Updated: Lizard Logic

Update: now, by popular demand, with video.

It started Friday night. 

Meg came into our bedroom, her eyes wide. "There's a lizard in my bed," she said. 

     "I don't think so," I replied.

     "Go check," she said, and moved into my spot as I slid out of bed. I was half way to her room before I realized that was what I was doing. Nope, no lizard. I padded back down the hall. 

      "Honey, there is no lizard in your bed, or anywhere in your room," I said, trying to reclaim my spot. 

      "Well, I better sleep here just in case," she replied. She did. On my pillow. 

I thought that was the end of it. It was not. 

All weekend we heard about the lizard. She told me, her Dad, her grandparents, her cousin, and anyone else who would listen about the lizard. When it looked like anyone was getting skeptical, or about to tell her it was just a dream or her imagination, she would demonstrate exactly how the lizard blinked his eyes (very fast), and wiggled his tongue (even faster). 

Pretty sure she convinced more than one person. 



Saturday was the height of the lizard hysteria. Every time Meg needed to go in her room: to take a nap, to get a book, to search for lizards, she would have to show Ryan, and then me exactly where the lizard had sat on her bed. She would show us where his tail had been, and once again demonstrate the eye and tongue movements. She was totally obsessed. I was almost ready to either move her room, or else buy a tiny pair of pajamas for the little bastard so at least he wouldn't be in Meg's room naked. Finally, though, my Mom sense kicked in. 


The next time Meg and I went into her room to look for the lizard I stood in the center in the center of the room and put my arms out. "Lizard," I said, "it is time for you to go home. This is Meg's room and she does not want you here. You need to go home and not come back unless we invite you." I glanced down to see if she was buying it. She looked skeptical. I went on. "We like you lizard, but you can't be here when Meg doesn't want you here. Sorry." A little voice below me yelled "yeah," and I knew that it had worked. 


Don't think we've stopped talking about the lizard. We haven't. At least three times a day we have to discuss the lizard that came into Meg's room and waggle our tongues and blink our eyes. However, now the story ends with "then Mama told him to go home," instead of worries about when he will come back. 


That's fine with me. 


After all, Meg's lizard impression is really damn cute.