Classic quotes, Vol. 37

Here's a selection of some recent notable quotes, this time (again) all from my very quotable 5-year-old daughter M-:

M- (apropos of nothing one day, after she'd been playing by herself.... possibly a sign she may have been playing with her older brother too much): I would be a great astronaut-killer! (asked to elaborate) It's a guy who attacks and fights astronauts!

M- (showing off her strength, before almost falling over a basketball her little brother E- had accidentally rolled in her path): I can carry this HUGE chair, Dad! ... As long as E- keeps his BALLS out of the way...

M- (coming breathlessly into our room one morning, after we'd ignored an automated call identified as coming from my wife's teacher union): It's an URGENT call, on the answering machine-- it's an emergency! They're attacking our pensions, and our rights, and we need to vote!

M- (referring to Silly String, in a voice like a commercial): Kids LOVE this stuff!!

Corporate Intelligence, Vol. 5

Though I was born and grew up out here in the Chicago suburbs, I lived in Northern Maine for over 3 years, until about a year and a half ago. Since that move, oblivious companies of all shapes and sizes who must hate the sight and smell of their own money took it upon themselves, with the assistance of the USPS and phone companies, to update their mailing and calling lists with my new information.

Now, this common practice makes sense for most nationally focused corporations, even if their message isn't always skewed appropriately for the drastically different region, time zone, accent, economic sphere, population density, worldview, pronunciation of various important words,* voting habits, or level of quaintness of my "new home".

What I'm really thrown by is the local businesses and organizations who seem to consider Reality Checks the province of "city slickers who don't have the sense to root for the Mighty Red Sox even when they live physically closer to Boston than we do."

Here are just two examples:

• Once we stopped getting the usual bits of local junk mail forwarded by the Post Office halfway across the country just to be immediately discarded, we started instead getting local junk mail formally addressed to our new house, trying to lure us back 1400 miles just to catch a mildly unbeatable deal on snow tires (This Weekend Only!) or The County's best interest rate on a snowmobile loan GUARANTEED!

• Lately, we've been getting automated calls from the Maine Democratic and Republican Parties, urging us to support their presidential candidate or vote against the opposing candidate, respectively. While you may say that a national campaign warrants a national calling list, you must agree that a long-distance call from Maine begging an Illinois voter to support his own Senator, elected with 70% of the vote just 4 years ago, is a senseless waste of money.

And lest you think that Democrats in Maine just don't have the time, money, or manpower to weed out useless numbers from their automatically updated phone lists, you should know that the strikingly low population of Maine allows it to have a single area code covering the entire state, and I'm pretty sure that even Thomas Edison's original autodialer** could be programmed in 10 seconds to ignore any numbers not beginning with 207.

But then where would AT&T and Verizon get the cash to buy both the ink for their Important Messages AND the souls of folks who'll speak out against Net Neutrality?

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* Moving back, almost exclusively, from Incorrect to Correct, including, but certainly not limited to, the words permit and aunt ("aaaaaaaant"... I say if you don't live in London or Cape Cod, just give the whole "ahnt" thing a rest, already).

** Used to plant seeds in the minds of the nation's 137 early telephone adopters that Nicola Tesla fathered a black baby out of wedlock with his secret Muslim terrorist mistress, and that Alternating Current was just typical Liberal flip-flopping.

Revenge of the Leafs

Since I've been so lax in responding to comments (and visiting people's blogs) in the past few weeks (and possibly indefinitely), I thought that instead of adding a bunch of responses now that no one would see, I'd write a separate post acknowledging your comments on this recent post showcasing M-'s language development through the lens of a leaf assault.

First off, I'd appreciate it if you guys would keep the violence of this neglect-ridden incident hush-hush. That is, unless Child Protective Services would be willing to work out some kind of time-sharing arrangement in which they would take the kids away from us only on Friday or Saturday nights, and maybe a day or so during the week as needed.

As for M-'s seemingly accelerated development in certain areas, I have nothing to offer in the way of tips or tricks, as requested, except to say that you should apparently try to spend as much time on the computer as legally allowed; never plan anything voluntarily or arrive anywhere on time; only feed your children random, disturbing combinations of food ALWAYS outside of whatever society tells you should be a Meal Time; and be ready to fend off many, many hard plastic finger puppets, because my friends, There Will Be Poinkings.

