“Right. That’s super,” I say.
She slides onto the rug next to the bed. “Rug? What rhymes with rug, Mommy?” She spits out her own answer. I nod. Okay, sure kug rhymes with rug? She trots into her bedroom. I drag myself into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Just as the suds in my mouth she pushes the door open. “Mommy, door, what rhymes with door?” I mumble some resemblance of floor? I can see the wheels turning in her head. “Mommy?” Be careful. Rhyming can be dangerous.
Don’t play this game in public.