Sam spied my college diploma on a dresser in my bedroom the other day.
"Susquehanna University!" she cried.
(Since I took her to my college in the fall, she's learned to read "Susquehanna University" wherever she sees it. And she loved it there, so she often talks about it and asks me questions. I take this as a sign she will be a legacy and go there when she's 18, but I'm trying not to be pushy ...)
"What's that paper say?" she asked me.
"It's my diploma," I said. "It means that I went to college for four years and learned a whole lot and now I'm really smart."
"Oh yeah?" Sam said. "What's 7 + 2?"
I got that one right.
"What's 100 + 100?"
I got that one right, too -- although, to be honest, I don't think she would've known if I had gotten it wrong.
She quizzed me with terrifying math questions -- "What's 1,000 + 1,000?" -- for a couple minutes, then proclaimed, "Wow! You really ARE smart!"
I will remember that statement and use it against her at opportune moments beginning in a few years.
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