Rawnt

On the way to go out to dinner Frances, from the backseat asks, “Mommie? What’s a rawnt?”
“Rawnt?”
“Yeah. Rawnt”
"Do you mean 'Rant?'"
"No. Rawnt."
“I don’t know sweetie. What IS a rawnt?”
“I don’t know” she says quietly.

“Well where did you hear it? Did someone say it to you today?”
Silence. Grace tries to help. “Do you mean ‘want’ Frances?” she asks.
“No,” Frances laughs.
It starts to get silly. I ask, “Is it like, ‘Mom, I really rawnt to go to California Pizza Kitchen?’”
“Nooooo!” she says giggling. Grace is laughing too. “Frances: Is it like , “I really rawnt a lollipop?”
“Nooo!!!” Frances says laughing harder. We are all laughing and making more rawnt jokes until we run out of steam and the car is quiet again.

“Mama?”
“Yes”
“What do we do at a restaurant?”
“We eat and relax and talk.”
“Do we rest?”
“Yes...”
“So when do we rawnt?”