Yesterday evening, I went to meet an old friend for dinner and my daughter ate with my parents. When I called to let Tori know I was on the way home, she picked up on the first ring and said, "Mommy??" My stomach twisted just a little. She was with my parents, no one had called me...surely nothing could be seriously wrong? And then she followed up: "Are french fries made of potatoes?"
"Yes," I said, not quite laughing yet. Apparently, there are some gaps in her education, even now that we're home schooling.
"Dude," she said. "What about hashed browns?"
"Yes," I told her, unable to entirely keep a straight voice. "Hashed browns are shredded potatoes."
"Dude," she said again. Then, hopefully, "I'm going to ask dad."
By the time I arrived to pick her up, she'd checked it out with her father by text message and he'd confirmed that the tricky french had in fact passed off potatoes as something called french fries and she'd been eating them without complaint for years.
She chose not to give it too much thought, but apparently it was haunting her. At dinner tonight, she held up a Crispy Crown and said, "So, is this made out of potatoes?" When I confirmed that it was, she said, "No." And then, it seems, continued to stew on the issue. Minutes later, when my mind had turned to other (frankly, more interesting) things, she said with something like resignation, "Curly fries, too?"