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The Talking Rock

April 3, 2009 - Jennifer Brookens
I'm slowly but surely being allowed to get acquainted with my daughter's roommate, The Talking Rock.

The Talking Rock first made his presence known a few months ago, taking the shape of a giant pile of blankets on my daughter's bed as she huddled down for the night. The Talking Rock has a good rapport with Daddy, and after hearing about the wild and in-depth conversations he had with The Talking Rock, I just had to ask my daughter about him.

"The Talking Rock won't talk to you," she replied. "He knows you don't believe in him." Ouch.

But after a few more tries, I could get a deeper-voiced "hello" from a wadded-up blanket. My daughter says The Talking Rock lives in her closet most of the time. He only talks at bedtime. I can't sit on the foot of her bed at night because it squishes The Talking Rock.

But tragedy finally brought The Talking Rock and I together. While Daddy was out of town, The Talking Rock found my daughter's candy stash and ate candy, lollipops and chocolate bars until he threw up 11 times. I promised if he threw up again, we would call the imaginary hospital. Luckily, no calls were needed. That night, as I kissed my daughter goodnight, I patted the Talking Rock and said I hope he feels better.

I heard a deep voice say "Thank You Mom."

The Talking Rock still doesn't like if I sit and squish him, but I have finally been accepted into the realm of The Talking Rock's world. And maybe this could be used to my advantage here... Do you think my editor would believe me if I said, "The Talking Rock deleted my last blog entry..."?

Life is more fun with imaginary friends. Even moreso without imaginary enemies.


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