Beatrix and her little friend, E, hunker down like little hedgehogs under the table by my feet. I can hear them whispering and now Bea's singing a little snippet of Baby Beluga, to which Ethan is singing a reply: Baby Beluga, POOP! Bea snaps, YUCK! as if she herself does not engage in the potty humor rather frequently. My friend T and I used to reflect that being stand-up comedians for a bunch of two and three-year olds would be facile--we'd just stand up there and yell, PEE PEE! POOP! etc. (just add any bodily function that's mildly yucky at times). We'd pack a full house, no doubt.
For older kids we'd change our routine slightly, adjusting to their cognitive levels by encasing the potty humor in story and adding various unlikely tragedies, such as arms, legs, entire heads falling off or being consumed by wild animals. Insert slightly more sophisticated language, a couple of sexual innuendos and a few pop culture references, and we'd engage the older folks in the audience as well. (You've got. . .SNL!) T and I have it all figured out, and when we quit our various day/night jobs, we'll make a fortune on the comedic stage.
Currently my mother is sleeping off an all-nighter on the plane from Seattle (personal party consisted of a glass of wine followed by sleeping all night in a snug economy seat). We picked her up yesterday morning and wined and dined her; the children swarmed her and peppered her with their stories and she fell asleep at eleven in our living room chair. Of course, right now, it's only 6:30 her time.
Bea just pointed to me and reminded E, "That's Uncle Kim!" To her, it's just a matter of having a peanut or a bagina, and I thought she'd figured out which one her mother had. I think it's just a matter of slipped semantics. We can't expect consistent accuracy from anyone in monster footie-jammies with a slightly runny nose.
Spring rain today; rather dreary but good for earthworms waking from their snarled sleep. Good day for ducks and extra cups of tea and a good ramble with wellies, if one had wellies. How I long to be British and storybooky and beautiful and practical with my bright wellingtons and cups of tea sitting just so in saucers after the rather soggy but romantic country ramble.
Instead I am American and slightly unkempt, inside without bright boots, but happy all the same with my mug of tea. And here I end my increasingly incoherent wandering. Hope the weather is lovely where you are.
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4 comments:
Remember, Sir Winston's mother was American. She was a New York society Doyenne.
Indeed, the aggressive, forceful side of his personality was her doing.
So dear niece, you can embrace the best of both! Be an Anglophile whilst remaining a happy American.
We two people have been derivative and dependent upon each other throughout modern history.
That is how you can watch Steeler football while enjoying a hot cuppa!
AppDaddy,
Well put, sir, well put. As for the hot cuppa, well, keep 'em coming today--it's dreary as dreary can be.
Good to get news of your son, my cousin, through Mom. . .you must be very proud of him.
PS. "Thrownfree" was actually me, your niece. :)
He called yesterday, right after completing a six kilometer patrol in one foot of snow.
At 7,700 ft elevation, carrying weapons and a full ruck, IBA and Kevlar.
Some 70 pounds of gear.
As he put it "If I never see snow again I'll be happy!"
This from a kid who prayed for it in Boone on the chance they would cancel classes.
We hear from him sporadically, sometimes three days apart.
THat makes it rough on his old folks.
We are proud, but will be glad when he comes home for good.
Keep them prayers coming!
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