I Would Like a Tiny Kangaroo

This is the conversation I had with The Boy very early this morning:

Mama, can we get a kangaroo?

Sure.

Wait! What? Did you say kangaroo? (Suddenly I wondered if this was something I could pick up at Petco, or if I’d have to call a breeder.)

Yes, a tiny kangaroo.

Do they come in tiny?

I had a dream about a tiny kangaroo. It lived in my room and ate celery.

(Damn the celery-eating tiny things. Note to self: Get celery.)

How tiny, Son? Did it live in the old hamster cage or roam freely about the room?

It stayed in my room and never went anywhere else. It didn’t even poop.

Well, I guess the tiny kangaroo has that going for him, then. What was his name?

I dunno.

How ‘bout Hank? That sounds like a tiny kangaroo’s name to me.

No it doesn’t. We’ll just call him tiny kangaroo.


After this whole conversation, I got to thinking that I’m glad The Boy has those kinds of dreams that leave him excited and hoping for a tiny kangaroo. I think it says something about the kind of childhood he’s living. So even if he is a little bit silly, I’m all good with that.

Plus, now I kinda want a tiny kangaroo.