me: it’s time for bed. turn off the tv in the playroom and go get ready.
them: [all kinds of wailing and whining, then whispering and silence]
them: mama, look at us. [each slowly crawls out of playroom looking sad with their heads down ] slow, mournful song plays in the background.
me: [stifling laughter]
the kids wanted me to play my lil pony with them the other day (we have several of them, including a few i can actually name). they set it up with a pony car, some pony groceries and a grocery cart, and various other things. the detailed background story that 10yo came up with for each pony was amazing. after playing a pretty much normal game for a while, things turned to less standard fare.
the rest of the playing is impossible to recreate in words, and possibly should not be for public consumption. suffice it to say that we segued into a song (the first song) called “i am a dodo (bird).” then there was soy riding (yes, soy) on another pony (don’t. ask.), which after a while led bizarrely into an adult pony (there were kid and baby ponies, of course) lying on the ground muttering they were a bitter adult with emotional issues, and eventually to numerous accusations that certain ponies were making other ponies need therapy. somewhere in the middle there was the poof song (which consists of saying poof a million times), and repeated statements through the entire game of “i like pie!”
i’m pretty sure that i now need therapy.
4yo: mama, can i sing you a song?
me: is it the mary had a little lamb one?
4yo: NOT THAT ONE. A DIFFERENT ONE.
4yo: i don’t remember what song it is.