Mabel is still astounded by the child-sized Anna-from-Frozen doll we saw at Target today. It was just a couple of inches shorter than she is. Here is a direct transcript of her conversation with her brother just now:
M: I have NO IDEA how anyone would play with that. You’d have to be nine or ten to play with that.
D: You’d have to be 18. It would be terrifically bad.
M: And it might get mixed up with someone in your family who was very quiet and good.
… American Girl Dolls, fine. They’re not huge.
D: Though I still hate them. No doubt about that.
My children crack me up. In between infuriating me and driving me bananas, if I can just stop and listen to their turns of phrase, they crack me up. The other day Dash asked me “Do you know what irks me?” I had to ask “No, what does irk you?” just to get him to say irk some more.
I turned off the TV on Friday after school, with some trepidation, adhering to our new policy of only four shows a day (yes, that should be plenty; but the step of actually turning it off is tricky and unpopular) and since then Dash has taken to playwriting. (Playwrighting? He’s both writing a play and being a playwright, so I guess either would do.)
All weekend he’s been writing scenes and badgering us to type them up and then perform them. His opus now stands at four short plays in each of which his parents die and come back as ghosts (or “goghsts” in Dash spelling). Then there’s a villain whose bullets rebound killing himself, and someone always intones mournfully, “I was a great friend of your mother/father.” We each have at least one role and often several, and sometimes have to bilocate.
Honestly, we’re getting a bit exhausted by all this and I might have to turn the telly back on.