One of the 4-year-olds at church - who I babysit on occasion - has been asking her mom when she could come have a playdate with me. Saturday was the day! She and her mom came over and we made pizza and ate jello and played Twister.
The hysterical part was when she first walked in, she scoped out the living room/kitchen/dining area and then ran headlong down the (short) hallway to my bedroom and stopped suddenly. She looked all around the room with a confused expression.
Me: What are you looking for?
She: The stairs.
Me: I don't have any stairs.
She: How do you get upstairs?
Me: There is no upstairs. Just the living room and this bedroom.
I could see she didn't believe it, so I opened every closet door to prove I wasn't keeping her from some magnificent upper room. She lives in a house and they have stairs. It had never occurred to her that someone might live in a place as small as mine. And without stairs!
It reminded me of the time my nephew came to visit (he was about 4 years old too) and suddenly realized that I lived all alone - no husband, no kids. Just me.
I wonder if I need to warn parents that letting their kids get to know me might corrupt their view of how the world should be?
