Sunshine today; slant of light on Elspeth's hands, catching the little copper pot on the dining room table, making it a tiny deposit of summer, bright, gleaming. The girls are playing with new birthday presents: wooden cookies, a pink tea set. There's a bit of a battle raging between the two oldest, who are spreading and organizing perfectly with an eye for precision, and the youngest, who is grabbing all she can, stashing it, trying to share as well but failing, resorting to petty violence, such as whacking her older sister with a wooden lollipop. Martin's unloading the dishwasher and listening to the Car-Talk Brothers, and we are all full of french toast and caffeine and feeling fine despite the columns I have to write/collect information for before leaving for Seattle next week; the sporadic squabbling of the girls; and our varying states of physical unreadiness for the day.
I would like now, fine readers, to enrich your lives with a spot of nonsense, or rather, a storm of nonsense, which was imparted to the small Wazoo world last week by way of Elspeth's mouth as she sat at lunch table. I regret that I only began recording her monologue after she'd been going for a while, but at least I got this--let me set the stage--Elspeth sits across from me, and she's talking to everyone and no-one, and verbalizing this list, for unknown reasons, unless it was just for the joy of saying everything that came into her colorful, candy-like brain:
"Lamp-posters, little monkey tail, a little piglet, a pen with writing, a noodle poster, a washcloth, a tin can, spaghetti and cheese, nose posters, polar bear ears, a hairy, hairy head, an elephant trunk, top of a lamp, a fan, a lamp, a little person's head--"
[at this point she broke into song:] "A boy is made out of nails and yucky stuff! A girl is made out of lovely stuff, like polkadot tails and--" [she narrows her eyes pouts her lips, drops her voice to guttural growl:] "A ROCK STAR!"
[She continues in falsetto:] "How did you ever learn how to use thunder? How about a looky-looker? Where do noodles learn to dance? WHO? Knock-knock door? I definitely forgot about the witch. Haven't you seen the monkey swinging with no tail on? Yes, and how did YOU learn to dance? Anyway, I'm going to give that to a love-wench."
We transitioned here, possibly to nap-time, otherwise the rapid-fire monologue might have continued. And here, dear ones, in the sunshine, the intermittent screams of tension and purrs of contentment, in my Smart-Wool socks and my syrup smells, I leave you. Happy Saturday.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
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4 comments:
Children are really the best poets. I love "How did you learn how to thunder?"
Martin
Oh, "how to use thunder"; that's even better.
Sounds like one of her Great Auntie Phyllis dreams!
Keeps me amused anyway.
Coming to Seattle? Come to my house for coffee!
Janelle Buckley
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