I'm thinking that my daughter should consider pursuing a career in whack-a-mole. I don't think that's an actual profession, but you know, it could be. She could go from town to town, a carnival roadie, playing whack-a-mole all day. She could earn piles of those giant stuffed animals and sell them on ebay or something.
Why is Preslar writing this foolishness, you ask? I'll tell you. I think that Bitty is actually psychic. She has the most uncanny ability to know exactly where and when I'm about to take a step. And she instantly goes there. So as I'm stepping, she's suddenly there, so I make a quick swerve to miss her, but due to her psychic abilities, she's already moved to that new spot so I crash into her anyway. It seems like she spends the entire day doing this. She may have learned the behavior from our dog, who also has an ability to sense exactly where you want to go, and promptly block the pathway there. When Bitty does it, I try to ask her nicely to please move, and she, almost without fail, moves even closer to the object I'm after, thus making it even harder for me to get there. I feel like I'm square dancing all day long. So do you see how her psychic ability to know just where somethings going to be and instantly being there first could give her a serious advantage at mole-whacking? Totally, right?
Also of note: I don't know what I did to instill in my son such faith in his parents. He truly believes that we are capable of almost anything. "Hey, that sounds kind of nice," you're thinking. No, it's not. Not when his requests are things such as the following:
"Mom, could you please knit me a spiderman suit and a t-rex costume today?"
"Mom, could you please dig a hole in the back yard and put an octopus in it?"
"Dad, you could be build me a new dinosaur out of pieces of metal?"
"Mom, could you please make me some trees?"
"Mom, could you please make me a fiddle?"
"Mom, could you please polish my frog's skateboard?"
Hey, at least he's saying please, right? These are all actual requests, by the way. I'm never sure how to respond, because let's face it, there's part of me that really needs him to think I actually am super mom. There is also the part inside me screaming, "Are you crazy? What do you think I am, supermom?!?"