There was laundry that needed tossed into the dryer, so I vanished into the other room for a moment, leaving Abby sitting on the coffee table in front of the television. She rarely finds fascination with the TV but seemed fixated about whatever she was watching at this time, so I let her be. A few rare minutes of quiet for me to complete a task in peace.
Of course it can’t last, as she comes in to ask me a question. Except I can’t fully render what she says. Her language and vocabulary are excellent for her age, but I still have a hard time interpreting without a game of charades sometimes.
“What’s a hoppy?”, I guessed, failing to decipher her oral code.
“No”, she replied adamantly before trying again. Still, I couldn’t understand.
“Where’s your slurpy?”, it was a matter of throwing close-sounding words together now.
“No”, Abby asserted, rolling her eyes with all the attitude of an almost 3 year old.
She turned around, giving up, and went back in to watch television. So I followed. And when I walked back in front of the TV, I saw a girl riding across the screen on a horse.
“Oh! A horsey?”
“Yes”, like finally woman. Then, completely solemn, “Where’s my horsey?”.
I then had to be the one to break the bad news, as she gazed longingly at the trotting pony, that I’m sorry, you don’t have a horsey. We don’t even have a big dog. But let’s just turn this TV off right now before you get any crazy ideas for your birthday next month, OK?