Career Aspirations

So Spills said to me this week, "Mommy, I've decided what I want to go to University for."

"Oh yes? What is it?"

"To learn how to hold plates properly."

Thoughts Upon Meeting a Donkey

So we had a wonderful hike this morning along a country trail. The sky overhead was blue, and the air smelled of apples. Several farms backed onto the trail. In one of them were two donkeys and a beautiful horse. We spent a lot of time chatting with them. This led to a range of post-donkey thoughts on Spills' part.

1. I think one of the donkeys got out and is following us. I'M PRETENDING, MOM.

2. If we took the donkey home with us, how would we get him in the car? Oh, I know, we could put him on the roof.

3. The donkey could be an inside donkey during the winter and an outside donkey during the summer. What should he be right now, since it's fall?

4. Could the donkey sleep on my bed? Oh, no, wait, Lockey sleeps on my bed, and he'd be sad if the donkey slept on the bed too. I know, I'll get a sleeping bag and put it on the floor NEXT to the bed, and the donkey can sleep in that.

5. If the donkey's on top of the car, how will he be able to talk to us? THROUGH THE ANTENNA, OF COURSE.

6. I am going to call the donkey Apple Jean.

7. Do you think the donkey likes apples?

8. The donkey could do tricks while we were eating dinner.

9. If the donkey climbed trees to get apples, would he be scared? What if he couldn't get down again? I know, if he couldn't get down, he could just sit on a leaf. It's fall, so the leaf would come down pretty soon.

10. Do you think the donkey would miss his friends in the farm? Maybe they should come to our house too.

Countdown to Adolescence

So I stumbled into the kitchen this morning, to find Spills already chowing down on toast with her Daddy.

"Mommy! I have something funny for you!"

"Oh, good," I said, fumbling for the coffee.

"I have to count down from ten, and then I'll do the funny thing."

"Good. Let's see it."

Striking a dramatic pose, she began intoning her countdown: "Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...one...."

Then she tossed her head like a tiny Valley Girl, and in the most horrifically hormonal way, bellowed, "WHATEVER!!!"

First I laughed.

Then her Daddy and I stared at each other over her head, and we had the same thought: we are going to be in so much trouble in about five years.

Eureka!

So I got home from the movie I went to see with my friend (District 9 - we enjoyed it), and my hubby was waiting for me with great excitement.

"Your girl has big news," he said. "She wanted to stay up to tell you."

"What is it?"

Dramatic pause. "She rode her bike!!"

"She did?"

"She did!!"

"Really rode it? Like, pedalled and everything?" (Not that we doubt the mighty Spills' physical prowess or anything.)

"Really rode it!! It was sort of in a large circle, aiming at the school. But she stayed up, she righted her balance."

"Wow. Wow!"

"She was so proud of herself," my hubby said. "She kept shouting, 'It's the click! I'm clicking! I'm clicking!'"

"That might be because we talked the other night about how it would click. She wanted to know if it would make a noise."

We moved on to the subject of celebrations. "Well, she didn't want her bath," my hubby said. "She wanted a party instead."

"So did you have one?" It seemed like I'd missed all the excitement. Balloons, cake, games.

"Oh, yeah." My hubby beamed.

"Well? What did you do?"

"Coloured and listened to Sanjaya!!"

Of course.

Painful Perseverence

So tonight Spills wandered mournfully into my room and tumbled onto the bed. She was a small bundle of sweaty depression. She'd been outside with her Dad. Meanwhile, I'd had a blissfully silent bath.

"Did you have fun?" I asked after a minute, looking down at her.

"Rmmmf," from under her arm.

"How are you feeling?"

She looked up at me, and tears filled her eyes. "I'm having a bad day."

I sat down beside her. "Really? I thought you had such a good day. You had fun with your friends in French. Your friend made you a friendship bracelet, and a card that said, "I love you." We had a picnic beside the lake. You did crafts this afternoon. "

"But I can't. Ride. My. Bike."

"Ahh."

This has been the ongoing saga for the last while. Donna can ride her bike. Simon can ride his bike. The whole world can ride its bike no-handed, balancing on one toe, while Spills cannot. And it has not come instantly, despite evening practice sessions with her Dad.

"Well, you know," I said, "it took me a long time to figure out how to ride my bike. And you know what happened when I did? I took off on Grandpa, because I thought I'd ride around the block and surprise everyone. Except on the other side of the block I fell off, and then I couldn't figure out how to start it again. And I had to walk all the way home with my bike."

"Was Grandpa mad?"

"I don't think so. Maybe a little. He was probably worried, I guess."

She sighed. "Will I ever ride my bike?"

"Of course you will! And then the world will be your oyster. We'll go for bike rides everywhere. Here's how it will work. You will try and fall over. You will try and fall over. You will try and fall over. That will happen a lot of times. But one day - it will CLICK!"

She stared at me. "Will it make a noise?"

"Will what make a noise?"

"The click."

"Oh," I said. "Well, no, I don't think so."

"Just loudly inside your head," she said, with the beginning of satisfaction.

Fighting the Tangles

So, the mighty Spills is growing her hair until April, apparently. Her friend/nemesis Donna is growing her hair until May. Fine. Except that someone has to comb Spills' flowing tresses. Actually, they don't flow so much as they knot and kink and tangle.

And while you're trying to drag a brush through the extended nest that is the top of Spills' head, she is engaged in saying some or all of the following:

"Is it okay if I move around like this while you comb my hair?" Then she proceeds to sashay hither and yon while doing a kind of Michael Jackson "Ooh! Ooh!"

"Do you like this?" Repeatedly poking me in the hip.

"Are you done yet? Are you done yet? Are you done yet? Are you done yet?"

"I don't want the elastic, I want the hair band. I don't want the hair band, I want the clips. I don't want the clips, I want the elastic. I don't want the elastic, I want the hair band and the clips."

"I already combed it. Why do we have to comb it again?"

"Ow! You. Are. Hurt. Ing. Me."

"When you pull that hard, it feels like BLOOD."

Kindergarten Art

So today Spills brought home her art portfolio. It details the progress of her Picasso-esque tendencies over the course of the year. Her teacher, or someone else equally dedicated, has neatly printed a caption for each picture. I am assuming that the captions were dictated by Spilly, because they do not have the mark of a sane mind.

Some of my favourites are as follows:

1. This is me. I am walking through some trees. There are limes flying in the sky.

2. I'm trying to catch my book because it is flying away.

3. This is a dinosaur worried about getting plums but an asteroid is coming.

4. This is a map of the world. [This consists of "America," some blue entitled "Atlantic Ocean, "Canada" on the other side of the ocean, and the rest bright yellow, entitled, "Lots of deserts."]

5. This is a rainbow and my clothes.

6. The lambs are eating the hay. One lamb ate so much that his tummy is bigger than his head.

7. Thunderstorm with rocks blowing around.