Last night at the dinner table, she asked, "What id dis? Beeeeet?" (It was a scallion.)
And then she saw that I was upset (low blood sugar + end of day), and asked sweetly, "What da madda?"
She puts her food down on the "pable" and agrees "otay."
If you try to do anything for her, or for anyone else, for that matter, she says "I got it."
When I told her not to touch her bottom because if she then touched her mouth, bad bacteria could make her sick, she grinned and said, "tasty poop! Eat it! Yum!" To which the only possible reply was "that's a funny joke, Mab. Now let's go wash your hands."
We keep thinking she is saying "amen," but it's actually "oh man!"
She wants to "pat goggies," but worships "Dod." Speaking of whom:
A: Do you love God?
M: Yes!
A: What is God's name?
M: Princess! On the top! On the button!
A: Huh. Does Jesus love you?
M: Yes!
A: Who is Jesus' father?
M: [looks at buttons]
A: Is his father the Holy Spirit?
M: Yes!
A: Is his father God?
M: Maybe.
A: Do you have anything to say about God?
M: Amen.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Music and Poetry
Last night, the family was making loud noises with tin whistles while I was cleaning up after dinner. Faelan came over and whispered that he had just tried to play "millet for the mumble, mumble, rags and bones mumble, mumble." Later, further inquiry revealed that he had been making up a tune for a scrap of poem that he remembered thus: "Millet for the poor, rags and bones for the wicked wolves without the walls at night," which he said came from the song of Shiv and the Grasshopper, from the Jungle Book.
I looked it up this morning, and here are the 9th through 12th lines:
Wheat he gave to rich folk, millet to the poor,
Broken scraps for holy men that beg from door to door;
Cattle to the tiger, carrion to the kite,
And rags and bones to wicked wolves without the wall at night.
What a lovely scrap to have inside his head!
I looked it up this morning, and here are the 9th through 12th lines:
Wheat he gave to rich folk, millet to the poor,
Broken scraps for holy men that beg from door to door;
Cattle to the tiger, carrion to the kite,
And rags and bones to wicked wolves without the wall at night.
What a lovely scrap to have inside his head!
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
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