"Mamma, what's 'prophetic' mean?" asked Bunny yesterday.
She heard it in a movie, but I love that she is a word freak. I remember being royally pissed off when my older (12-year-old) cousin told me (7-years-old) that I "wasn't allowed to use a word unless I knew what it meant." I tattled on him to my mom who was driving us home at the time and she replied, "He's right." Boy, that was a grumpy ride home for second-grade-me.
But he was right and I encourage the asking of questions in my house.
"It means that you think or know that something might come true." I tried to put it into terms that Bunny would understand.
Bunny thought about it for a second."You mean like wishes?"
"Yes, like wishes."
"But wishes don't come true," she stated. "Wishes are not prophetic."
At that moment I wondered why these conversations always seem to happen in a car. I suppose there is something non-threatening about making these declarations to the back of an adult's head rather than to her face.
I decided to tread lightly.
"What do you mean 'wishes' don't come true?" I asked (slightly horrified).
So Bunny explained that on March 2, she made a wish and it didn't come true. She made it, wished hard, didn't tell anybody, and waited.
This is the girl who for three nights after her tooth fell out (and was magically exchanged for a new electric toothbrush, floss, and a pack of sugarless gum) left note after note under her pillow. A sort of on-going conversation with her Tooth Fairy pen pal, if you will. Did we know about it? No. Because why would we need to know about it? Tooth fairies know when kids need them, not adults.
J. discovered her early one morning sitting at the kitchen table with unopened note #3 next to her penning note #4 to the fairy. Talk about a heart-shattering experience. Needless to say, we had to have a gentle talk about the Tooth Fairy being very busy with the kids who left actual teeth under their pillow along with their notes. And that she had had her chance (twice) and more chances would come again.
I knew I had to ask her, "What did you wish for?"
"I don't want to tell you or it won't come true."
How to handle. How to handle.
"Well, Bunny. Sometimes wishes need helpers. Sometimes the universe needs to know your wish to help make it come true. Sometimes you need to tell the trees and the earth and sky and the solar system. Why don't you try it now and we'll see what happens?"
She hesitated. I looked in my rear-view mirror and could see her embarrassed smile, chin resting on her shoulder."
"I wish...I wish..."
I held my breath. How could I have not known her wish? How she must have watched each day tick by with her secret wish still not coming to fruition. I felt awful.
"I wish...for a webkinz. My friend at school has one and it's really cute. Kind of like a stuffed animal, but with pokier hair. That's what I wished for on March 2."
Her wish spilled forth with all the pent-up energy and enthusiasm of someone who had waited patiently for over a month for it to be fulfilled.
I have dreaded the day she would say that word to me for many reasons. I suppose it's inevitable and it could be worse—she could have wished for a Bratz doll or tickets to a Wiggles concert. Webkinz. If I get one for her, I know this is going to be the beginning of a long, expensive, annoying hobby. And she has a birthday coming up.
Yes, sometimes wishes need helpers, but sometimes those helpers should learn to keep their big mouths shut.
What's the best "starter Webkinz?" Because I know nothing. (And I used to like it that way.)