At supper tonight, Ella was doing more talking than eating. If you’ve ever dined with Ella, you know that it’s a normal occurrence. Makes. Me. Crazy.
With a mouthful of pizza I hear a pieces of a garbled story: “She goes under the bed…Lady Gaga…steals bad dreams…tinier than a baby or even a chick…”
Wait. Back up. Lady Gaga?
She swallows. “Lady Gaga is so tiny.” She puts her thumb and index finger about a quarter of an inch apart. The space is no bigger than a pinch. “She is so tiny like smaller that even a baby or a chick.”
Lady Gaga? I’m still not sure I’m hearing this right.
“Yes. She is so small and she goes under the bed and steals away all the bad dreams. She is so little. Smaller than The Littles.” (We are reading The Littles and the girls adore it. I don’t know that they know that it is their interwebz nickname but the book is as good as I remember.)
Where did you hear that story?
“That boy at daycare. That bigger boy…Johnny. He told it to me when we were eating spaghetti.”
So, there it is. Lady Gaga moonlights as a bad dream thief. And she’s about as big as a house fly.
Wouldn’t it be great to be 5 again?