I am driving my daughter to her friends house for a sleepover. We are making small talk. I'm still in denial that she's growing up and my almost-nine-year-old wants to spend the night away from home. It was just two minutes ago that she needed Mommy for everything. She's growing up faster than I am.
She says, "I can't wait to see Lilly's house."
"Why?" I ask.
"Because I want to see if she lives in a fancy house or if she is poor."
At this point, I'm a little woried, but I have to ask anyway. "Do we live in a fancy house?"
She looks at me as if I just asked her if I was a purple unicorn. Like, I'm asking her a trick question because the answer is so obvious.
"No, mom. We're poor."
Ok. Ouch. That was below the belt. Regaining my focus, I ask, "What's the difference between a fancy house and a poor house?"








