Today on the bus I was chatting with Jenn about my day: I was headed to meet my friend, also named Jenn. The Jenns had met a couple of times and I was keen to have my daughter Jenn remember my friend Jenn.
Me: Remember last summer when that lady with the same name as you came to the apartment with her three daughters?
Me: (Trying again) Remember when that family met us at our cottage and you and Daddy took the three little girls tubing?
Jenn: (No reply, but starting to exhibit some recollection. Or maybe she was imagining the chocolate croissant I had just told her we could buy.)
Me: Remember the littlest girl who was almost your age and you and your brother wanted her to stay to play? Her name was Charlotte?
Me: (Relieved this exercise was almost over, and confident she is about to remember my dear friend. ) Yes!
Jenn: Like in the movie.
At which point I was no longer dying for Jenn to remember my friend, I had moved on to horror that my daughter thought Charlotte’s Web was a movie and not a book. I really just wanted to kick the Easter Bunny for bringing the DVD of Charlotte’s Web instead of the book. Stupid bunny. Even if it’s a good one, my kids can’t become literary geniuses watching the movies.
Note: Incidentally — my kids LOVED watching Charlotte’s Web. I was all ready for a pair of sobbing disasters, but they were fine. In fact, when I asked them if it had been a little sad, they agreed but pointed out that Charlotte had died but she first laid 514 eggs. Pretty impressive big-picture view, I thought. I was the only sobbing disaster to be found.