The rules of M-, Vol. 1

Here are just five of the rules for life my 20-month-old daughter M- seems to live by:

1. If you find a little bit of something gross on the floor and you're struck with the admirable idea that you should go throw it away, you immediately get credit for that, even if you give up after one guess of which cabinet hides the garbage can and you then unceremoniously eat said bit.

2. Children must be heard and seen, at all times.

3. As long as you combine the vocabulary of a 4-year-old and the logical powers of a 5-year-old with the cuteness of a 6-week-old, people are much more willing to forgive the destructiveness of a 17-year-old.

4. Everyone must inform a high-ranking baby of every single thing they are doing, big or small.

5. Insisting that adults repeat something on demand over and over again, long after you know their response back and forth, will not only cement it in your memory, but it will push them into a hypnotic state in which it's impossible for them to resist digging out a pacifier for you.

See also: The rules of D-

Given the economy, Santa may soon call in lots of "loans"

Alright, all you language lovers, now that it's been 10 years since Bill Clinton let us all know there was some uncertainty about the meaning of the word is, it's high time that a government corruption trial provide us with a new definition for what we thought to be a simple, unchanging word:

What's a gift? Sen. Stevens testifies on freebies

---

"He bought that chair as a gift, but I refused it as a gift," Stevens said. "He put it there and said it was my chair. I told him I would not accept it as a gift. We have lots of things in our house that don't belong to us. ... I refused it as a gift. I let him put it in our basement at his request."

---

Given this wonderful new definition of gift, here's a helpful (for you) list of things I'd like to indefinitely borrow from any or each of you:

• Your car.
• Some* of your money.
• A bunch of your coolest stuff, hand-selected by me.
• Your clicks on the Amazon links to the right whenever you're heading there to do your Indefinite-Loan-Granting-Season shopping. Nearly starving** would-be orphans will thank you for their commission.

---

* By some, I mean most. Thanks for understanding.
** Fussiness is an acceptable reason for starvation, right? I may need to give the Red Cross a call.

A conversation with M-: We'll have to amputate

Because it provides a very revealing look into where we are on several fronts of my 20-month-old daughter M-'s advanced development, I thought I'd share this short conversation that took place recently after I brushed a couple of leaves off the trunk of our car:

M-: Ow, Dad!! Dad-- ow.

Me: What's wrong, honey?

M- (gesturing to her outstretched foot): You frew the leafs at my shoe.

Me: ... Oh... sorry.

M-: Thank you.

My son the Arch-Villain

Ladies and gentlemen, in the interest of all our safety, I feel compelled to inform you that I have reason to believe my 4-year-old son may in fact be the next in a long line of supervillains. And not necessarily one of the campy kinds.

Just look at this ferocious face he was making in the picture for this recent post:
If I hadn't otherwise suspected his secret identity, I'm pretty sure my suspicions would have been raised by his frequent claims to being an evil figure, whether specific or not. He has been Captain Hook (a LOT) and "black Spider-Man (I've never been clear where he found out about Venom), but generally he just declares himself (in a comically deep and menacing voice) to be "a BAAAAAD guyyyyy!" or sometimes "a BAD [insert random but dramatic action word] guy!"

While he also does the same thing with much more mundane figures, such as "I'm a crane guy!", "I'm a cooker guy!", or "I'm a garbage man!", he definitely tends more towards the dastardly side.

On top of that, at many a breakfast time, when asked what he'd like to eat, he seems to begin wildly threatening people with something called "pain-cakes".

Finally, to settle any remaining dispute, I recently found this behind the couch, and to quote Dave Barry, I swear I am not making this up:
I'm assuming the green rope, at least, is made largely of Kryptonite.

Poor bastard never stood a chance.

Developments at our house, Vol. 11

Here's more of the latest developments around our house:

1. I've advised D- to invest some pennies in one of those super-skinny piano-key neckties, based on the amount of time he's lately been spending tickling the plastics on his toy synthesizer.

2. In a triumph for those who claim toilet humor as the inborn and fundamental base of all things that are funny, my 20-month-old daughter M-'s latest addition to her comedy routine consists of pointing to her backside and declaring, "Bum-bum!" before dissolving into giddy laughter.

