Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
As part of my youngest child’s ongoing campaign to spend every single dime I make on fluffy stuffed animals, this weekend’s trip to Atlanta snared her yet another plastic-pellet filled prize, “Alfalfa.”
No, not this one, but rather, this one.
We had passed by the gift shop one too many times without stopping, and finally she would not be denied. After an interminable amount of time spent hovering over her to keep her from breaking something or wandering off with something, she found the bunny in question and grabbed it up with a Vise-Grip-like head lock. I protested, but only weakly, because it really is a cute bunny, and it was Easter weekend, and she didn’t have a giant Easter basket waiting on her at home, and she’s just so stinkin’ danged cute herself, so I relented.
(And I don’t feel quite so bad after seeing how much they charge at the Beanie Baby site--we got it for almost half the price. EEK! I sound like Miss Reba when she tells me how much she saved off of her giganto tab by shopping at the Spring Sale! I’m DOOMED!)
Anyway, fluffy bunny comes to live with us for the rest of the trip, and it is refreshing for no other reason than it has a name that isn’t KiKi or KoKo or Kati or any of the other hard-K sounding names Catty-poo usually comes up with for her animals. “Alfalfa,” is a rather pleasant diversion in nomenclature. Although Catherine did have some problems at first figuring out how to say it--Aflaffu, Alaflata, Atflafla, Aflac (not really), but she finally figured it out, as well as received a farming lesson on the wonders of alfalfa.
This morning, Alfalfa became the newest
“Cat, would you like a Toothbrush Story this morning?”
Head shake 'yes,' mouth full of toothpaste, “Yeashth, thurgh.”
“And who is it going to be about?”
“Wrahghbau.” I told her to spit. “CCccccssssKKKKTHPtoooooo…RABBIT!”
“You mean Alfalfa Rabbit?”
“Yes, sir, Flafalafla!”
Okay, so she’s still working on it.
I went and retrieved the rabbit from the warren of tangled bedspreads and wooly houseslippers and other stuffed menagerie members and brought her back into the bathroom and sat down upon my Magical Story-telling Throne. (It doesn’t tell stories--I do, sitting upon it. Although a story-telling toilet probably would be pretty cool.)
Remember as you read this to act out all the parts and voices and noises with great drama and flourish for the best effect. You also need a rabbit:
ONCE UPON A TIME, as all good stories begin, Alfalfa Rabbit hopped out of her door one morning to go feast upon the wondrous alfalfa plants that surrounded her burrow. As she nibbled and crunched and made herself nice and plump for cooking, she suddenly stopped. It seemed something had become lodged in her great big rodent-like front teeth, and it hurt tremendously, and she didn’t know there was such a thing as a rabbit and rodent dental program, so she did the next best thing she could do and hopped back to her hole and told her Mommy.By the time I had finished, I had two other eager children standing there following along.
“Well, Daddy, you know,” said Boy, “the ONE problem with your story is that RABBITS don’t have opposable thumbs, and they could NEVER hold a knife or a fork or a spoon!” Little smart-alecky pill--“Well, you know Jonathan, I have also never heard of RABBITS that can TALK!” Sheepish grin, “Oh. Yeah.”
(He just better be glad I didn’t tell him that Alfalfa’s lack of opposable thumbs caused her to drop the plate and silverware and create such a noise outside the burrow that it alerted the hungry farmer, who decided some rabbit stew with alfalfa sprouts would be very tasty indeed.)
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