There's something about the way kids talk - especially when they're just learning how - that leaves so much open to interpretation. And just the tiniest bit of mush mouth can throw an entire discussion way off track.
I was enjoying my evening in the office, just relaxing, having a glass of cheap wine. (And if you're a friend of mine on Facebook, you'll know I like me some cheap wine. Although, I can't have all that much anymore. But that's different. Anyway...) Back to the cheap wine.
Because I thought the kids were asleep.
Until this comes running into my office.
She's cute, right? Cute until she's hollering about a duck in the window. You heard me. A duck. In the window. Duck. Window. You get it.
BreMonster: Maaaaaaama! Is duck! In window!
Bre: Duck in window!
Me: There's a duck in your window?
She begins looking at me like I'm a complete idiot.
Bre: Truck. In. Willow.
Me (blinking in confusion): Truck in willow?
Bre (frustrated): Buck. In. Pillow.
At this point, she's frustrated and I'm way confused. Buck in her pillow? Are we talking a male deer? If so, can we make jerky? Or is her pillow now producing one dollar bills? If so, we need to make sure they're real.
Me: There's a buck in your pillow.
Me: Buck. In your pillow.
And then came the voice of reason, the four year old, A-Girl, yells from her room like she's sick of hearing the whole thing:
MOM! It's a BUG. On her PILLOW!
Oh. I'll get this no problem.
Or, if it's to big, I'll get MarvMan.
So I go rushing off to get this bug. On the pillow. Not a duck in a window, a truck in a willow, or a buck in a pillow. But a bug. On a pillow.
I hate bugs.
I get in there, ready to put on the brave face, because I don't think I should transfer my irrational fears onto my daughters, only to be sorely disappointed. And hugely relieved. It wasn't, in fact, a bug.
It was a piece of fuzz.
I think we need to work on enunciation in this household.