We just went for this short walk in the muggy, post-rain heat, looking for puddles in which to jump (a favorite past time, like her favorite, Peppa Pig). Our street is severely lacking in it’s ability to make puddles, so we have to walk a ways. After pressuring me to go out for a walk to find the favorite puddles, I get our stuff ready and get us moving.

Down the street we go! Most other parents can cover ground at a fair clip, but Sophia is a mosier. I think it has to do with daydreaming. So we go at a snail’s pace because our minds are who-knows-where and our attention is drawn to who-knows-what. So after what seems like ten minutes (but is probably closer to two) we almost make it to the end of the first block. And she says “When you see a monster, shout ‘ahhhh! A monster!’ and run under the tree!”

I just can’t take it. I was already not into the walk (did I mention how hot it felt?) and now the puddle-jumping (my kind of fun) is being replaced with pretend (my daughter’s kind of fun). We had played this hiding-from-monsters game here before, so I should have seen it coming; but I didn’t. And I am not even remotely interested in playing along. So I say something I never expected to say.

“I don’t want to play! I thought we were looking for the flipping puddles!”

Yes, I actually said “flipping”.

But her response is absolutely perfect. After my explaining myself, then exasperatingly going along with it, she walks back to the road and says. “I’m hot. Let’s go home.” Now I feel happy to be going home and guilty for feeling happy to be going home. So we walk back and on the long trek, she continues.

“Daddy, don’t say that word. Don’t say ‘flipping’.”

I put my hand on her head as we walked up the drive and tell her, “You’re pretty wise for a three year-old.”