We babysat this weekend for the Niece and the Nephew. Our conversations were, to put it mildly, challenging.
The Nephew (age 7) over dinner: "Aunt Trish...are you and Uncle Steve ever going to have babies? I mean, you have a four door car!" (Practical boy, the Nephew).
My nuanced, sophisticated response? "Hey! Look at your clean plate! Would you like some cookies?" There was no way I was getting into the whole conversation about trying with him, even though he's made it perfectly clear over the past year or so that he's rather disappointed Steve and I haven't made the time to go to the baby store, pick out a cousin for him, and put it in my tummy for nine months to bake.
Then there was the Niece (age 4) at bedtime, right after I said, "Goodnight sweetie...sweet dreams...bless you!":
"Aunt Trish, what's bless you?
Me (again, revealing a deep sensitivity and attention to her spiritual development): "Um...Bless you is like saying God bless you. Okay? Great! Goodnight!"
She sat up in her bed. "But what does God bless you mean?"
"Well, it means, I hope God brings you blessings. You know, like the blessings you have: your family, your house, your dog Otis..."
"Then you have blessings, too Aunt Trish," she observed wisely. "You have THAT DOG!" She paused for a moment, gazing around at her piles of stuffed puppies. "I sure hope God brings me more blessings!" she finally said. Suddenly, I realized the deep theology lesson I'd imparted: Blessings = Dogs.
It's not entirely wrong...