We cuddled for a blissful moment. Her thumb got a brief reprieve.
“Mommy, I do not like dis weathuh.”
“Me neither.”
“Are you sick or sumthin?”
“No, Mommy’s just a little tired.”
“Did you exacise or sumthin?”
“No, I’m too old to exercise.”
“How old are you anyway?”
“I’m thirty years old.”
“No yaw not! Yaw fawty one! Faker!”
“If you know my age, why did you ask?”
“I was just checkin’ ta see if you know.”
“Mommies know a lot of things.”
“Will you be dead for my wedding?”
“No, I plan to be there. Daddy might be dead. He’s older than me.”
“How old will you be when I’m fawty?
“I’ll be seventy five.”
“How old will you be when I’m fifteen?”
“I’ll be fifty.” (ouch)
“How will I find you when I get to heaven?”
“I’ll be in the Italian restaurant at the all-you-can-eat buffet.”
“Mommy. I’m sewious.”
“Oh honey, you won’t have to worry about that. Jesus will show you where I am.”
“How does God put people in hell? Does He drop em’ in?”
“Well, no. It’s kind of hard to explain but you don’t need to worry because you’re going to heaven.”
“Does God have a list of who’s goin’ ta heaven?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact He does.”
“What if yaw on the list and do a bad thing?”
I glanced over at the magazine and wanted to suggest she ask the person on the cover but I caught myself, and remembered she was only six.
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