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
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
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, August 10, 2004
More kid stuff
Shut off the alarm this morning and turned on the Wendy Garner Show, alternately snoozed and watched bleary-eyed the news of the day, got up, showered, put on my frilly deodorant, put on my pants and went out at the six o'clock hour to wake the children. Passed by their bathroom and flipped on the light, flipped on Boy's light and gently bellowed at him to hit the deck, then next door to Oldest's room, then turned around to go wake up the other two and saw Catherine, already up and dashing across the hallway to the bathroom.
Such is a very rare sight.
Usually, she is impossible to waken. She stumbles around, goes and relieves herself (most of the time in the bathroom, and mostly in the toilet), then stumbles into our room and collapses on our bed face down. The next minutes are usually spent alternately cajolling and kid-cursing her into getting her clothes on. (Kid-cursing being akin to saying "rassa crassa massa fassa," like a cartoon character.)
But this morning she was awake and ready for some reason.
"YOU sure are up and peppy this morning, sugar!"
Still squinty-eyed, she looked up at me from her porcelain perch, "Daddy?"
"Will you do my hair in two piggy tails--with braids?"
::sigh:: Every time she wants her hair fixed this way, it's always a chore. She's usually cranky and tumping over asleep halfway through, and her hair has the fine soft curly tangly consistency of cotton candy. Pigtails are bad enough, braids are bad enough, but braided pigtails are usually just right out. Too much time, too much angst, only a thimbleful of patience on Dad's part.
She interrupted, "Please!? I'll do whatever you want me to do as fast as I can!"
Hmmm. Bargaining, eh? Despite my usual dictum of never negotiating with terrorists, she seemed sincere.
"Oh, alright, as long as you get your clothes on and don't fuss and..."
She was up off the pot and flushing and washing and pounding out the door in a flash. I finished getting dressed, and sure enough, there she was at my elbow, all dressed in her new pink kitty cat shirt and her khakis. "Socks and shoes, please, squirt." "Okeedokey Daddy!" Off to get that done and then here she was again.
We went to the bathroom to pick out some elastic holders for the ends--two little thin white ones. I hopped her up onto our bed and got to work. First, an overall brushing and currying to get out the burrs and knots and bugs and pencils and such, then the part.
As I was sitting there trying to accurately bisect her scalp, I asked her, "Cat, why did you decide this morning that you wanted to have piggy tails with braids?"
She was very still (for once) and said quietly, "I just wanted to be cute." I chuckled and kissed her on her head and said, "Catherine, you know you're cute ALL the time!"
"Yes, I know! But I still want piggy tails!"
(They turned out very well, by the way.)
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