Age is relative to kids. I get that. The Fries can only loosely grasp the difference between "yesterday," "today," and "tomorrow." Anything beyond those timeframes is "last year" or "next year." So trying to understand how old people are, in relation to their own ages (which is still kinda fuzzy, even if they can tell you they're 7 and almost 6), is...interesting. To say the least.
Hubby is brushing Large Fry's hair when Small Fry pops into the den.
Small Fry: Mommy, how old are you?
Me [not wanting to admit the truth]: Well, on my birthday, you said I was eight. Eight!
I touched my nose to hers, and she giggled.
I went upstairs to get my ankle brace—yesterday's rain has left an lingering ache—and then sat down on the stairs by the kitchen to wrap it around my ankle. Small Fry was now getting her hair brushed, and was using me as a focal point. Medium had come up to sit next to me.
Small: Daddy, how old awre you?
(He only has that number two more days, and he's clinging to it with all his might.)
Medium: Mommy, are you oldewr than Daddy?
Me: No, Daddy's older. Small says I was 8 on my birthday back in July.
Medium gives me a goofy look.
Me [deciding to bite the bullet]: I'm 37. Daddy's older.
Large [with wicked glee]: No, you're older than Daddy!
Me: Am not. Daddy's 40, and I'm 37.
Large [sing-song]: You're older than Daddy!
I glared at Hubby, who was finishing Small Fry's hair and smugly grinning as Large continued to insist that I was older.
Large [right in my face]: You're 290!
My niece was kind enough to point out, when I posted about that on Facebook, that I don't look a day over 200. Thanks, sweetie. You're such a peach.