Last weekend, Zach took Zoe to an SCA event. There's a guy here in town who has more money than God, and he happens to be an SCA guy, too, and he's got this huge property whereon he's built little cottages and a little castle, and a pirate ship and a bunch of other medievaloid things, and there are often events out there. So somehow Zach ended up being the Entertainment Guy for Other People's Children, and he and Zoe were playing with a group of kids in the castle. Everybody else was being a princess and Zach was a dragon, and they were chasing each other around, being silly. Here is the question: What was Zoe pretending to be?
Think hard.
Think, think, think.
Give up?
A cactus.
Although we do indeed have wild cacti popping up on the side of the road all over the place out here, I have yet to experience the free-range variety. Evidently, I have one upstairs. Considering how often we get scratched up after an encounter with her, I'm beginning to believe her.
A few days ago, as we were riding in the car, we heard a siren. Zoe immediately identified it as an ambulance. I told her, "That's right. When you see an ambulance, it means somebody is sick or hurt, and the people in the ambulance are going to help them." Then, we talked about other sirens being fire engines, and then how others were police cars. I told Zoe, "Sometimes people get in trouble, and the police go to help." She took that in and let it age for a few days. The next time we heard a siren, she said, "That's a police car! Somebody wasn't listening to their Mommy, and they got in trouble!"
Because she listens to her own personal Mommy so very often. (!)
Last night, she wanted me to go into the kitchen to get her some bread. When I didn't jump to it fast enough, she said, "Mommy, go. In. To. The. Kitchen. I mean it! Go into the kitchen! I mean it! Go! Mommy, GO!" It is patently obvious to see that she can listen when she wants to. She clearly hears me gearing up to go on a garment-rending, tooth-gnashing spree of hopelessness and despair over offspring who care not a whit for the plaintive mewlings of their parents, but she doesn't hear ENOUGH to actually DO what I'm mewling about.
Have you noticed how neatly I hop from one story to another with nary a segue? The quantum quality of my thought processes is fascinating, no?
Also, I finished off ANOTHER package of cream cheese. The madness continues.
Anyway. . .
Tell me: how are these things related?
Just to be clear, we're talking about: Thumper, a very wholesome, white and jaunty Jesus, and the delicious pan dulce we call "conchas."
They are all part of the same song composed by my daughter. Okay, not COMPOSED, exactly. More like "inserted into an already composed a long time ago" song.
Where is Thumper?/Where is Thumper?/Here I am!/Here I am!/How are you today, sir?/Very well, I thank you!/Run away!/Run away! This is all sung to the tune of Frere Jaques, or Brother John (hey! Do you think those two are related somehow?)
It then goes on to ask: Where is Jesus? Where is concha? She also asked where is alligator, but I didn't have room to put 4 pictures in a row up there. Here's the alligator:
And that's a weird song, anyway. Exactly how many times have you taken off running after a polite exchange of pleasantries? Hmmmm. I've done it more often than I care to admit, actually. So to loop around to the beginning of this "thought," I'd really love to see the path her mind took while staggering from Thumper, to Jesus, to chonchas, to an alligator. I think my own thought processes might lead me on a path more like: cheese to shoes to marmosets to brand new beautiful berber carpet that's $3.00 a square yard at Home Depot.
Now, before you call me and ask if I'm okay (I am. I just finished a homework assignment for school that took 3 hours longer than I expected, and I'm just exhausted in general,) I'll post our glorious Halloween shots.
Zoe was a fairy again this year, and we hired the best seamstress in the house to put it together. Here--I'll just give you the photo.
Yes, I know. FREAKING CUTE!
Here she's posing with our neighbors, who we went trick-or-treating with. Next to her is Sam, about to be 3 in about a month. Next to sam is Darth Vader, although he's in Stealth Mode. This particular Darth Vader particularly likes to whine. All the time. He also goes by the name of Will, and is 5 years old. The tiny screaming leopard is Kate, about 9 weeks old, and the tonsured monk holding her is her father, Doug, who was calling himself St. Ambrose for the evening. The sliver of readhead on the right is Gina, wife of St. Ambrose, mother of the ghost, Darth Vader and the leopard.
This drunkenly crooked shot is the kids collecting goodies from our neighbor on the other side, Beverly. I included it because I wanted to point out the fairy's wide-legged stance, which I presume was to steady herself against the certain onslaught of candy that would be coming her way. No fool, my kid. Brace yourself, then go in for the kill!
She is now addicted to suckers.
