Pointing and making a grunting noise La Grande Mermaid was gesturing at the Lemon Chicken.
What?
More Chicken!
Excuse me?
More CHICKEN!! [gesturing more vehemently]
You are almost seven years old. I would like a full sentence please.
oh, sorry;
Then in a very polite voice –
Can I have some more Lemon Chicken please…period!
She absolutely got her lemon chicken.
Tonight we enjoyed a spectacular dance show.
The Mermaids were showing all of their best moves, extemporaneously, in the living room to the soundtrack to High School Musical.
We saw shoulder shrugs, toes pointing, bridge-roll-overs, spins, donkey-kicks, leaps, twirls, lips-pursing, somersaults, one after the other for two or more songs in a row. Each song ended with a special “end-pose”.
The Mommy and I both agreed that we were seeing something special and Emma agreed wholeheartedly
as she continued to dance
We are movin‘
and groovin‘ it
and breakin’ it down guys!
Don’t ask me where she got that from…neither of us have a clue.
After lunch The Wee Mermaid implored The Mommy for more mango.
No honey, I don’t want you to get a belly ache.
The Wee One got off her chair, approached The Mommy with a puppy dog look, rubbed her belly longingly and soberly made her plea
But Mom. My bonesth need more mango.
She got more mango.
After planning a prospective overnight bike ride BopOp recapped the plan.
After work on Friday we catch the ferry, ride to Port Gamble, stay the night and the next day catch the ferry back to Seattle and ride all the way home.
Yeah, sounds good.
Abby, obviously engaged in our conversation spoke up in a desirous tone
I wanna go on a ferry.
Emma, idling for the moment on Monya’s lap, streamed her consciousness from under her sassy (pacifier)
I wanna go on a horse.
It was a moment which made it clear she is fully engaged; and synchronously beating a different drum.
lit·er·al·ism: n. Adherence to the explicit sense of a given text or doctrine.
In swimming lessons recently WeeOne was getting used to having her face in the water. She isn’t afraid of it really, she and her mer-sister dunk their faces in all the time. In fact, WeeOne has always been more comfortable with water on her face than LaGrande,
BUT
She is three now and if she isn’t (is?) in the mood, she interprets instructions very literally: sometimes honestly and occasionally, and even successfully, as an escape. We may never know her motivations on this day but literalism mode was on.
The instructor put the front of her own face in the water, blew some bubbles, came up for air and said:
Okay ladies, it’s time to get our noses wet!
With these ‘clear’ instructions WeeOne promptly dabbed her free hand into the pool, brought it up to her face, and patted her nose until wet. Next.
16 hours isn’t how long it will take you to read this post, but it is a long post.
16 hours isn’t how long it has been since I have posted something new, it is actually much longer than that.
16 hours will be a significant sign of the times as you will come to find out.
Memorial Day 2009
The NoRen and the SoRen Zimmerman familys visited with the SoWa Zimmerman family for bike riding and fun. Did we ever.
The days were gorgeous, the nights were clear, the company was vigorous, the agenda was action packed, and fun was had by all.
We started off with a camp out after a late Friday arrival. The Men camped out, for that is what we were my friend; that night, in that cold, we were men.
The next day, with the sun on our face, and crinks in our necks, we didn’t wait long for the fugue to begin
nor the arrival of the NoRen Zimmermans.
And plans were drawn up for a bike ride in Portland in the late afternoon.
The day then was filled with frequent visits down to the “Chicken Poop”,
trampoline fun,
kitties,
and general dirt lovin’ fun,
with an occasional movie thrown in for good measure.
Nap time proved the right time to set up the bikes, fix flats, load up two vehicles, corral four blonde dust devils and hit the road.
We made for a flat portion of Springwater trail which turns out to be quite a well known route in Portland…so popular in fact it has it’s own website – I wonder how it get’s it’s internet connection…no matter…where was I? Oh yes, biking.
We left the walkers at the Beggars Tick Wildlife Refuge. Abby and Arthur in tow and Jamey G. on his own for the first time. 6.25 miles, one test ride (and one small touchdown), about 80 minutes, and 10 hungry bellies later we made our way over to La Hala.
Here we feasted like kings, or the Lebanese equivalent, let’s call it a Prime Minister. The food kept on coming and the gang kept on eating right on through bedtime.
The kids had played hard yet only one fell asleep on the ride home.
And again, the tough ones, the Men, camped; and all of us over ten engaged our trusty air mattresses.
The night was clear and cold and the stars were magnificent. There were too many satellites to count.
The next day we re-packed the cars for a bike ride of a different sort. A nearby oasis of a park, Lewisville Park served as our stomping ground.
It was good for climbing trees,
taking naps, and yes; riding bikes.
Lewisville proved to be the place where Abby learned to ride. The pedals were put on, the training wheels were off, the helmet was clicked in and
Let go Dad! I don’t need you any more.
It kinda hurts the first time you hear it but truer words weren’t spoken for the remainder of the afternoon.
After lunch we headed back to Fort Bale for a windy evening of kite flying.
These days seemed meant for just being.
Cousins on the farm,
making up games,
flying kites,
and finding snakes.
