It's finally behaving a little like January, what with the snow and ice and such.... so today I threw Henry in the van to pick up Pearl from Kindy-garten. On the drive home I go over the rules for when I go get my hair done. I go to the same lady who's been doing my hair for about nine years now, she's in our congregation at church, and she has a salon in the basement of their split-level home. It has been in this home that all four of my kids have had their first real haircuts.
It so happens that her six year old daughter is in Pearl's Kindy class, and they have been having some great play dates. In the past they mostly just ignored each other or played around each other when I went for a hair appointment, but I could see that now they will probably continue one of their epic LPS games... and Pearl might be invited to range past the playroom and into the upstairs where the rooms are.
"So.. I expect you to stay out of their kitchen. And don't go into her brother's rooms or her sister Myra's room. OK?"
"OK, mama." She pauses, thinking, "Her sister is a teenager, huh, mama?"
"Yes, she is. She would not appreciate you guys messing with her stuff."
"Is Birdie a teenager?"
"No, not yet. She won't be a teenager for three years or so."
"Oh! That's right! Birdie is a..." I'm driving so I cannot actually see her furrowed brow as she searches her memory, but I know she's got that look. "Birdie is a... uh... a TWINKLE!"
The heck? "Oh! You mean a TWEEN!? Technically she'll be a tween when she turns ten."