Last night, Diddy came into our room a little after 2 am complaining she’d had a nightmare. I got right up and walked her back to her room — darling child has yet to figure out how to capitalize on her night terrors — and she obligingly went right back to sleep, as did I.

This morning on the way to school, I asked her what she’d dreamed about. Here’s what she came up with:

“I only remember a little bit of the scary part. The mean queen from Snow White was fighting me, and I had to make her dead, so I put her in my trash can. But she had magical powers and she came back to life, so then I tried putting her in the kitchen trash, but she came alive again, and so then I tried putting her in the pantry trash — I recycled her — but she came alive AGAIN so then I gave her a cigarette and THEN I put her in the trash again, and that time she died.”

Smart kid. My work here is done.




    • Right? It “helps” that her best friend’s uncle died of lung cancer, and her best friend’s Mom has always told all the kids that cigarettes killed him — so she hears it on all sides around here!

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