The Mens camp that night was invaded by a powerful force. Abby insisted on Camping on the Tramp! Without further instruction we turned the trampoline into a bed made for six. With good camp-jokes to keep us laughing and a view of the International Space Station brighter than the brightest star, we stayed up late and slept hard…indeed we woke up even harder.
Monday was our day to leave, but with a good breakfast and more experiments to be run from The Explosives Kit we soon learned of SuperSnot and other creations,
I need green food coloring and warm water.
We didn’t head out until noontime.
Four hours later the SoRen Zimmermans arrived home. A remarkably quiet ride with two good movies to occupy the nearly hungover Mermaids.
When the eagle had landed we all, save Abby, wanted naps. The Mommy caught 45 minutes, The Daddy an hour, and The WeeOne capped the weekend with a 16 hour nap (unbroken ‘cept for a midnight snack of warm chocolate milk).
It was powerful fun.
Abby titled this post and Emma added,
No! and Dad!
Today, however, belonged to The Mommy.
We woke up, made breakfast, served it in bed per tradition, and immediately prepared to do a walk with a picnic down by the lake. The destination was a ‘Castle Turret’ near Interstate 90.
…
…
…
…
About two and a half hours later we were ready to go.
As we arrived two fundamental issues were quickly discovered with my well laid plans.
They weren’t bugs, problems, nor really even features per se…just issues that could not be deferred; there was no workaround.
Software geeks in the audience will understand and just about everybody reading this is related (by marriage or blood) to a software geek and may therefore implore upon said geek for an explanation if you care enough. It isn’t critical to the story…more like a funny little inconsequential aside Easter Egg.
Anyway, back to our day.
Two issues
Number two isn’t a true problem unless you intend on supplementing bicycle recon with a drive by.
As a result we ended up walking 1.1 miles each way, in princess dresses, mismatched shoes, with picnic fixins, blankets and all just to see the castle turret.
But…along the way we sure had a heckuva good time and took a heckuva lot of pictures.
We got back very tired, some of us already sleeping, and all took a nice nap.
It was a good day.
P.S. Did I mention that we took one hundred and sixteen photos in about 3 hours…I may have to look into a better way to show these off if this trend continues.
The Wee One is living the explosive part of her linguistic life right now.
I can hardly keep up with them, and the really good ones (like amn’t and noie) seem to be sticking.
Her new conjunctions aren’t stopping with simple words and she has moved onto phrases.
Yesterday when she was served a really big orange as a snack at Monya and BopOps house (even at three) she recognized the magnitude of the fruit and exclaimed with conviction,
Oh my Cow!
That suits me just fine!
P.S. This is, I think, the first time I have posted an entry about something that neither Ang nor myself witnessed. I am instead relating the story as told to me by La Grande Mermaid.
I am in catchup mode, so this may end up a lot like a list. If I get clever it may turn into a story along the way but I am not holding out hope.
Emma has coined another word:
Mommie!!
Whatie!!
I want candy?
Not right now. You can have a round cheese.
Noie! I want candy.
She also calls a ‘swimsuit’ a ‘swimsoup‘.
Abby lost her first top tooth last week.
We went for a walk in the spring weather and found a bench to sit on.
Abby got a green participant ribbon at the science fair for a demonstration on how (not) to grow sugar crystals.
Lastly, I snapped a couple of good shots this morning playing Bork Uncle with Emma.
So Emma, at about 3AM the other night, woke up with another bad dream…
Mommy! I had a bad dweeem! (sobbing quietly)
Oh honey, It’s okay, it was just a dream.
The Daddy was twying to fwow me into a bit! (sup-sup)
Oh sweetie, that wasn’t real honey it was just a dream.ah hah
Would our Daddy throw you into a pit? No. He wouldn’t do that would he?
No (sup) the Weel Daddy wouldn’t do that.
(a little perkier now)
Weel Daddies do Up-High, and Buttup-High, and Hipsup-High, and Towwewr.
(thinking of her favorite games)
THAT what Weel Daddies do!
…
Wheh is the Weel Daddy?He is sleeping.
Oh. Ok, I want him.
Being 3AM I was sleeping like a runaway train; oblivious yet focused.
As it turns out, this was the third bad dweem she has had about me in the past couple weeks. In the other two I was withholding access to her Bibbit pillow and pulling the fuzz off of her Bibbit pillow respectively. Pulling the fuzz off her Bibbit could be construed as nightmarish under almost any circumstances.
So tonight at bedtime she brought it up again:
You the Weel Daddy.
Yes, I am the Real Daddy.
What do Pwetend Daddies do?
Well, that is a good question. But, if they are pretend Daddies can’t they pretty much do anything you want ’em to?
Uh huh…like twy to fwow me into a bit.
Yikes, kid! Knock it off with the Pwetend Daddy fwowing you into a bit already?
I didn’t do it and, frankly, I don’t even know what IT is?
As it turns out, “fwow me into a bit” has been further explained at some length and seems to be her way of saying something related to me (I mean Pwetend Daddy) trying to bite (bit) her big toe. That is really kind of a focus for a lot of things lately. It is where the really big coughs come from and the place that the last scrap of food goes at dinner…I suppose it’s really just ‘land’s end’ on her body.
Anyway, I haven’t exactly gotten to the bottom of “fwow me into a bit” yet and even Abby gave me a quizzical shrug when I looked to her for much needed help.
I guess there is no direct translation.
blief 