This is a very typical conversation in my house, and actually took place this week. Come, be a fly on the wall and experience my daily struggle:
Helper Munchkin: Momma, where are we gonna put Pipa when she dies? (that's our dog, she's only 3 years old)
Jennifer Juniper: Well, she's only a puppy and she isn't going to die for a long time.
H.M.: Yeah, but where are we gonna put her? How long, when I'm 60? Wait, how old is Daddy? Is he gonna die first?
J.J.: Um, I don't think you need to worry about it yet, but probably down in the woods someplace.
H.M.: We need to spend all day to dig a big hole and then use the wood from your frames to make a box, because it isn't right to put the dirt right on her. How old will I be when she dies? When do I get to see someone who dies? Can I see Grammy if she dies? (are all 6 year olds as obsessed with death???)
J.J. : Let's just say it will be a really long time, you don't need to worry.
H.M. : Well, I'm not staying home with a babysitter if Grammy dies!
He freaks me out!!! He has been obsessed with death for about a year, along with running out of gas on the highway and having enough money to pay for groceries. Such big worries for such a little guy. He has a whole timeline for our expiration, the fish, then Pipa, then Daddy, Mommy, and brothers with him last since he's the youngest. My little planner.
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