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October 8, 2008
Yesterday, MeMe and I were sitting at a bus shelter that was covered with graffiti and she remarked on one part, where someone had markered “Folklove”…
MeMe: “Some bad people wrote all over that, mama.”
Mommy: “I know, honey. Some people do silly things to make themselves feel important.”
MeMe [trying to read the scribbles]: “Fokka … Flokka … Fokla … Flockalove … You know, mama, I have a Flock of Love.”
Mommy: “You do? What’s a flock of love?”
MeMe: “That’s when you’ve got lots of people that you love and they are together...”
Mommy: “Together?”
MeMe: “Yeah. A FLOCK of love. I have one.”
Mommy: “Like who? Where is it?”
MeMe [bangs her chest]: “Here. I have a flock of love in here. And there are lots of people in it.”
Mommy: “Well, what the heck does that feel like?”
MeMe: “Like fluttering.”
Mommy: “Who’s in your flock?”
MeMe: “You. Daddy. Grandma. Maybe my cousins, if they don’t fight with me.”
Mommy: “Don’t forget to be in your own flock, Meems. You should always be #1 in your own flock.”
MeMe: “Are you #1 in YOUR flock?”
Mommy: “Nope. When you have babies, then the babies are #1.”
MeMe: “Huh. Well, you can be #2 in my flock of love.”
Mommy: “I dunno how you keep track of all those flockers. You must have a big heart.”
MeMe: “Yuh huh.”
Mommy: “Do people get to stay forever in your flock of love?”
MeMe: “Sometimes. Most of the time. Unless I just stop thinking about them … or they’re mean to me.”
Mommy: “Then what do you do?”
MeMe [heaving her sneakered foot from back to front]:
"I … KICK. THEM. OUT.”
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