Goslings, Ducks, And Chickadees
Today is the Festival of Soft Foods, for lo tomorrow my gosling the Sullen One will be getting his wisdom teeth taken out. While this momentous event will stop a good many plaints (his mouth and jaw hurt, poor thing) it will also be a Huge Experience, because we’re looking at general anaesthetic and a whole bunch of nursing and fussing afterward.
I have decided that the Sullen One is my gosling, for he is so tall. And the Princess is my duck, for she is so cute and swims her own way. The Little Prince is my chickadee since he never slows down and never. Shuts. Up.
Some time ago, they tried to tell me the Little Prince had a speech impediment, because he wasn’t talking yet. They were right to be concerned, and I was right to refuse to consider the notion. It was just simply that with the Princess around, my chickadee couldn’t get a word in edgewise. And he had her translating for him a lot, so he could just point and grunt and my duckling, bless her eager little heart, would inform us all loudly and repeatedly of what he wanted. Why should he talk?
Of course, once his wants got a little more complex and he figured out that the Princess wasn’t above asking for something other than what he wanted–so of course, she could share in something SHE wanted–he had a reason to start talking. And boy howdy, has he ever. Babbling the whole day long.
It’s like a little woodland brook, between him and the Princess. Bibble-babble all day. Only woodland brooks don’t fight with their sisters, causing their mothers to say firmly and loudly, “Get along. Or go fight where I can’t hear you.” while she’s crouched over her laptop.
Heh.
Every once in a while, when the Little Prince climbs up behind me in the chair, puts his feet against my kidneys, and regales me with stories of his day while I’m working on a book, I gaze blankly at whatever thing I was doing before he started with the rabbit-punches to the kidneys and say softly to myself, “Speech impediment, my ass.”
If the DHM is present he’ll laugh, because he was with me on the whole thing. In his immortal words: “The kid doesn’t need a speech therapist. He just needs some spare airwaves.”
Many thanks for all the birthday-lovin’! For my birthday last week I got several lovely cards, some wonderful fan letters, some Blue Nile silver, a hardback Modern Library The Count of Monte Cristo, a small leather satchel from one of my favorite leather people, a couple Wong Kar-Wai movies, and (from the incomparable Mooncrab) a copy of Tangerine Dream’s soundtrack to Near Dark, one of the better vampire movies around in that:
a) It has Lance Henriksen. As a vampire from the Civil War.
b) Vampires in the Midwest in RVs with foil on the windows to block out the sun? Sign me up.
c) Bill Paxton as Severen. Mmmmh.
Even though it has a HEA which doesn’t quite fit the movie, I still love it. I still think May should have gone off with Severen, but that’s just me. No, I will not be writing fanfic. Though I might read it…
Anyway, another of my birthday presents was four hours of yardwork from the Sullen Gosling. He’s a real trouper, and scolds me when he thinks I’m lifting anything too heavy. When I took a hacksaw to something that Really Needed To Be Cut Back, he hovered until I handed it over to him. At which point it burst out of him, “This is a metal saw!” and he trundled off to get the correct one. I suppose that’s teenage tact, in that he didn’t tell me I was using the wrong tool while I was bent halfway over using it. I dunno. To me, a saw’s a saw, dangit.
Except that today my back is reminding me I Really Should Not Have Done That. Ah well. I’ll go take some ibuprofen and settle down. Since my wireless router pooped out on me I might actually get some work done today.
Heh. Just kiddin’. Happy Monday, everyone!
