The other night, Poppet noticed a little gecko high up in the corner of her room. For the duration of her bedtime routine, she spoke about the lizard on the roof. When I tried to correct her, she insisted that it “is a lizard, Mommy!” Because threenagers know everything, of course. How silly of me to forget.
Anticipating that the gecko/lizard might be a problem later, I suggested naming him. “Her,” Poppet said, just to be contrary.
Very well, her.
When it came time to kiss goodnight and switch off the light, Poppet demanded that we remove Julia the gecko/lizard from her room. “But she’s going to eat all the mosquitoes and spiders,” I said. “Let her stay.”
“She already ate them all!”
So Hubby was put to the task of removing Julia. “Careful you don’t knock it onto the bed,” I said, which is precisely what happened, of course.
Poppet and I escaped to the other bedroom to talk girl stuff. (By girl stuff, I mean the names of her future children. Will she never let this go?)
A few minutes into Operation Remove Julia, Poppet stepped back into her bedroom to check on Hubby’s progress. “Where is it, Daddy?” she asked at the precise moment that Julia the gecko/lizard ran up the wall behind her. Like a scene from a horror movie, Hubby told me later.
Eventually Julia was apprehended and released into the wild, far from Poppet’s bedroom. And all was well with the world once more.
But if Poppet freaks out over a gecko no longer than my thumb, I’d better pray she never discovers the existence of Parktown Prawns . . . or their breeding ground ’round the back of the house.
* Cicak: Indonesian word for gecko