Conversations with Moose can be strange and wonderful and awful and strangely, wonderfully awful. Here are a couple recent ones:
While reading The Princess Who Never Laughed, Goofy trips over a "large stone."
'No, no, NOOOOO!' Gianni waves his hands frantically and practically rips the offensive book out of his mommy's paws, 'It's a ROCK, not a STONE!'
Me: OK, but a stone is the same thing.
Stares at me sadly and speaks very slowly so that I can understand: No, Mommy, a STONE is bad. A STONE is a very...bad...deal. OK? So, you say ROCK.'
So, evidently STONES are in the same terrifying group as flashing blue lights, they must be avoided and eliminated at all costs.
Another thing he's been doing lately is informing me when he wants something or doesn't want something, that his doctor said so. As in, Gianni, eat your peas.
Looking regal and pious indeed, he answers,
'No, I can't. The doctor said so.'
Also, he has an imaginary friend. Her name is Molly, she is three years old and she lives in Idaho.
Not twenty seconds ago, he informed me that he is picking his nose with his hammer.
Also, I am a teensy bit concerned that he may grow up to be a sociopathic serial killer. Know why? Cuz those sociopathic serial killers always seem to start out with killing small animals, and my little guy is determined to rid the world of insects. This may seem small to you, but I always hated it when kids stomped on ants when I was small, and honestly it still bothers me! I know, call me a pansy then, whatever. I just think it's mean, and his murderous tendencies worry me to no end. I mean, is it normal to find a bug, name it Buggy, pet it lovingly and then smoosh it to smithereens, scoop the pieces of it's lifeless, bloody body together, for the express purpose of smooshing it to smithereens again? Is it a boy thing? Cuz my sweet angel girls used to collect bugs too, but they would give them rides on their trikes and name them Buggy and knit them sweaters and legwarmers and cry when they ran away or expired from too much lovin'. Not the same thing.
As far as his big sissy goes, Cora just read a 507 page book in four days. I kind of heart her very much.
She just climbed her first tree of the season and was for the first time, a little nervous about the height. Either she's growing up and fearing death, dismemberment, and broken limbs more as a result, or as she told me,
she just doesn't have her tree legs on yet.
Roosky continues to shrink at the same rate all her friends grow. She is now gnome-like. She wouldn't find that funny. She is still looking for someone to purchase her tickets to see Les Miserables, so if you'd like to donate to the Anna Get Thee To Broadway Fund, she'd kiss your knees (as she's too short to kiss your cheek).
It was Schroeder's twelfth birthday yesterday and we bought the city boy a tent, sleeping bag and flashlight. He was jumping up and down with excitement.
On the inside.
On the outside he was wondering if this was a sick redneck form of joking. If you'd like to donate to the Schroeder Get Thee To Therapy Because I Live With Hillybillies Fund, he'd kiss your cheek (he's tall).
The Teen Queen is sixteen now and is looking for employment. She won't do dishes, serve food, interact with the public, be around animals, wash toilets, drive, wash windows, take out trash, make change, or even show up, but if you hear of an opening for Ruler of a Small Country, do I have a girl for you!
As far as updating yours truly goes, nothing much happening in this here brain. I dreamed last night that my sister gave birth to a boy and she named him Mitchum Channing. Yeah. I don't have the foggiest where my subconscience got that, so don't ask. I just know I shall call him Baby Mitch all my life and he shall be surrounded by baby girls in red Baywatch onesies. Lifestyles of the rich and famous, my nephew shall live. Sweeeeeeeeeet.