Mr. man came to me today and said that he and the monkey had decided: They were saving up for a pony. A horse really, he explained. A family horse. One that we could all take turns riding and taking for long walks together in the country. The monkey, he added, could even wear her pink cowboy boots - as if this was the clincher in an already flawless argument.
And then he brought me two handfuls of pocket change. Pennies and nickels and dimes spilling out between the mangled sieve our four hands made, two little sets of fingers, two big sets. They'd already started saving, you see. They were nearly there, really.
And I didn't have the heart to do anything but find a mason jar to tuck all the change into and ask him what name they would give their pony.
"Horse, mama. Not a pony, a horse. A family horse."
"Oh. of course. How silly of me. and this horse...he will have a name?"
"Yes, but we don't know it yet," He counters with an eye roll, acting as if i am the child and must be spoken to slowly and carefully so i will understand. "We wont know what to call him until we meet him." he says. enunciating precisely.
when did i suddenly become the adult in these scenarios? i missed the transition somewhere along the way...