Malia and I went to the Hogle Zoo yesterday. I'll wait while you recover from the shock. I know it's a surprising thing. Because it's nearing the end of the visit of the white aligator, and she managed to behave all week without a big tantrum or snotty mouth, I bought her one of the stuffed white aligators. Okay, mostly because they were half off the regular price and I still got my 20% as a member after the 50% off. I like to think that I'd have bought it otherwise, but I probably wouldn't because I'm too cheap. Malia decided while we were at the zoo (on the carousel in fact) that her alligator's name would be George. Yeah, I don't know either. I thought it was settled until I had the following conversation in the parking lot of her daycare this morning;
: Grab George and let's get inside.
: Mother, I told you that's not my alligator's name.
: Um, you didn't, but okay, what is your alligator's name now?
: white alligator
: That's not really a name, that's just describing what it is.
: Well, then what is the name of the white alligator at the zoo.
: Well, there wasn't a name on the sign so I guess it doesn't have one.
: Then if the one at the zoo doesn't have to have a name, mine doesn't either.
After delivering that last line, she walked off to the door. I really couldn't argue with her logic. Sometimes I feel like the kid, not the parent. Welcome to the loony bin, white alligator. Also, I am not a chocolate caramel and candy coated pretzel, but it just looked so yummy I decided to use it to represent me in the conversation.