3. D- has completed some kind of generational shift by referring to our corded phone as, I kid you not, a "cordless phone with a cord".

4. After spilling a large cup of juice all over our recliner, the floor, and myself, my second thought was that at least it will smell a lot better than most of the other things spilled around our house.

5. M- may have become the first known human in untold thousands of years to happily eat a raw crabapple, perhaps because it was sweetened to tolerability by the illicitness of having stolen it from the pile D- had gathered from the yard.

North Dakota on my mind

In a footnote yesterday, I suggested that I might compare* the U.S. state of North Dakota to a state of near-death.

You must understand that I say this based on the fact that it's the only U.S. state from which I haven't yet recorded a visit to this blog. Every other state has sent me anywhere from a handful to well over a thousand hits, and in fact half the states have visited at least a hundred times, along with 53 foreign countries, but between the two Dakotas, I'm holding steady at 1 visit in almost 8 months.

What gives, Dakotas?!? We must have some common interests or interpersonal connection that might trick you into coming here. Given that you have the highest percentage of churchgoing citizens in the U.S. (according to Wikipedia**) and your highest point is something called White Butte, I feel sure it's a temptation when I suggest you can stop by once in awhile to yell at me for being a "filthy, godless, America-hating, city-slicking, Obama-loving, liberal hippie!" Sound good? You know it does.

Actually, the most cutting of criticisms would be that this whole post is just a ploy to attract an unsuspecting hitchhiker or two wandering the Google turnpike from up Dakota way. This, however, is not remotely accurate, and furthermore: "Gov. John Hoeven", "Mt. Rushmore sucks", Sioux, departing, "Western Meadowlark", "flights out", Minot, "how much longer till I can leave", and "Who needs Mt. Rushmore, anyway... we're just not that showy".

Whatever you wanna say to me now, funny-talking folks, fire at will-- my comment board is open as always!

In closing, it is a distinct honor to disappoint you, my likely-incensed casual North Dakotan drop-ins. I'd love you to stay, but if you simply can't, I ask only that you leave a tiny piece of your Very Upper Midwest souls with my friends at Google Analytics on your way back out the door, so I can finally finish coloring in my cool map of the U.S. various shades of green***.

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* In case you were born/raised in North Dakota, or you have family there, or you'd just like to defend a physically large state containing only almost exactly 10 times the number of people as the minor Chicago suburb in which I live, please note the supremely artful and undeniably endearing hedging of my phrasing^ here. I'd appreciate it if instead of cursing at me, you just chuckled lovingly and suggested I go into politics. ...Okay, go ahead now.

** This is a disclaimer that must always accompany any fact taken from Wikipedia-- new rule.

*** They don't call it "Anal-ytics" for nothing!

^ Or alternatively, you could just admire my extensive and arguably excessive use of adverbs and gerunds.

Momma's lieutenant

You know, I could pad this out by going on and on, beating around the bush by saying the same thing several different ways and not taking the time to edit at least half of them out before clicking Publish, as I am wont to do, but I think one paragraph* is really all that's needed:

I've decided that it says something important about my current lifestyle that at only 19 months old, M- has already been pressed to develop the ability to say something as complex as, "Eyem hun-gree! ... Wanna eat somethin', Daddy. ... Ged-dup, Daddy... please! Ged-dup and get food for [M-], please. Ged-DUP!" as she tugs on my hand when I'm just trying to blog in peace.


* Hi there! Welcome to my little hideout-- everyone knows footnotes don't count as part of the body, so I can say whatever I want without regard to my previous statements, common courtesy, or international treaties. I just wanted to note that in true hyper-little-kid form, she said this like so many other things lately almost in one breath, as if time somehow moves more quickly for her than for everyone else, and she'd finally given up asking nicely after 400 human milliseconds.

It's a good thing kids can only starve at the same rate as real people, or my "Dan-minutes"** and I would have gotten me in pretty big trouble long ago.

** I don't think I need to explain how this term came about, but I'll just say that many of my friends, family, and casual acquaintances have bonded deeply while discussing it.

