My daughter is nuts and it is my fault. For the record, I have NEVER disparaged snowmen in front of her or told scary snowy-night stories. But before I explain, let's start with a story about me, shall we? Knife-wielding gnomes lived under my bed when I was younger. Their knives were serrated butter knives so instead of the threat of slicing my ankles, they would have to really hack and saw to do damage. I've pretty much outgrown that fear. Just to be on the safe side though, I make sure to sleep under the magical top sheet which provides a protective covering.
And now for my little nut... How do I put this so as not to make it sound like my kid is a freak? Really, there is no getting around it. The Girl is terrified of the giant blow-up snowman in our neighbor's yard. She is also afraid of the giant Homer Simpson in a Santa suit (but isn't everyone?). As soon as the sun goes down and the highly intimidating snowman goes up, she refuses to go outside. You can see it from our front door so she shrieks even when we open it. If, gawd forbid, we need to go somewhere, she must be carried to the car and put in on the opposite side from the fearsome snowman.
The craziest part? She loves our neighbors and usually goes to their house at least once a day. Now she avoids them. We have carried her over a couple times for a visit, but we have to walk on the street, not the sidewalk, carefully avoiding the deadly reach of the giant Homer. And she says loudly, "Homer Stimston is kinda weird," every time we go by. Upon leaving the neighbors, their teenage daughter has to wrap Grace's head in a scarf or dishtowel, completely covering her eyes. The neighbor is then instructed by The Girl to quickly carry her back to our house, demanding she run the entire way.
Yep, that's my girl. I am the tree and she is my acorn.