Gut Check

It was one of those days when I expected Stacy and Clinton from “What Not to Wear” to show up at my door.

My house was dirty, our dinner was something like Tuna Surprise, and my mood was somewhere south of foul.

Seated at the dinner table, trying to liven things up a little, my husband was talking with our daughter, asking her silly questions, like: “Are you a kangaroo?” She loves this game, and she played along, saying, “No! I’m a kitty!” and so on, until they had run out of animals. Somewhat grudgingly, I tried to contribute.

Me: “I know. You want to be a…princess!”

She: “Nooooo.”

Me: “Oh, then you must want to be a…

She: (quite seriously): “No, Mommy. I want to be just like you.”

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