The Vocabulary Just Keeps Growing…
…but the focus of interest remains the same.
Nigel climbs up on the bench beside me at the dining table, now a cheerful heap of red, green, white, and glittery craft detritus. Less than a month to Christmas! The aroma wafting from the boy, though, is not at all festive.
“Phew, Nigel. You got a poop in there, buddy?” This would be your classic rhetorical question.
“Gotsa poop!”
“Well, let’s change you then.”
“Gotsa poop! Gotsa big log.”
“Charming. You only say these things to sweep me off my feet, I know.”
“Gotsa big stinky log. Gotsa stinky poo in my die-pee.”
By now I’ve peeled the diaper off the boy, and he’s called it right. He does indeed have the items, just as described. I hold my breathe and do the necessary.
“Mahwee gotsa cween my stinky poo-bum.”
Me: choke, gasp, wheeze.
“I gotsa stinky poo innerre! A big poo.”
“You certainly do, bud.”
“I a big boy, I make big poo. Big, big fee-sees.”
Hello? Anyone out there want to claim that their 22-month-old has ever used that word in a sentence? Destined for big things, this boy. If we could only change the focus of fascination.
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© 2006, Mary P
Babies Galore Meander Downtown
How long can this lovely mild weather continue? I don’t know, but I’m loving it! While I completely understand – and share! – the concerns about environment change, here in Canada it’s hard not to see a silver lining to this whole global warming thing…
So off we go, following our noses, seeing where they take us. They take us to the path along the canal, where we see “Guck! Guck! Gucks!” (Known more widely as seagulls.) We see “Fuck! Fuck! Fucks!” (Known more politely as trucks.) We see lots and lots of smiling people; more than a few astonished ones; one, a passenger in a passing car who stared and stared as she rounded the corner, who looked nothing other than completely stoned; and one grumpy one. (His mind was filled with something oppressive, poor man. I don’t think he saw us, not really.)
Our noses eventually took us to one of these:
Imagine that!!
Anyone who knows me knows that these are my particular personal vice, and that I believe the best ones in this city by far, are made at a particular Second Cup downtown. How good are they? Well, I will walk six km round trip pushing four toddlers – and passing TWO other Second Cups – just to have one of these. (Yes, I’m a bit compulsive, I confess, but hey, I figure that after all that exertion, I pretty much wear off the calories I ingest. Heart and lungs: check! Fresh air: check! Calories: null and void! A win-win-win!)
The babies drink their juice and eat their plum slices as I sip my chiller. They flirt with other patrons, they wave at pedestrians.
We leave when the local high school kids start pouring in during their lunch break. One young woman holds the door for us as she shrieks to her approaching friends, “Hey! Check this out! Babies galore!”
Babies galore. Maybe I should take that as my business name?
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© 2006, Mary P
Perfect in Every Way
“Women who have had augmentation surgery are three times more likely to commit suicide.” Emma and I haven’t been paying attention to the kitchen radio, but this pronouncement catches our attention. Seems the CBC is discussing cosmetic surgery.
Emma’s voice rises from the fridge in which she rummages. “Well, duh. They must have terrible self-esteem.”
I’m pleased that she’s made that connection on her own. Smart girl. Then she dances out to the dining room, where Emily and Anna, early risers this nap-time, await their snacks.
“Okay, girls!” She declares. “Never get an augmentation!”
Two pairs of round eyes stare. Evidently they’re taking this very seriously.
“You’re muddling effect with cause there, love. It’s not the augmentation that causes the suicides.”
“Oh, right.” She turns back to the babies, who are watching her every move. They’re expecting food, she has a Public Service Announcement in mind. “Girls?” She holds her arms out wide. “Girls, you’re perfect, just the way you are!”
Heh. And so is she, my not-so-little girl.
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© 2006, Mary P
Surprise!
Sometimes the nicest things happen through blogging. I’ve met a woman (hi, Jen!) I’d otherwise never have known, I’ve had dozens of email conversations about interesting things with interesting people (too many to list), and more than a few trans-continental phone calls! (You know who you are!) I’ve even made some friends. (“Even” because acquaintances are easy; ‘friends’, in my experience, are harder to come by.) I’ve picked up snippets of new information, learned a thing or two, had some thought-provoking challenges thrown my way.
This weekend was another nice thing, my first tangible nice thing.
Last Wednesday, I received an email from a lurker, which sometimes happens. This lurker, however, was a bit different. She’d planned a trip to Ottawa this past weekend, but circumstances arose at the last minute which prevented her from coming. She had tickets for a special event. Would I like them?
Three tickets to the Cirque du Soleil!! Would I like them?!?
No one in my family had ever seen a Cirque show, though of course we’d all heard about the amazing costumes, the music, the theatrics, the creativity, the entire remaking of the concept of “circus”. The last time they were in town, replacing a cracked window and repairing a leaky porch took precedence over such frivolities… Sigh.
The show was amazing. Thank you, Monica!
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© 2006, Mary P
Different Kind of Meme
Check out this cool idea! Grab your cameras and capture some street art – then send him the link.
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© 2006, Mary P
‘Tis the Season
Our first Christmas card arrives!
“From your friends at PharmaRite.” Emma looks up, puzzled. “We have friends at PharmaRite?”
“Now that we’ve returned our stolen goods, we do.”
“Oh. Did you do that already?”
“I thought you guys did that last night, when you went out.”
“Noooo..” Emma looks guilty. Probably didn’t want the embarrassment.
“Gah.” Oh, well. I can do it. I’ll just make sure I return it to the woman who omitted to scan them – she can see my embarrassment and raise it twofold, poor woman.
“So we have no friends at PharmaRite.”
“Not yet!”
Emma throws the card out.
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© 2006, Mary P
First Aid Challenge
Anna wakes from her nap. She’s a snuggler upon waking, and usually likes to sit in my lap for a few minutes before joining the others. I enjoy it, too. She leans again me, warm and cuddly, the top of her head just the right height for a quick kiss now and then. I pick up her hand as it lays in her lap and give the back of the pudgy hand a squeeze and another kiss.
Anna’s whole body tenses, and she shrieks in pain. I put the hand back. That was unexpected. Now that I consider, her left arm is laying funny. It doesn’t look quite right. I wiggle the wrist, flex the fingers. Nothing appears awry. Squeeze the fingernails. They go white, and immediately pink again. Good, good. Lift the arm midway. It’s limp. Let it go. It drops with a thump. Not normal. My heartrate accelerates as I consider. I can feel the thud in my chest.
I slip her shirt off, compare left shoulder to right, manipulate her shoulder, checking for dislocation. Everything appears normal. I lift her arm and gently bend the elbow. It moves without obvious discomfort, but falls, inert, to her lap when I let it go.
“Emma, get me one of those mini doughnuts, will you?”
I hold the doughnut in front of the baby. Anna reaches with her right hand. I give her a bit, then hold the right hand down. Anna reaches with her left hand.
Phew. She can move it. Anna reaches with her left hand, but then uses the two hands together to bring it to her mouth. Not so good. We try it again, holding the right arm the whole time. She lifts the doughnut towards her mouth with her left hand, but then ducks her head down to bite.
What is going on? It’s not broken – how could it be, and me not notice? It’s not dislocated. I rub the skin of her forearm. She winces and yelps with pain.
Hmmm… I think I know what this is. Squeeze her hand. More wincing, but no shrieks this time.
Ten minutes later, the girl is right as rain. Any ideas?
~~~~~~~~~~~~
© 2006, Mary P
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