Recently, Sophie the Giraffe resurfaced. She started carrying it around with her in her rotation of animal friends. And she called it zebra.
For a while, I let it go. But one day, I finally told her. "You know that's a giraffe, right? It's not a zebra. Zebras have stripes." She picked up her giraffe and left the room, grabbing a pen on her way. I was too tired to ask her what she was doing with the pen. Plus the apartment is such a mess right now she's have a tough time doing damage I'd even notice.
A few minutes later we were headed out to run errands and she told me she wanted to bring her zebra.
"Giraffe," I corrected her.
"Zebra," she corrected me.
She had drawn several lines on each side of the giraffe. It was now striped. And, I suppose, by my definition, a zebra.
Sometimes it's hard to argue with a preschooler.