Dec
15
So, last night, I was getting dinner started. My daughter, who was bored out of her tree, did what any preschooler who is bored like a bored thing that is bored will do — she decided to make her own fun. Most times, this involves a lot of running in circles, hopping, or spinning. So she did all that. A lot.
And then she wandered into the kitchen and decided it was as good a time as any to play in the curtains.
We have issues with curtains here at the House of Peevish. First off, they’re covered in cat fuzz from cats who are spending their days looking out the windows (Duncan), or sitting in the sun (Lucy), or using them as hiding spots (Cinnamon). But secondly, and more importantly, they are one of the first “decorating” projects that BDH and I ever undertook together in our new house. Or anywhere, for that matter. So although there are curtains hanging, they are just barely hanging. Screw anchors in the wall to firmly hold the curtain rod brackets in place are neither firmly in the wall, nor firmly holding anything in place. So our curtains are subject to Major Curtain Fail at any moment. All it would take is a good firm tug, really, and curtain, rod, and brackets will come plummeting to earth.
So we try to keep Stinkerbelle out of the curtains as much as possible, until we redecorate at least.
This is, generally speaking, an impossibility. But we DO try.
Anyway, last evening, she seemed to be futzing less with the curtains than she normally does, so I let her sit in the curtains and look out the patio door. An, after a few minutes, she started pointing and shouting, “Airplane! Airplane! Airplane!”
It was dark, so I didn’t think she’d be able to see an airplane, but I went over to check anyway. She was pointing up into the sky, which was clear but for the moon and one bright star.
I assumed she was pointing at the star, so I took the opportunity to teach her, “No, baby, that’s a STAR. See? There’s the moon, too. The moon. And a star.”
“Oooh,” she said. “Moon. Star. STAAAAARRR.”
She repeated the words a few times, getting used to saying them, connecting the words to the objects. “Moon,” she would say and point. “Moon,” I would repeat. “And a star,” I would say. “Star,” she said.
“Moon.”
“Yes, moon.”
“Star.”
“Yep. That’s a star.”
“STAAAAAAAR.”
“Yes. Star.”
I left her at the window, repeating “moon” and “star” quietly to herself. I went back to getting supper.
And then, with great excitement, she started shouting. “AIRPLANE! AIRPLANE! PLANE! PLANE!”
On the off chance it WAS a plane, I walked over to check. It wasn’t, of course. It was the same star. The same moon.
“Star,” I corrected her.
“Star,” she repeated. “Star. Star. Staaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrr.”
I went back to cooking.
“AIRPLANE! AIRPLANE! AIRPLANE!”
“Okay, Tattoo,” I said. “It’s a plane. Welcome to Fantasy Island.”
