Backseat conversation with Zachary this evening:
Not answering fast enough because I want to hear the end of All Things Considered on NPR.
"Yes, Zachary, yes."
"I bet you'll never guess what I am thinking about."
"Can I have a hint?"
"No hints." Giggling. Snorting.
"Not even a teensy-weensy hint?"
"Nope. Not even a tiny-baby hint." Smiling uncontrollably.
"How about a micro-newborn-ant hint?"
"Okay. A negative finity and beyond hint. Just one."
"I'll take it."
"Okay, Mommy, here it is. What do you think my favorite animal is?"
"Is that what you're thinking of that I'll never guess?"
"Yes, Mommy. Guess!"
"Wait. Is that the hint? Or the question."
"That's the little-baby hint."
"Is it a dog?"
"Nope!" Now clapping, squealing.
"How 'bout a cat?"
"Yuck! Nope!" Punctuated with a gleeful scream.
"Umm, is it a chameleon?"
"Nuh-uh." Now wagging foot back and forth on booster seat.
"How about a dinosaur?"
Leg freezes. Looks at me through rearview like I am a doofus. "No, Mommy. Dinosaurs are a-stink."
"Am I even warm?"
"What do you mean 'warm'?"
"Like close? Like is it a reptile?"
"No hints. No more hints. But you are little-tiny-baby warm." Holds up fingers to show what is meant by little-tiny-baby, which is quite small.
"Little-tiny-baby warm? Okay. Is it a reptile?"
"Yes but not a snake reptile."
"Do you give up?"
"No! I need another hint! Just one more hint, okay?"
Thinks about it. Looks very serious. "Okay. Just ONE more and that's it."
"Okay, hit me."
Thinks again. "Uuuummmm. . . ."
"I'm listening, Zachy. . . ."
"Okay. Here's my tiny-teensy-baby hint, but after this no more hints!"
"It starts with. . . .komodo."
Would a good mom keep guessing or just blurt out,
"Komodo Dragon? Dude! That was a full-grown-humongous hint, not a teeny-baby-negative-finity-and-beyond hint!"
I mean. . . .not that that's what I said to my dear, sweet, imaginative four-year-old child. But just because, you know, I'm just wondering what you think.
Because of course I did what a good mom would do. . . . umm. . .yeah.