Why we sometimes don't get anything done around here

Anne: Mom, I told Betsy that Slick is not a wolf.

Me: Huh?

Anne: Her Beanie Baby. It's not a wolf.

Ramona: Clearly, it's a wolf

Anne: No, I think it's a fennec fox. Look at the ears.

Me: Huh? What about the ears?

Betsy: Mom!

Anne: You can tell it's a fennec fox! Just look at it.

Me: Spell "fennec" for me.

Anne: f-e-n-n-e-c

Me: Well ....

Betsy: Mom, it's my Beanie Baby. And I think it's a wolf. I want it to be a wolf.

Ramona: Clearly, it's a wolf.

Me: (sigh)

Anne: Well, foxes have ....

Me: I think we should Google it.

My Brain: Do you really think you should spend time Googling a Beanie Baby?

Me, to My Brain: Yes! It's the only way to stop the madness. We're all too OCD to let go of this.

My Brain: Oh, bother. Go ahead, then. I guess it'll only take a minute.

Me: Betsy, I'm Googling.

Ramona: Clearly, it's a wolf.

Anne: A fennec fox!

[Google Results: Slick is a fox.]

Me: Well, Betsy, it says he's a fox, but if you want him to be a wolf, he can be a wolf.

Ramona: Ooooh, look at how cute that fox is.

Anne: But, Mom -- He's not a wolf. That isn't correct. He's a fox.

Me: It doesn't matter. He belongs to Betsy. He can be whatever she wants him to be.

Ramona: Clearly, he's a fox.