Momnesia

Because I am So Mature

Emmie's singing to herself: "One, two, buckle my shoe..."

I'm reflecting on how Freddie Krueger ruined this particular nursery rhyme for me, when she reaches the end: "Nine, ten, a big fat hand!"

"Hee... I think it's 'a big fat hen,' sweetie," I say, chuckling.

"No," she shakes her head decisively, not even looking up from her book. "I'ss 'hand.'"

I laugh again. "I know it's 'hen,' Emmie. 'Ten' and 'hen' rhyme. 'Ten' and 'hand' don't."

She shrugs. "Wull, I fink it's 'hand.' I'ss a big, fat hand made out of sticks."

"Okay, let's look it up."

"Okay," she agrees, setting her book aside. "We see who's right."

"Yes," I say. "AND THEN I WILL CRUSH YOU."

She grins. "Oh, pleath. Bring it on."