November 25, 2007

Mouths of Babes

Two so-super-sugared-cutesy-they-are-sticky-kids-at-Thanksgiving stories, and then we will move on from this fattening holiday to the next one.

DIGRESSION: I have a message for whatever marketing executive came up with the idea that it was OKAY to put EASTER Cadbury eggs in red and green tinfoil and call them ornament eggs:

Dear Jerk-face,

The whole point of Cadbury eggs only coming at Easter is that I can fit in my pants. And now you SNEAK THEM IN at Christmas? Buddy, you are going to the SPECIAL hell. The. Special. Hell.

Balefully,
Chubby

Cutesy kidsy story 1, which is, mercifully, not at all racist.

Maisy has picked up a Holy Prayer Voice. You know the one? It is very melodious and tuneful and fruity, and she CLASPS her little hands and composes her face into a calculatedly angelic expression, peeks around to make sure all eyes in the room are upon her, and then she says things like, “Oh Holy father! Up in Heaven! …” etc tec.

Today, for example, she was praying in my big bathtub. (She wanted a bubble bath in the round tub) I was in my bedroom folding laundry, and she got up on her knees and knelt in the tub, bent her head, and prayed in LOUD, mellifluous and very PUBLIC PIOUSITY, “OH dear Lord! In Heaven! Please help me get froo my Bath! Be with me until the end of my bath, and even after. When I am getting dry. With the towel Mommy needs to get me. Amen.”

She put the PAUSES in after every fragment, just like a TV evangelist.

OKAY so, on Friday, she wanted to bless the leftovers. So we let her. For this to make sense, you need to know she calls my father “Papa,” and that Papa was an airborne ranger…

Maisy: *in the MOST SYRUP-DRIPPY HOLY VOICE EVER, and said voice goes rising to a dramatic crescendo in the caps part* Oh Dearest Jesus! And God, too! Fank you for our soldiers in a war! Pwotect them! And fank you for Papa, who was a soldier. Papa went to Vietnam. And he fought. He FOUGHT! HE FOUGHT AND FOUGHT! Until….HE JUST COULD NOT TAKE IT ANY MORE! Fank you for him and all the Vet-tra-tans! No really, God. FANKS!!!!!

She KILLS me. The day she learns to correctly pronounce TH, my heart is going to CRACK.

Cutesy Kidsy Story 2, which….well…

Anna’s 6 year old nephew had to – heavens forfend – put on NICE CLOTHES to go to Thanksgiving dinner. He was VERY offended. Anna was sent to WRANGLE him into a collared shirt and khakis, and he complained bitterly the whole time.

James: Aunt Anna, WHY can’t I just wear my T SHIRT?

Anna: No, James, we need to look nice, for Gramma. Let’s get changed.

James: *Looks at her blankly* I want to wear my JEANS.

Anna: James, this is Thanksgiving. It’s a very special holiday, and you need to look NICE to go to a Thanksgiving dinner.

James: I know all about it. They told us at school, and Aunt Anna? My teacher showed us a picture of the FIRST Thanksgiving, when the Indians came for dinner? And THEY looked AWFUL.

Anna: *trying SO hard not to DIE of laughter* James…put on the shirt.

James: They didn’t even HAVE shirts on!

Posted by joshilyn at November 25, 2007 7:43 PM
Comments

Your Maisy kills me. FANK YOU for Maisy!

And speaking of shirts ... all the boy cousins had been WRANGLED into said collared shirts way ahead of time. When Grandpa came up the stairs (emotional moment, been in hospital too long, loving daughters all ready with tissues ...) All four of them burst into the room, whoops and hollers, and ... bare naked chests. And my littlest one, 5yo, proudly exclaims "and I'm going commando, too, Grandpa!"

Whoever said family holiday dinners are boring?

Posted by: Patti at November 25, 2007 8:19 PM

What cute stories!

My littlest one still says "hadded" for "had" as if "hadded" is the past tense of had....which is already past tense. She'll outgrow it soon, and I love it.

Posted by: Pattie at November 25, 2007 9:53 PM

"They didn't have shirts on"

I do believe my male chld units were singing the same song, second verse, only it went:

"They didn't have matching sweater vests...AMEN!"

Posted by: Lisa at November 25, 2007 10:17 PM

I agree. No shirts at Thanksgiving.

Posted by: aka nik at November 26, 2007 1:38 AM

I'm thankful Maisy's grandpappy made it home from Vietnam after all that fighting until he couldn't take it anymore. J, would love to have a copy of the essay you read at Fairhope. Can you post it to the blog so I can refer others to your brillant piece? I keep telling them about it but can't do it justice. The I want to be a good person essay, which I believe you referred to as a Letter to Penthouse. Thanks!

Posted by: karen at November 26, 2007 3:00 AM

I wanna go to Fairhope! I wanna be a cool person and hang out with The Fairhope Posse! I don't wanna be stuck in Virginia NOT WRITING for the rest of my life.

And Joss, it is a sad, sad day when the wee ones start speaking "correctly". For years, my youngest two said "ka-zurt" when they wanted a treat at the end of the meal. "Ka-zurt". It was beautiful. I loved it. *I* even started saying 'ka-zurt'. I actually cried when she said "dessert" one night. I asked, "DOn't you mean ka-zurt?" and she said "NO, mom. That was a BABY word. It's really DESSERT, dontchaknow." It's one of life's greatest tragedies that children grow up and learn how to correctly pronounce things. It signals the beginning of their loss of innocence.

Oh crap. Now I'm sad just thinking about it. Would someone please pass me on of those Christmas wrapped Cadbury Easter eggs? I have a feeling one or nine of those will help me feel much better!

Posted by: dee at November 26, 2007 10:53 AM

Fank you, it was AWEFULLY GOOD

Posted by: Cele at November 26, 2007 12:24 PM

I know what you mean about the TH. My almost 3yo just stopped saying lellow instead of yellow. *sniff*

Posted by: Jill at November 26, 2007 1:26 PM

My 4yo still says lello, and TT for TV.
Do you think that Miss Maisy will have a future as a televangelist?

Posted by: Heather at November 26, 2007 2:16 PM

Oh, those are sticky sweet stories! Fank God my AUnt Nancy isn't around to wipe the stickiness off with a tongue-moistened napkin :)

We all wore jeans this Thanksgiving... and drank wine. (No adults around.)

And what is this Letter to Penthouse other commenters are refering to?

Posted by: Stephanie at November 26, 2007 5:22 PM

Crazy farm plan?

Posted by: jean at November 27, 2007 5:21 AM

Re: Cadbury Eggs.

This goes DOUBLE for sticking Reese's cups in pink packages and calling IT Easter Candy.

Undeniable Truth No. 93490
Each holiday has it's own special candy and generic "whenever" candy wrapped in new colors is an abomination.

Easter: Peeps, Cadbury Eggs, Malted Milk Robin's Eggs, Jelly Beans, Coconut Birds Nests, Chocolate Bunny. End of Story.

Christmas: Weird Ribbon Candy, Candy Canes, Bourbon Balls, Fudge. CASE CLOSED.

Posted by: City Girl at November 27, 2007 1:32 PM

The special hell? The one reserved for people who talk at the theater?

Posted by: Moose in the Kitchen at November 27, 2007 8:38 PM

Love those stories.

We don't get Cadbury Eggs at Christmas in any type of paper, what we do get is on Boxing day (Dec 26th) all the shops start selling Cadbury Easter Eggs, everywhere.

Posted by: Jas at November 28, 2007 11:18 AM