Caution: Men Not Working

In case you were looking for more signs that we're surrounded by people who are dangerously lazy, and that we are definitely ruled by people who want us all to be so, here's a nice little tidbit for you:

Recently, while helping J- to relieve one of several local office-supply stores of the remainder of their loss leading pencils and notebooks, I saw a big display for a "Reduced Effort Stapler", which promised* to save me "70% of the effort required by traditional staplers."

Using a specific figure like this of course relies on the illusion, if not the actual fact, that they performed some kind of clinical research into this pressing problem. This is almost enough to stun me into silence, which you must have already realized is quite an impressive feat.

How they even managed to break down the effort needed to staple a couple pieces of paper together in the first place exceeds my imagination-- they've got to be coming as close to dividing by zero as anyone ever has. The undernourished math nerd in me, suddenly remembering the word asymptote way too late for my freshman year midterm, is eager to see the graphs* produced by this crack team throughout what must have been an incredibly arduous R&D process.

It was probably almost as complex as the epic gauntlet that was the gestation of that pinnacle of American ingenuity, electric scissors.**

Please come save us from ourselves, Jebus!


* They might have come out something like these classic graphs from xkcd.***

** Already ridiculed beautifully by David Cross.

*** Now that I've found another reason to link to this hilariously perfect and wonderful comic, I'll also point out this one that seems to have been made for J- and I as much as this one was.

Developments at our house, Vol. 10

Here is the 10th nearly-monthly set of Developments at our house:

1. Due to the recent removal of a bothersome mole, I can no longer in good conscience equate my intimate knowledge of something to that of the back of my hand. At least, not for a couple of years, 'cause I mean, what the hell is going on over there? Up is down, down is up... I could swear I used to have more knuckles. I feel absolutely adrift whenever I look over towards that hand, like someone else must be reaching around from behind me, or something. And I can't help but thinking their hideous hand would be almost tolerable to look at with the addition of some kind of beauty mark.

2. My 4-year-old son D- has made official his creation of a new word --poinking-- by using it in conversation for the 500th time. I was more than a little disappointed when balloons didn't fall from the ceiling. I'd peg his definition of the word, based on context, as something like, "To poke with extreme prejudice."

3. I have made a bold new resolution to begin to really decide what specifically I will start improving about things around here.

4. I've found that a 4-year-old inexplicably whispering in your ear the very detailed and suddenly secret story of how he went to the bathroom, and then washed his hands all by himself, comes off much like an obscene phone call appealing to an impossibly small niche audience. Hence it is an extremely disturbing experience.

5. As an update on one of my previous resolutions, I am making great progress towards not dividing everything possible in my life into multiples of five.

In Search of Lost Limbs*

Excuse me while I cut with a knife the suspense in the air caused by Friday's post. Anyone care for a slice? No? More for me, then. I'll just move on to today's post:

---

By the time I got back to the party from my distant parking spot, the kids were already in the thick of a tangled mass of bouncing toddler bodies. Note that I didn't mind the walk at all, since I'm always compulsively looking for chances to get steps, but I was eager to see what wonders this party would hold. The first thing I saw upon walking in, even before confirming my children weren't being trampled to death in a Bouncy House**, was a giant, two-story inflatable slide.

I felt drawn to this magnificent mountain in a way that only those who allow destiny to take firm control of their rudder would recognize. I knew something special had been foretold to happen here, and I must not let something as simple as a ceremony commemorating three years since a child's birth interfere with Lady Fortune having her way with me.

I went through the usual pleasantries and dropped our present off with the others, but my eye, and my heart, was always on this monument of mirth. Once I was informed that adults were welcome to enter the bouncy castle, I mourned my self-imposed restriction from bouncing around in it like a carefree child, knowing I would end up breaking some kid's face, but at the same time my mind's eye*** turned happily back to The Slide. I called D- over and casually asked him if he had tried the slide yet. All I had to do next was reel that sucker in right out of his shallow pool and sail over slidewards.

Sometimes you just gotta sacrifice your own fun for the sake of your kids', you know?

I suppressed my smile down to "oh, aren't kids cute when they're excited about silly little trifles" level and giddily scaled the slide's bouncy built-in staircase. We got to the top, counted to three, and took off down The Widowmaker. To complete my dalliance in the realm of childhood traditions, I immediately donated half my elbow skin to the waxed vinyl Valhalla that is Pump It Up.

