
"Oooh, a sale!" she exclaimed. I guess she is her mother's daughter after all.
So I'm thinking that if her original career plan of becoming a doctor what helps mommies' babies pop out of their tummies doesn't work out, she'd make an excellent District Attorney. I wouldn't hold up under her line of questioning, that's for sure, because her focus is intense. Unless, of course, Diane Von Furstenberg is holding a sample sale somewhere near the courthouse.
I guess Jill's off the hook for now....
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