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Wonderboy, perusing the family calendar as he is wont to do, observes: “We don’t have much going on in December. Just Ron and Larry’s visit, and Grandma and Grandpa’s visit, and Jane coming home from college, and my birthday and Dad’s birthday and your birthday, and the piano recital, and Christmas.”

“Do you like it better when yoyos have names? Because I named this one Ghostie.”

***

“Did you hear what I played on the piano? Like this—” (hums a melody) “But in a different tune.”

Rilla: If you see a book called Trolls with a troll on it who has a very long nose, it’s out because I’m using it for the scarf I’m making.

Me: Oooh! What kind of scarf?

Rilla: One that’s twelve inches long. That’s how big the book is.

Huck and Rilla and I have just finished reading three chapters of The Boxcar Children—they wouldn’t let me stop—and now I give Huck a big squeeze and say, “Okay, baby, time to go play.” He’s surprised I’ve called him “baby”—I usually say “monkey” or “my love” (same difference)—and shoots a reproachful gaze my way.

“I’m not a baby.”

“I know. But you used to be, so it still pops out sometimes.”

He considers. “But I am still little.” Burrows a little closer into my side.

“Mm-hmm.” His hair has that magical small-child scent, half fruity shampoo and half little-boy-sweat.

He takes a deep breath, as if about to unburden himself of a trouble. “That’s why I’ve been wondering…”

“Yes?” The moment has become suddenly fraught; whatever is coming, it’s clearly a serious matter.

“I’ve been wondering why nobody cuts the crusts off my sandwiches.”

Rilla: The next time I eat an apple, can I plant one of the seeds in the back yard?

Me: Sure!

Rilla: Oh good. I’ve really been wanting a climbing tree back there.

So today I wrote this thing and then I wrote that thing, and then I spent a long time on that other thing, the result of which is that I didn’t finish writing this thing here. So all I have to report today is a long, amusing moment waiting outside Trader Joe’s while Huck painstakingly read the entire cautionary messaging on the seat of the shopping cart.

My favorite bit: “ALWAYS buckle up child in cart and fasten seriously.”

You probably can’t make it out in the photo, but what it really says is “fasten securely.” But Huck’s version certainly made sense to him. He took these instructions very seriously indeed and stoutly refused to stand on the end of the cart as is our usual arrangement. No, Mommy, look at the picture. (Pointing to another placard on the end of the cart.) The circle with the line through it means NO STANDING. 

He’s getting too big to ride up front, but today he insisted, and he buckled the seatbelt both securely and seriously.

Contrary to appearances, we are not giving away our youngest son (and all his toys, to boot). The neighbors put out this shelving unit and we thought it might be just the thing to replace our sagging makeshift TV stand. We stand corrected. What it is JUST THE THING for is setting up a shop, of course. What were we thinking? The Legos and Wedgits are being offered in lots ranging from  “small pile” to “big pile” to “treasure.” When business is slow, you can fold yourself into your house and take a nap.

TV stand. ::snort:: What nonsense adults come up with sometimes.

Huck, in solemn tones: “Mommy, I like you more than television.”

Huck: “You know those Inch and Roly books? Can you get them for me? ALL of them?”

Huck proudly displaying his Tinkertoy windmill: “I followed the constructions.”

I mentioned that the kids and I share a Minecraft world. Its name is Calpurnia, after a favorite book. When I got a dog in the game, Rose offered to name it for me. The next time I logged in, “Darwin” was running around my attic—Darwin because of Calpurnia Tate, get it?

Then I wound up with a second dog. It ran around my house nameless for a day or two; then one day I returned home from a grueling shift at the ruined castle we’re building in the mushroom forest, and there, wagging its tail alongside Darwin, was “Newton,” newly monikered by Beanie. It seems I’m raising a bunch of scientist dogs, which is fine by me.

One day I accidentally fed both Darwin and Newton too many pork chops at the same time, and you know what that means: a puppy. I couldn’t wait for this new pooch to grow up, so I could see what name the girls would give it.

When I came home this afternoon, half dead after a skeleton ambush, the pup was waiting beside the front door, all grown up and sporting a new blue collar. Her name was Annie, the hover-text informed me. I was a little surprised that the girls hadn’t continued the scientist theme.

Shows what I know.

Rose, evidently aware of this gap in my education, had helpfully left some signage on the living-room carpet:

The dog’s name is Annie ’cause of Annie Jump Cannon, who
was one of the greatest female scientists; she organized the
stars. We still use her system today. Also, she was deaf.

I learned a lot more about Annie (the human, not the canine) after I logged off. She featured in a recent episode of Cosmos and my girls were quite impressed by her accomplishments. Her lifetime spanned the period between the Civil War and World War II, and as Rose explained, she was instrumental in the creation of the star classification system that is still in use today.

The girls have yet to account for the pig in my living room.

Rose put up some NO TRESPASSING signs outside her house in the Minecraft world the kids and I share. My favorite was the addendum: NONE OF THIS NONSENSE.

Well, of course I couldn’t resist a throwdown like that. A LITTLE NONSENSE NOW AND THEN, I wrote back, when she wasn’t looking, IS RELISHED BY THE WISEST MEN.

And her reply, proving the student has surpassed the teacher: I AM NO MAN.

That’s my girl.

Huck, balancing stuffed panda on head: “Is she very fall-able?”

Me: “Fall-able? You mean can she fall without getting hurt? Yes.”

Huck: “No, FALLIBLE.”

Me: “Fallible?”

Huck: “Yes, you know, like when things break when they fall.”

Me: “Oh! You mean fragile!”

Huck: “That’s what I said.”

Huck, halfway through breakfast: “Mom, I’m going to be hungry after my snack.”

Rilla on why she didn’t put away her playdough: “Well, I expected myself to go back and do it, but I didn’t.”

Huck, apropos of nothing and in a voice of great urgency: “How old do I have to be?”

Me: “For what?”

Huck: “To get the remote and to cross the street by myself.”

Ah yes, the important stuff.

Rilla: Wait, what’s a protractor again?

Rose: It’s that thing Huck makes cheeses with.

Rilla just told me she ships Tumtum and Nutmeg so hard, she can’t even.

Me: Sorry, buddy, you can’t have any more juice write now. If you’re truly thirsty, have some water.

Huck: But I’m not truly thirsty. I’m only normal thirsty.

***

The way he pronounces “unfortunately.” Unforchally, I went outside in my socks.

***

Okay, I know I should tell him the mouse’s name is really “Tumtum” when he says “Numnut and Nutmeg,” but…it’s just so dang funny.

***

Also, this.

If you don’t read my sidebar, you might miss the link to this post, and I’m of the opinion that no one should miss this post.

I’m standing at the bathroom sink putting in my contacts. Huck wanders in, says seriously: “Can we have a little talk about tweetle beetles?”

Rilla: Mommy, do you know where any chalk is?

Me: Afraid not. It was all taken outside, remember.

Rilla: (looks crestfallen)

Me: I know where some fake money is, though.

Rilla, gasping: PERFECT!

Medicine bottle, pills, otoscope, reflex hammer, cellphone, stethoscope, syringe, and of course stickers. What more does a good doctor need?

It never ceases to amuse me that Dot Paints are some of Huck’s favorite toys. Not to paint with—to play with.

Huck: Why can’t juice be a flavor?

Me: Well, that’s orange juice, so its flavor is orange.

Huck: No. I mean why can’t it have a flavor like water?