With my many years of practice, I was able to play it cool, but man, the gaping hole that used to be my elbow still stings a bit, over four days later. I'm thinking of contacting the Museum of Science and Industry to find out if they're interested in putting me on display**** to give small children the opportunity to see what the inside of a real, live human elbow looks like.

Despite the pain, I went down that slide with D- and a very happy M- many more times, but you'd better believe I was keeping a close watch on all exposed skin. D-, of course, paid little attention to my warnings and left with his flesh unmolested sheerly by the favor of the fickle gods of epidermal abuse. Less forgivable was my wife J- getting her own tiny burn on her only trip down about 40 minutes later-- I guess I was too stoic to make her believe that slide really was hungry in a way that only human-meat can satisfy.

I can't help but wonder if this place has a surreptitious profit center in harvesting small patches of skin and selling them to burn units all over the world, but that's unimportant compared to the discomfort I felt later that day in trying to use an armrest for its named purpose.

And so we arrive back at the promised reason I didn't post on Thursday-- I accept no substitutes in any area of life^, and if I couldn't sit here in my chair resting each and every one of my limbs completely while desperately continuing my as-yet-fruitless chase of something worthwhile to write about, then I wasn't going to come here and try to do it like some kind of pathetic three-legged table. You deserve better.

Fin

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Epilogue: For additional and expanded excuses, I offer the following appendix:

· I am a creature of habit, and none of those habits has ever included nursing the stump of an elbow. Especially not with about 100 pounds of pressure against the business end of a fuzzy chair.

· By the time we drove home after a couple hours of bouncing and then pizza, cake, and presents, it was after noon, and we were all exhausted from our unnaturally early foray into civilization. We tried to nap (some of us more effectively than others, unfortunately) for a few hours after that, and by then, any hopes for recovering to my usual schedule were in vain.

· I am very lazy. This must be exceedingly apparent to even the most casual of readers. I consider it a disability, and thus it would be rude for anyone to point it out or even fault me for it.

---

* Or, Remembrance of Skin Peeled

** My brothers and I always called these things Moonwalks as kids, probably because that was the brand name of the one they used at our grade school's fun fair, but most people I've meant seem to call them Bouncy Castles or Bouncy Houses. I was there was a universal generic term to use, because somehow "inflatable structure" doesn't have the right ring to it. Precision with utility in language is just the kind of thing I wish for in life, ranking right there before World Peace.

*** Picture the unblinking, all-seeing eye floating above the Dark Tower in The Lord of the Rings.

**** In case anyone there is reading this-- it would be a limited display, no doubt, but likely the only one of its kind. I'd like someone to get something useful out of my suffering, since my family seemed to learn nothing from my example. You could pay me in amusing trinkets from the gift shop and delicious fried foods from the cafeteria.

^ With the only exceptions being whenever I want to.

Classic quotes, Vol. 5

I almost didn't make it to post today for the first time since mid-February, since I've been putting in some long hours working for my dad this week, but I'm here during a break with a quickie post as a declaration of victory* over my procrastination demons.

So without further ado, here are some more lines uttered by our family in recent days, extra heavy on the M-, just like you ordered:

M- (anytime someone sneezes): Bwessss youuu!

M- (anytime anyone expresses pain): Sorr-ree.

M- (anytime she or anyone else burps or causes a sound even remotely resembling flatulence): Scuse mee!!

M- (anytime anyone has food, while approaching with an open mouth): Biiiiite-it.

D-: Well... it's not doin' what I want it to do, so I hit it. (simple explanation for his Hulk-like rage and subsequent violence against his belt... while wearing it)

Me (whilst discussing each other's favorite clothes we hate-- my holey old shirt vs. a hideous pair of J-'s shoes): There's not that much difference between a nipple and a stupid glued-on plastic spangle [as clothing decoration].

M- (upon seeing a surfing penguin emerge from a potentially lethal wave during an otherwise quiet moment in the movie theater**): Haa-ha-HAA!!


* Only in this mere, minor skirmish, of course. The war will rage on till the day I die... if I get around to that.

