I Can’t Make This Stuff Up

I tend to put pressure on myself to create memory-worthy opportunities in my family. However, I’m realizing that the planned events might not be those that stick out in my children’s memories but the random that leave an impression. I know the following conversation found an immediate home in the recesses of my mind….

For whatever reason, Hannah Grace and I have our heart-to-heart moments amidst moving shoes and clothes off her floor to their correct homes. Such was the case yesterday when Hannah Grace startled me with her question:

“When you married Daddy, were you a maid?”

“What?”

“When you got married, were you a maid?” she asked, as if this question were any clearer to me the second time.

“What are you talking about?” Her question was not making any sense to me, especially since my life after marriage not before more closely mirrors that occupation.

“When you got married…what were you called? The maid?

“Oh. No, Hannah Grace,” I replied, somewhat relieved that she wasn’t conveying how she viewed me. “I was the bride.”

“Oh. And did the bride ride the broom?”

“What?!”

Now I was completely horrified. My four-year-old had managed to imply that I was akin to the Wicked Witch of the West and use a sexual euphemism in the same sentence.

“What was Daddy called?”

“The groom. Yes, I married the groom.”

She giggled a little and continued.

“Oh. Why do they call the princes that funny name?”

“I don’t know, Hannah Grace, I don’t know.”

But I did know, as I ushered her out of the room, that one day she would have her fairy tale wedding, complete with princes and wicked witches and maids. Either that, or her gaffes would pave the way for an interesting career in politics.