Rocket Pie

Adana came running up to me, dragging her baby doll by the hair (as usual).

ADANA: Rocket pie.

ME: Huh? (I mean, really, how would you respond to such a request?)

ADANA: Rocket pie!

ME: You want a rocket pie? (I felt goofy even asking the question.)

ADANA: Baby rocket pie!

ME: Oh, that clears things up. (Not!) Does the baby want a rocket pie?

ADANA: Yes! Baby rocket pie! (She starts dancing a little jig on her toes, excited that I’m catching on.)

ME: (Crap, now she thinks I understand her.) OK, let’s go get the baby a rocket pie. (I head toward the kitchen. Sometimes, I just have to wing it.)

ADANA: No in there!! Rocket pie over there! (The dancing stops, because clearly I was not playing this correctly. She points toward the family room.)

ME: (easing toward the family room as if she’s going to start yelling “warmer” or “colder” with each movement) Is the rocket pie in here?

ADANA: (climbing onto the rocking chair) Rocket pie!

She cuddles her baby and starts rocking back in the chair, singing in the softest, sweetest little voice: “Rocket pie. Rocket pie.”

Ohhhhh . . . . Rock-a-bye! Duh.