Last night at dinner, I asked my 4-year-old daughter, Be-Bop, what she wanted to drink. She had been asking me to make her some tea all day. She doesn't even like tea, but she had brought home from preschool a tea bag and a sugar packet for Mother's Day. But she had to have it in a cup with a lid on it. I made her tea, added some honey and extra sugar (this is the South, ya know), and proudly served her the tea in a cup with a lid and a straw. She took a sip and told everyone how wonderful her tea was and they just had to try some. A couple of people did so and told her it was very good. She then got down and went to watch TV with her brother. I drank her tea.
Last night at 1:19 she came down to my room and said that she had a dream that "the indian blew my arm off." How do you process that at 1:19 AM?
A pink martini may be a better choice for me tonight.
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