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A Conversation With the Lass

The Wife and I are starting to put together some ideas on how to redo the lass’ room. The main motivator is that her room is on the smaller side and it’s difficult to come up with an efficient use of the space so that there’s actually clear floor space. Towards that end, we’ve all but decided that her bed will get lofted.

In the course of brainstorming further about the lofted bed, the Wife mentioned that rather than making her a ladder to get into the bed, an idea she’d come across was a set of stairs. The neat thing about the stairs was that each stair could double as a drawer. I agreed with the novelty of the idea.

It was at this point that the lass chimed in, “Am I going to have stairs to get into my bed?”

“Maybe, although I was thinking a rope would be a lot easier…” I started.

“Naaaaaaaaah..” she said with a smile.

“Well, then we could have a helicopter come each night and morning, drop a rope down and you could hold onto it while the helicopter raises or lowers you into or out of your bed…”

“Daddy….”, still smiling. But also with a giggle.

“Alright, I know. We get a dinosaur to stick its head in the window. Then, you climb onto the head and that’s how you can get into or out of bed.”

She was about to say something, but I cut her off.

“OOOO! Even better! We’ll let a radioactive spider bite you and then you’ll be like Spiderman and you can just climb the walls to get into bed. Or you could use your webshooters [me, pantomiming web-shooter usage]. Or you could just jump into bed. We’d even let you be SpiderGirl, but you’d still have to be in bed by 8 each night. Non-negotiable.”

“Um, Dad. I’d rather use the stairs.”

“What’s wrong with the other ideas?” I said, mischievously.

She didn’t disappoint, “The helicopter might fly away with me, the rope might fall from the ceiling, the dinosaur might not be nice and the radioactive spider might kill me.”

Dang. Shot down. Just like that. I tried to salvage the spider, “But Peter Parker didn’t die when he got bit by the radioactive spider. That’s how you’ll get all those spider powers…”

“Where are we going to find a radee-active spider?” she asked.

“I’m sure we can figure it out. Maybe at a science museum.” I replied.

She considered this possibility, then scrunched up her nose and shook her head. “I’d rather have stairs.”

She drives a hard bargain.

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