Thursday, June 4, 2015

Half and half ...

I come to you from my bed where, in true pre-half marathon fashion, I've opted to submerge myself in cozy blankets rather than use the elliptical machine in the basement in a way that resembles running. I always lose by zsa zsa zu for running well before race day. I've got a weird cold that feels like my lungs are getting squished and I recently found out that it is impossible for me to win the 7-week fitness challenge I'm competing in, so motivation is at an all-time low. Plus, if all this running has taught me anything, it's this: I miss writing things.

To that end, just before this, I wrote a very non-reviewish book review that looks more like a journal entry, which was fitting because it was a review of Heidi Julavits' diary. So. In case you were wondering, I liked the book.

Anyway, while I was at the doctor's office (the lung thing, he prescribed me an inhaler) I ran into this woman who announced her arrival by telling me she'd just finished MOWING THE LAWN. THAT'S WHY I LOOK LIKE THIS. When her 3-year-old charge scurried off toward the toys, she yelled after him:

"Come back, J! Grandma has to get a mammogram!"

Which made my day. I love it when people stay in character always and forever. And, truth, I'm pretty sure she told me she's his aunt and not his grandma, so this whole thing is getting really weird.


Chacha told me the other day that she'd just burped in her neck.
(She's also told me that she tooted in her butt.)
She called me "Big. Mama."
She told me the only boy in her ECFE class is "cute." (But when he hugged her at Transportation Night, she didn't even pause to stop chewing the sugar cookie.)
She calls the "newspaper" a "zookeeper."

The other day at the park, she and some other park rat rode down adjacent slides at the exact same time and when their feet hit the sand they turned and looked each other and laughed so hard they must have stretched their mouth skin.

And she always goes wildest when she's wearing a tutu.

She got to put her hands in clay and mess around with making a pot, but it was all nullified when I prematurely allowed her access to a Bounce House and she was nearly trampled by a sock-footed 6-year-old with extra high hops.

Today she wanted to put some Ketchup on her eggs, but I know how that goes: She pinches fistfulls of Ketchup and places it deep in her mouth until her fingers are stained red and you never want to eat again.

Except she forgot what Ketchup was called. So she considered the sound it makes and the shape of the bottle and asked me for "Lotion."

"You don't put lotion on eggs," I told her in my most theatrical voice.
She shrugged off the want and I was able to eat without barfing.

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