Kids are hilarious. And thank goodness they are. On some days, it’s their one saving grace.
Days like today when your son arrives home with his third “yellow” day in a row! (My son’s kindergarten class has a behaviour code that works like a traffic light: green = good, yellow= not so good, orange= bad, red = very bad).
Tonight, we were lying in bed reading Laura Ingalls Wilder’s The Long Winter, in this one section Pa Ingalls is heading out with traps for muskrats.
Being the teacher I am, I stop reading and ask, “what are the traps for?”
He answers,” to catch the muskrats.”
I ask,” what are they going to do with the muskrats?”
He answers, “eat them.”
“Right”, I say and start reading again.
After a pause, my son stops me and asks, “what is a muskrat?”
So I answer, “it’s an animal kind of like an otter.”
There is a look of disgust that moves across his face. He says, “we don’t eat otters.”
And I agree and say, “not any more but in the olden days people did.”
Then a new look crosses his face, this time it’s one of horror.
“Where’s my Ottie?”, he asks.
He searches frantically on the bed for his otter webkin.
He grabs it and hugs it and then hides his face in the pillow.
I hide my smile and continue reading.