** No, this isn't a really old quote-- we just went to a free kids' show of it this morning. Isn't free stuff wonderful? Especially when your kids can shout stuff at the screen and at times not even be heard over all the other .

A conversation between M- & J-: A duel of clones

I believe the following conversation sums up most of my wife's (J-) and daughter's (M-) personalities and habits.

To set the scene, J- was sitting on the couch feeding M- some cottage cheese and peaches. Immediately after receiving a bite, M- jumped the gun on opening her mouth and saying, "Ahhh!"

J-: You don't have to show me your mouth is full-- I just put a spoonful in there, so I already know that.

M-: "Know datt!"

M- then turns to wipe her face on J-'s sock, which she had left on the coffee table the previous night... don't ask why, it's just part of J-'s mysterious charm. Or at least that's what she tells me.

J-: No, that's my sock.

M-: "My ghock!"

J-: Listen to this little parrot!

M-: "Pare-rett!"

And on it goes, all day, every day*.


* "Evree day!"

Developments at our house, Vol. 6

Here are some more developments at our house in the past few days:

1. M- found a way to confuse and frustrate Daddy-- wake up at 7:30 after a long couple of days of unexplained illness (probably exacerbated by a long night/morning out with the uncles before the wedding), and then crawl in his arms and say, "Nigh'-nigh'" HALF AN HOUR LATER. Then, after a few minutes of silence in the crib, change your mind.

2. D- learned that no, there is no medicine that can make you stop hiccuping. If there was, whoever invented it would be a trillionaire (unless they were under contract with a corporation, of course). And those riches would come just from my payments alone, for when I want to stave off a horrible headache from an hour of violent hiccups. J- finds it amusing, but as my friend Adam would say, it makes me want to kill people.

3. I re-decided that U2 is incredibly awesome, and that this is one of the best albums you will ever buy. Why pay $18 for some random CD with two decent songs on it when you can pay $14 (and that much only if you're shopping at absolutely the wrong store) for one jam-packed with this kind of greatness?

4. M- discovered that our laptop screen makes all sorts of pretty colors when you press on it really hard with your finger.

5. I learned that M- could redeem herself for a few choice acts of naughtiness by spontaneously calling out, "cue me" from behind the couch after burping. (Note that the following 450 self-congratulatory "cue me"s she issued afterwards did not each have an equal effect.) Apparently she really is a sponge, because as far as I know, no one has tried to teach her this yet.

6. D- decided that with the cape stuck onto his Superman pajamas (we usually leave it off so it's not a hazard or hassle during sleep), he has no need to ever change into real clothes.

7. I now understand that we need to branch out in our activities, because when we are between storytime sessions at the library, we don't have much reason to leave the house, we don't shower or get dressed until noon, and my step-count plummets.

8. We all learned that windshield wiper motors have transmissions, and that they can break pretty easily since they are often made of plastic. Later today, we'll find out just how expensive they are to replace.

Read our previous lists of developments.

Wanted: Baby for "questioning"

Being that I am the only parent supervising my children during the day, I believe I have as at least one of my roles that of Judge. It's not a position I take lightly, or one that I enjoy too thoroughly. However, I like to think I bring a healthy dose of gravitas to this aspect of my life, similar to many of my other roles, such as detective, chef, lie detector, storytime leader, jurist, satirist, bail bondsman, and parole officer.

With all the dignity and pomp I bring to the courtroom that is our apartment, I find it a disrespectful, undermining act that, after labeling as a flight risk a 15-month-old recently brought before me for screeching and petty vandalism, said baby promptly took off at high speed, laughing maniacally rather than submit her squishy behind to the custody of a hardwood floor, as ordered by the court.

My demands for her return and calls for her apprehension were met with unfortunately adorable giggles and then reactive laughter from spectators in attendance. My threats to clear the courtroom quelled the uprising, but still left it defendantless.

As undignified as it was, I was forced to seek out this fugitive myself, chasing her crinkly, bediapered bottom as it tried to shake me off the trail. Undeterred, I cornered the suspect under a table, where her six-toothed smile defied her knowledge of the punishment she had earned. She then scattered away out the other side, where she is believed to have hopped on the back of a waiting Plasma Car.

