“I’m going to go get some air out of my room. So I can fly!”
“I put the wind up in the sky. So I can fly!”
“The wind is going to blow you up in the sky so you can fly and your compuner* so you can e-mail!”
* Yes, she says “compuner” instead of “computer.” In spite of us working with her to say it correcnly (sic). Or maybe she’s combined “computer” and “commune.”
And from the “Who says TV is bad” Department:
Emma: Turtles don’t have any teeth!
John: They don’t?! Where did you learn that?
Emma: On TeeVee.
Not great, but as good as I could get, fighting, as I was, my own ignorance regarding my camera and the flash, and Emma’s limited attention span.
Heck, I don’t even know if I got the accouterments on correctly!
So I’m looking at the Radio Flyer #36 Classic Red 10″ Bicycle. Just, you know. Because I’m looking.
And I look over the list of “features.”
- Classic bicycle styling
- 10″ steel spoked wheels with real rubber tires
- Chain drive
- Sturdy steel construction
- Padded, adjustable seat
- Chrome handlebars and fenders
- Ringing chrome bell
- Training wheels
- No brakes
So that all looks pretty goo…wait a dang minute…no brakes!? What the?!?!
“No brakes” is a “feature”? I hope they mean “no brakes like you’ll find on a ten speed,” and not “No brakes like they just failed on our 72 Gremlin, but we’re broke and gonna drive it anyway, so look out for us!”
I think I’ll see what Schwinn has to offer. Something with, oh, I dunno…brakes, maybe?
So Emma and I are eating a home-made banana split, listening to a mix playlist (Robert Johnson, and artists who’ve covered his songs.) Cream comes on, playing “Crossroads.”
I went down to the crossroads, tried to flag a ride.
Down to the crossroads, tried to flag a ride.
Nobody seemed to know me, everybody passed me by.
Emma, possibly juiced on ice cream, starts dancing. Until the song ends, and then Robert Johnson, playing the original “Crossroad Blues” comes on. She’s dissappointed, because she wanted to dance, and she can’t dance to an old delta blues tune. So I cue up “Mantenca” by Ella Fitzgerald, a song she’s gone crazy to in the past. She loves it, especially when I step away from the ice cream for a turn on the dance floor with her.
After that, I cue up the Brian Setzer Orchestra’s “Dirty Boogie” LP (except it’s on MP3), and she goes to town. Until it’s time to run to her preschool to take a look at the photos in the following (or is it preceding) post.
A couple of pictures from her preschool
(click on the thumbnail for a larger view):
While in Chicago, they put statues of
bulls (cows, Margaret’s informed me) painted by artists on the street corners, in Austin, “the live music capital of the world,” they put guitars, similarly festooned, on the streets. Here’s Emma, rather too tired to put up with daddy’s request for a photograph, or mommy’s request to play the guitar. (Click on thumbnail to see a larger view.)
Emma: Can I smash the baked bean?
John: If you must needs smash your baked bean, smash it on your plate.
Emma (after smashing and eating the bean): Can I smash another baked bean?
John: Yes, you may smash another baked bean…on your plate.
- Something I’d never have thought I’d have to say: “Emma, don’t hang from your drawer.”
- Also, I never considered I’d have to explain the difference between boy potties and girl potties.
- Finally, I never imagined I’d have a perfectly charming conversation about big toots and little toots while my daughter was sitting on a potty in a men’s room at pre-school.
So it’d been a restless night, we didn’t have anything pressing going on this morning, so I was laying in bed, waiting for Emma to wake up. The Cat was meowing – hungry, I suppose, or had forgotten how to get from the living room to the bedroom. (I have to cut him some slack. He’ll be 17 years old this month.) I was ignoring him, or trying to.
Would I couldn’t ignore, however, was the sound of dry cat foot being placed in his bowls. This I had to get up to check out.
So I went to the kitchen and surreptitiously peeked around the corner. She’d carried the big bag of dry cat food to his bowls, and was putting a few handfuls in each bowl. Then she carried it back to where she’d gotten it.
Finally ready, she called The Cat into the kitchen. “Here TC! Here’s some food for you boy!”
How sweet is that?