Maybe we shouldn't have spent the first three years of Sophie's life just making crap up when we didn't know an answer (or didn't want to deal with a meltdown). Like the many, many times when we pointed at store signs and said things like, "That says no kids allowed -- we have to wait here for Daddy," or "Look -- that sign says NO YELLOW PILLOWS" when we wanted her to leave the pillow in the car.
We were talking about school the other day and I asked her about a new girl.
Me: What's your new friend's name?
Sophie: The one with brown hair?
Sophie: That's curly? And she has glasses? Red ones?
(Yes, yes, and yes. She definitely knows the kid.)
Sophie: Ummm. I think her name is Sausage.
(No. It's NOT Sausage. I found out when I dropped her off that the new girl is Emilia from Guatemala.)
The next day driving to school:
Sophie: Did you know that my friend Arden also flew on an airplane?
Me: Really? Where did she go?
Sophie: To Guacamala.
Me: Oh, I think it was Emilia. She's from Gua-te-ma-la.
Sophie: Say "Gua." (Gua.) Say "Ca." (Ca.) Say "Mala." (Mala.) Good job, Mom. Arden went to Guacamala.