I would hold this individual in contempt, but legal precedent (see Household v. D- and others) regarding the contours and purity of her visage do not offer me such flexibility. The best I can do once she is returned to the courtroom is allow her due process with only minimal prejudice based on her disappearance.

If you see this young lady, be wary of her reported charms, and know that she is armed and potentially dangerous, particularly to eardrums. She may in fact ask you to kiss an imaginary boo-boo on one of those arms, ostensibly because she had blood drawn there several weeks ago but more likely as a test of faith and loyalty. It is recommended that you do so, and further that you offer various reassuring platitudes in a soothing voice, before excusing yourself as soon as possible (without arousing suspicion) to contact the authorities (i.e. me).

Attached is a recent photo of the offender, shown here all but literally thumbing her nose at the very idea of an authority higher than that of her physical needs and momentary desires:

As further aid in confirming a positive identification of this fugitive, be advised that she looks just like her Momma.

A conversation with M-: I want what I want...

Consider this an experiment-- after several amusing (to me) conversations with D-, here is the debut Conversation with M-. Being that she is only about 15 months old, you must understand all conversations we have are pretty brief.

If only you could hear her voice when she says anything, I'd have hundreds of extremely cute and funny short conversations for you. Without that dimension, they're mostly pretty boring. Hopefully this one is translatable enough to give you a two-second smile:

I was holding M- by the counter, first thing this morning. She was calling out "''hungry", "eat", and "more, please" while scoping out her options.

M-: 'Naa-nuhhh!

Me: You want a banana?

M-: (thinks for a second) No. (She's getting to the point where she's honor-bound to answer 'No' to any question she's asked.)

M-: (sees a lollipop on the counter) 'An-dee!!

So now we know the latest high-priority addition to her ever-expanding vocabulary.

1001 Goggy-matians

If the great Monsters, Inc. taught me anything, it's that cute little girls call all furry animals "Kitty".

M- steadfastly refuses to conform to this time-honored standard, and instead calls all furry, feathery, and scaly animals "Goggy" (Doggy). Happy as I am that she recognizes animals and has given them a name, I'm torn between being visibly excited for her and correcting her each time, all day long.

I try to do a little of both.

But for the record, the following things are among those that have been identified as "Goggies":
• Dogs
• Cats
• Birds
• A rabbit pelt at my parents' house
• A fish
• A wooden duck
• A picture of some family friends
• Several different shapely bushes (lowercase)
• A stone angel

Sometimes it's more fun to let her go on than to correct her, but unfortunately she's got to learn. Thankfully, she's well on her way. At about 15 months, she already uses over 100 words. It's just strange that few of those words are animals-- I think she's shooting for simplicity, casting a wide net and figuring the world will understand her.

Then again, like an Eskimo in winter, she has at least 20 different words directly related to eating, including hungry, thirsty, juice, milk, cracker, waffle, cookie, cake, apple, banana, cup, bottle, fork, spoon, and bite. And today, she even said, "More crackers, please" (as in, "moh kack-uhs peez"). Pretty soon I should be able to have her write some blog posts.

Kiki's delivery service

Because my sister Katie lives away at school (and of course because she's also a fun person), she is a highly sought-after commodity amongst the chilluns in our house. For example, whenever any of us are on the phone, M- has now officially switched over from endlessly calling out "Dado" (pronounced "DAH-dough"-- it's my dad's grandfather-name, which is Irish) to endlessly calling out "Kiki".

When she gets the phone, and it actually is Katie, M- is beyond triumphant, and she will walk casually around our apartment for an impressively long time, actually talking to Katie as best she can at her age (a few months past a year).

Every few weeks, M- gets the extra pleasure of delighting Katie with her enthusiasm in the flesh, and M- lets her know the feeling is mutual by running up and hugging her upon arrival. This, I think, may be what keeps Katie leaving her fabulous, glamorous university life to visit us all as often as she does.

Note: In reference to the title, J- and I highly recommend Kiki's Delivery Service along with all the other movies of Hayao Miyazaki we've seen: Spirited Away, Howl's Moving Castle, and, to a lesser extent, Princess Mononoke. This is true whether or not you are Japanimation fanatics (which we're certainly not) or have children.