Of course, my dear. “Zut alors!”
Devon, our 4-year-old grand-daughter, is an unexpected guest today. She’s sick, which means Kathy and I are playing tag-team child care. Kathy took the morning shift (some meetings, like one called by your college’s president, you don’t cancel). I drew afternoon duty.
Devon may have a bad stomach. But there’s nothing wrong with her brain. No way. When she and Kathy drove past a new school being built on the way home from Devon’s apartment, Kathy pointed it out.
“They’re building it out of brick,” she said.
“That’s good,” Devon replied. “Then the big, bad wolf can’t blow it down.”
It turns out that afternoon baby-sitting is a pretty good shift because it starts with nap time. And, after a monster 13-hour Tuesday, I was plenty tired. Devon didn’t want to read Eloise after all. Instead, she wanted us to tell our own tag-team bedtime story. I began it with the tale of a visit to Paris. I tried to keep it light and fanciful. But every time Devon took over, sh reintroduced the “meanest, baddest witch in the whole wide world.” Hmmm.
Eventually, I was able to have the white dove, whose wings carried us to Paris, turn the witch into stone gargoyles atop Notre Dame. Maybe you’ll notice them the next time you visit. Don’t try to blow them down.