Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Beatrix, not Harry


Yesterday at the park Harper was sitting in this little jeep structure with two girls who were probably around 8. They were in the front driving and Harper was in the back sorting the collection of treasures she had acquired since we had arrived--an empty snack bag filled with mulch, a rock, and a piece of string. Hudson and I were just above her walking back and forth across a little bridge and I could hear Harper talking but couldn't really tell what she was saying. The two girls got up, and as they galloped over to the swings I heard one of them say, "Did you hear what that little girl just said? She said..(she lowered her voice and whispered to the other one, much to my dismay)" to which the other girl responded, "She's barely bigger than a baby--and she said THAT!!" Well, you can imagine my curiosity. I decided to go directly to the source, and asked Harper to come over. She gathered up her things. "Hi there, little one. Um hey, Mommy was just wondering what you said to the big girls just now." Blank stare. "The big girls who were driving the jeep? Did you say something to them?" She can see that it's clearly important to me that she remember, and she is trying. "Were you telling them a story, maybe?" Aha. Now we're getting somewhere. "I said, 'Stop, thief!'" she said. This is her friend Izzy's favorite line to shout when she and Harper are playing chase. It's what Mr. McGregor says to Peter Rabbit when he catches him eating the radishes and French beans in the garden. And I'm guessing that with Harper's speech issues, and the fact that it was completely out of context, it probably had sounded somewhat profane. I deliberated following the girls and trying to clear things up, but decided that would probably cement the incident into their brains. Just goes to show the importance of shared context. If she had said it to Izzy, there would have been, instead of scandal, an imaginary throwing down of lettuces, and an energetic scamper around the cucumber frames.

If you're ever wondering how to get two hungry kids to stop whining while they are waiting for dinner to be ready, Pregnant Mommy Doing Ballet works wonders around here. We've been enjoying The Nutcracker Suite. Hudson thinks I'm the most elegant Sugarplum Fairy he has ever seen. Harper is looking forward to going to an actual performance in a few weeks and I have yet to convince her that she is only going to be in the audience and will not be up on stage in a starring role.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Who ARE you people??

A few mornings ago I had just asked Harper to clean up the impressive array of toys and activities she'd managed to strew throughout the entire apartment. Instead of heeding my request she walked over to the front door, paused, turned around and said, "I'm just coming back from a walk. I don't know you." And then, rather imperiously, "You need to clean up your house!" I joined her in her little charade and speculated that she must be the little girl, whom I'd never seen before, of course, whom I had hired to come and clean up my house. "No," she replied vaguely, "I am not that little girl." Then the familial amnesia continued today when she composed a charming ditty on her keyboard that went a little something like this:

"Hudson is not my brudder. I do not know him. I do not love him.."
The melody was rather bouncy and light so that Hudson, who was sitting next to her on the couch at the time, was actually chortling with glee, probably thinking it was a love song. Harper and I spent several minutes post-prayer, pre-sleep tonight discussing how she might make tomorrow's lyrics a little more edifying. We'll see how that goes. Speaking of unedifying lyrics, when I'm too lazy to put in a cd while we're driving we will listen to the Christian radio station. It's not all cringe-inducing (and some of it is good) but I heard a song sometime last week that actually had "steeple-people" as a recurring rhyme theme. I am incredulous that someone went through an actual song writing Process and that's all they could come up with. Let's be better than that, shall we? If this is your favorite song, or if, as I'm sure is the case, the songwriter himself is a reader of this enormously popular blog, I kind of apologize. I've been reading New Yorker articles to branch out, and boy howdy, are they a smug and bitter bunch up there in the big city. I actually winced while reading a satire piece a few days ago. I felt bludgeoned.

How about a picture instead? The new help finally decided she wasn't above a little swiffering: