The Kidling has, on numerous occasions, said things that indicate her ignorance of the nature of work. Which makes sense, given that she is only four. She’s a smarty-pants, but we haven’t yet added her to the list of family wage earners.
The Dada and I have tried many times to explain what exactly it is we do all day. It ain’t easy. For whatever reason, our jobs are difficult to put into kidling terms. I, for example, help people find work. So, to Alice, The Mama goes to work to help people work. It is a little circular, you know? I can’t say I blame her for her lack of clarity.
Regardless, it must be clear to her that her parents really like their jobs. Because she thinks they go a little something like this:
Alice: How old are you? 24?
The Mama: No, I’m 33.
Alice: Will you just write down how old you are? Stick it on my Clifford robot so I have it when you come visit me at work.
The Mama: (writes “Mom is 33” on a slip of paper)
Alice: I’m gonna make my office a jungle adventure for my puppy. I’m gonna make my whole office an adventure for my puppy! So he doesn’t have to. Walk around outside. And. Get bored.
I have to bang around a few things to make Robot Clifford. Sand… Wood… and… A few nails… Oh yeah! Oh yeah!
Please do not inform The Kidling that, no matter how terrific her future career, she probably will not be making jungle adventures for Robot Cliffords. She’ll figure it out in due course.