"Hey, Momma," Middle asked as she strode purposefully into the living room this morning, "can Oldest and I use this box, since she emptied it out?"
I tend to greet such requests with suspicion, because they usually result in vague answers of I don't know which almost always spell trouble with a capital T.
"What are you going to use it for?"
"A house for a married couple."
"A house for a married couple?"
"Yeah, Oldest's stuffed animals."
"Which stuffed animals are married?"
"They're not married yet. They're getting married today, and they need their own house."
And then I remembered the animated soliloquy Middle had given to me about this, about how Duckie was going to be the best man, and Duckie's alter egos would fill other roles.
Which Middle was explaining. Again. Short-form, this time.
"One of my ducks is going to be the best man, one is going to be the usher, and one is going to be the priest."
How she came up with priest, I'm not entirely sure, as we're Protestant, and the only weddings we've been to have been officiated by pastors. But I digress.
"Then the rest of my ducks"—and they are legion, let me tell you—"are coming, too, because their family is the best man, and the usher, and the priest."
"Well, this still doesn't tell me which of Oldest's stuffed animals are getting married."
"A bear and a turtle, and a rabbit and a rabbit."
"Yeah! And my ducks are going to be at both."
"Yes, you can use the box."
"I'm gonna go tell Oldest."
And she bounced out of the room.
While I was pondering the blog post this story was about to become, and feeling more than a little amused by it, Middle stopped short in the doorway to the living room on her way upstairs.
"Sad, sad," she announced. "Rabbit/Rabbit broke up, so there's only going to be one wedding."
I nodded with appropriate soberness, and she hardly skipped a beat before continuing up the stairs.
At least I can be assured that we now won't have a bunch of little tiny stuffed rabbits bouncing around the house any time soon. *chuckle*