where are you going my little one?

This morning after my walk I was accosted by what could only be described as … cuddle-zombies. I spent the first part of the morning downstairs catching up on email as the kids slumbered. As is typical, my daughter arose first and came looking for me. I usually wordlessly scoop her up in my arms as she shakes her hair out of her eyes and instructs me where to take her for morning cuddles. Today’s destination: my bed. Where we find the younger one awake (and oddly posed in Downward Dog) whereupon he springs up into standing position on the bed, raises his arms, and makes odd caveman sounds in urgent appeal for me to pick him up. Somehow we all fall into bed, Sophie under the electric blanket on my right, Nels on top of me, smelling lovely and heavy with sleep.

Nels has been saying, “Ice Age the Meltdown” when he sees the poster for said film (P.S. Stick to Pixar). Except he says, “Ice Age the MILKdown!” with a significant pause on the “milk”. It’s basically as if someone built a little robot in the shape of a boy, a robot whose sole design purpose was Cuteness. Today serving breakfast I am saying it too: “The MILKdown!” when Nels interrupts: “No, Mama,” he says with offended dignity. “It’s meltdown.” (Sophie claims credit for this correction).

Obviously I am very sad about this. What people don’t know is that a small child saying “Milk” is one of the nicest things one can hear, especially when they misuse or mispronounce it (Sophie used to say “Mut!” when she was very small, later graduation to “Muk!” and now, of course, the proper expression). Luckily Nels still has words that, when pronounced, make me want to bite him: I hope he hangs on to his “noonles” and “tomayno” (for an example of the latter see the first few seconds of this film) for “noodles” and “tomato”.

I can’t even phoenetically represent the way Sophie says “squirrell” and “twirl”. I can’t even copy it verbally. I’ll have to record it for posterity before she changes.

Today’s pre-dawn walk was an uninspiring, but effective “Newtown” route that inexplicably gave me a blister (I’ve been using the same shoes for all my walks with no trouble so far). Erica and I got to watch the sunrise and I got to hear a long story involving well-digging and home financing. It was a good story though, for reals.

Now: on to a mid-morning bath with my wee little monsters.

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