Yesterday, when I picked up Eleanor from school, she showed me a piece of bark that she wanted to bring home. She called it her “bobby”. I have no idea about the derivation of the name. I noticed that both of her pockets were stuffed with bark, and told her she could bring home only one piece. She reluctantly unloaded her pockets onto a table, taking out twelve good-sized pieces of bark.
This morning, as I was driving the kids to school, Eleanor remembered the bark she had left.
ELEANOR: I want to get my bobbies.
ME: They might still be there where you left them on the table, but they might not be.
ELEANOR: Someone might have taken them. Maybe Benson. Benson’s my friend.
MIRANDA: When two people are always friends and then one person doesn’t want to be your friend, I can help. Benson can be my friend, and I can be your friend (she goes on about this for some time).
ELEANOR: Who are you talking to?
Poor Miranda.