Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Not So Far From The Tree

So last night I was balancing the accounts and could hear Moiya in her room playing. Her scenarios with her dolls tend to involve high drama, and she'll wander in from time to time to give me an update:

Moiya: (Big sigh) "I don't know *what* I'm going to do with Soft Bear. He's been hitting the other students again!"

Me: "Oh dear".

Moiya: (Another big sigh) "And that's not all.. he's been spitting!"

Me: "Mmm.."

Moiya: "And biting. I need you to have a talk with him ‘cause you're the teacher. Then I'm going to have to call his parents. Maybe the police".

Me: "I don't want to be the teacher. I'm busy. You be the teacher".

Moiya: (Sigh) "I just don't know what to do with him! I put him in Time Out. And yesterday he hit James! And then he *kicked* him..."

And so on... and on. I usually just make "um-hmm" noises (being married three time has taught me a few things). And it's pretty funny listening to Moiya on the phone with her grandma. She'll rattle on and on about one traumatic event with her babies after the other until I finally take pity on my Mum and take the phone back. (It reminds me of the time during a visit when Moiya went on for hours about an imaginary girl who lived in the plumbing. I think we all passed out before that one ended).

Anyway.. I could hear Moiya issuing correctives to her misbehaving children and playing with the pots and pans on her "stove". And eventually she brought me a plastic dish and a fork and asked me if I wanted to eat dinner. She "cooks" a lot and I'm used to sampling imaginary foods. So I said yes and asked what dish I was eating.

Moiya looked at me deadpan and said "It's my baby, Keely. She wouldn't stop misbehaving, so I just gave up and cooked her."

I not only ate Keely (at last count, we have four baby dolls and one monkey named Keely) but asked for seconds and complimented the chef.

This morning, Moiya was singing songs to Mr. Sun. She likes to read to Mr. Sun and sometimes makes up songs which last almost as long as her stories do.. usually about whatever is passing by the car windows at the time. (Earlier in the drive she had been humming "With Cat Like Tread" from Pirates of Penzance to Keely, which made her Daddy strangely cheerful for the remainder of the day).

This morning’s song went (As nearly as I can recall):

Little duckie is fluffy and yellow.
Little duckie goes quack quack.
Little duckie swims in the pond.
Little duckie eats your head....

I laughed out loud at that point and that ended the song (sadly).

I suppose I should be worried, but since it's pretty much the same twisted sense of humor I have, I really can't.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Sumer is Icumen In

Sumer is icumen in,
Lhude sing cuccu!
Groweþ sed and bloweþ med
And springþ þe wde nu,
Sing cuccu!

~anon. circa 1260~

Living in an urban apartment there is not such a sense of the quickening of seasonal life as I was used to in my slogs around our woods.

But even here, life stirs. I was suprised this week to find that my three hibiscus which I brought indoors before the freezes hit, and which have dropped most of their foliage from lack of light, are suddenly producing blooms again, straining against the kitchen window towards the sun.

So, the weather reports may still be predicting cold and rain and misery, but change is coming. I have it on good authority.