Friday, 29 November 2013

Best of The Girl 2

Sunday, 11 January 2009

One recent night, my daughter proposed that we -- I am not making this up -- pretend to be continental landmasses and call each other on the phone.

"Hello, Africa? Are you there?" she said into her pinky finger. Yes, who is this? I said.

"This is India -- how are you doing today, Africa?" she said. I'm fine, I said -- a little ticklish from the elephants and zebras walking on me.

"I have hot weather today, and I have elephants too, and women who wear bindis!" she said. And so on.

She is just nine different kinds of awesome.

Wednesday, 19 November 2008

My four-year-old, of course, always wants one more story, one more lullaby, a few more minutes before bed. I try to be reasonably strict, but Grandma down the hall is a grandma. So every night at bedtime, I talk with my daughter, read her a couple of books, sing a lullaby, tuck her in and walk away ... and whatever happens after that stays in Vegas.

Tonight, though, I surprised her halfway to Grandma's room, frozen in mid-tiptoe.

"I'm sorry Papa," she said contritely. "I couldn't resist." 

Wednesday, 5 November 2008

Tonight my daughter asked me to play for a while before I put her to bed, and she made up stories for us to act out. She had me play the part of the spoon (just go with it, okay?) who hated frogs, and shooed Mr. Frog away.

Then (as she told the story), mosquitoes started to fly around and pester Spoon, who ran around trying to brush them all away. Then he remembered that frogs eat mosquitoes, apologized to Mr. Frog and invited him back.

Spoon was not bothered by mosquitoes anymore, and was never mean to Frog again, because he realized that we need frogs.

I wish more people understood what my four-year-old understands.

Wednesday, 15 October 2008

To my eyes, our daughter's books are a haphazard pile on and in front of her bookshelves, but if I take one out I'm informed I'm messing up her system. Tonight she said she wanted a certain book before bed.

"Certainly -- which one would you like?" I asked.

"Look there," she said, gesturing to the pile. "It's the one that's in the wrong place."

Tuesday, 30 September 2008

Recently I showed The Girl Sesame Street clips from the early 1970s, including one of a small child touching a goat's horns at a petting zoo. When I asked what the child was doing, she said, "She is patting the goat's antennae."

She doesn't know "horns," but she got the plural of "antenna" right.

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