Her new nearly-florescent neon tennis shoes did little to distract him from feeling the sting of what she said next.

“Mommies are not alive,” she purported.

“Mommies are not alive?  I don’t think that’s right H-,” he returned.

“They aren’t alive.   Mommies are not alive,” she said.

“What is a mommy?” he asked, seeking context at the least.

“K- is my mommy,” she answered.

“Hmm.  So you know K- is your mommy, and that she’s alive, but you still maintain that mommies are not alive?”

“Yep, they’re not,” she said.

“Well,” he took a breath, “I hate to break it to you kid, but mommies are very much alive.  Your mommy is alive.  My mommy is alive.  They’re alive,” he lectured dryly.

“Mommies are not alive,” she continued, a perfect stubbornness showing through.  “Skeletons aren’t alive either.”

“Skeletons, eh?” he said.  “Oh!  I get it.  Not mommies, mummies!  Muh-muh mummies are not alive.  You’re trying to say that dead bodies wrapped in tape are not alive, right?  They’re called mummies, muh-meez, not mah-meez.”

“Yeah,” she said, her eyes betraying her brain’s increase in activity.  “Bodies wrapped in,” she paused, “in tape,” she finished, her nodding head and squinting eyes calling out his inaccuracy.  “Mommies-”

“Muh H-,” he corrected,  “muh-meez.  Mummies are not alive.”

“Mah-”

“Muh-”

‘Mah-”

“Muh-meez H-,” he said, feeling his patience about to buckle. “Forget it.  Can you say reanimated?”

“Re-ami-nated?” she asked.

“Re-ani-mated,” he repeated.

“Reanimated,” she said.

“Good.  Now say ‘mummies are reanimated, but mommies are alive.'”

“Mommies are reanimated, but mommies are alive.”

“Perfect.”