Remember yesterday when I wrote that post about how Lucy wanted to go to Obama's house? And I thought it was all cute and funny and worthy of a blog post?
Well, apparently I have my head in my ass because my daughter and I had two completely different conversations. Turns out she wasn't being funny. She was just terrified.
Last night, something was bothering her and all of a sudden, she said to me, "Mommy,I don't want to go to the prisoner's house." Like out of the blue.
And I said, "Well, who's the prisoner, baby?" I had no idea what she was talking about.
"Obama," she said. "I don't want to go to his house because he is the prisoner."
Which led us to a lengthy discussion about the differences and similarities between prisoners and presidents, because they sound very similar but have very different meanings, and I realized the whole time during the election when we were talking about presidents, my kid thought we were talking about prisoners and was probably perpetually freaked out that prisoners were surrounding us, and there were a bunch of reassurances that we would, indeed, not be visiting the White House anytime soon, in case, the president turned into the prisoner and, you know, that maybe I need to get my head out of my tuckus when my daughter is trying to tell me something.