Sunday, November 21, 2010

Ho Ho Ho

After having been threatened with the ire of the (not so) Jolly Old Elf, The Devil wanders downstairs, after - apparently - having given this matter of Santa and his magical abilities some serious consideration, and says casually, over her shoulder, at me:

THE DEVIL: "You know, Santa is REALLY magic."

ME: "Oh?"

THE DEVIL: "Yes, he can turn into a submarine."

ME:" ... how... cool? But why would he do that?"

THE DEVIL: "Because he LIKES to!"

As I pause to figure out where this information might have come from - including taking a moment to wonder how she knows about the existence of submarines, and what nefarious uses she might have for such knowledge - she wanders back past me and informs me:

THE DEVIL: "Legos don't have submarines..."

(I notice she is holding some Legos. Sure enough, there are no submarines in sight. She may be on to something.)

THE DEVIL: "...because legos don't go in outer space..."

(A pause, complete with head-tilt, as she considers the matter further, and then)

THE DEVIL: "...because they don't go under water."

ME: (thinking myself clever) "But they could if they had submarines!"

THE DEVIL: (Scornful, and perhaps a tad fed up with mom being such a dolt) "But they DON'T."

ME: ""Why not?"

THE DEVIL: (Now openly disdainful) "Because Santa has all the submarines." (Eyeroll.)

And she wanders back upstairs saying "...and blah blah, Santa... blah blah..."

I confess that while I speak English and they appear to be spoken in same, I have no idea whatsoever what either of these little exchanges mean. But she's singing homemade Christmas carols to herself ("Merry merry merry happy Christmas time for all the ones merry merry and snow merry jingle ale ginger ale ginger bells happy Christmas birthday time...") so I guess it was a good conversation?

And only 33 more days till Christmas.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Mouths of Babes, etc.

The scene:

The devil - age 3.5 - is sitting in her favorite toddler chair, cooing at an unhappy orange kitten clenched to her chest. Every time she loosens her hold one iota, the kitten scrabbles around on her, leaving nifty gashes to be shown off later to an admiring older brother. (I have no doubt whatsoever that in her world, she's a Viking, comparing battle wounds around some smoky fire and swilling grog.)

Finally, she eases her grip on the cat for one nanosecond while reaching for a shape sorter to stuff it into, and it launches itself away from her like it has been shot from a small evil cannon, propelled mainly by the power of its back claws.

The dialogue:

THE DEVIL: "Oh, that's a good kitten, you're so nice, you're such a - YOU LITTLE BASTARD!"

ME: (Shocked. But, in retrospect, I'm not really sure why. ANYway...) "KATHERINE!!!"

THE DEVIL: (Clearly wounded by my tone) "What? I didn't say you were a little bastard..."