This is a Furbittiter:
We jump on it.
We go weeeeee and go up up and then we go aaaaaaaah down down.
And I come out here
and you come out there.
It’s VERY hard to get there.
You have to put on shoes.
And you have to go on a plane.
And drive for a very long time.
It’s VERY fun.
No one can get hurt on it!
But NOT Daddy.
If Daddy goes on it… then there will be BLOOD.
And he’ll need a BAND AID.
The following is an original story told to me by my three year old, minus the occasional “and then what happened?” from me. As previously mentioned, he’s going to be telling the stories on this blog for a bit, because I’m broken somehow.
One time, there was a spider.
And he crawled out of a hole!
And he fell down.
And he said “aahhhh!”
And then he went up on his web, and he fell down.
And he caught his Mama.
And his Mama said, “don’t fall down any more, ok?”
And the spider said “I like to fall down.”
And then he fell down again and he broke our window!
He fell into the garbage.
Then he crawled up and he broke my picture.
And then he fell in Elmo’s mouth and Elmo ATE HIM ALL UP.
That’s not the end.
The end is in five minutes.
Then his Mama came in and said “where’s my little boy spider?”
And then he crawled out of Elmo’s mouth.
And he caught his mama!
And they fell in the garbage.
And they went up, up, up, up!
And they went to the ceiling and they made a web.
And they fell down.
I’ve been meaning to write about Wreck It Ralph since Perfect Husband and I saw it in theatres back in November. I thought you’d want to know about it since it was TOTALLY WICKED.
That’s right. I have zero complaints.
Me, the one who has found several movies to be… unsatisfactory.
I think it would be a fantastic movie for either gender of child to watch, although, since there are guns and enormous carnivorous bugs, I imagine it wouldn’t be great for little kids.
I think it carries an excellent message that it conveys eloquently.
I think it is filled with retro charm.
I think that the characters are three dimensional ones who grow and change throughout the story.
I think the humour is witty and sometimes understated.
I think the main female characters provide excellent role models for young girls.
I think that the development of the plot was a delight to experience.
A plot is a difficult and challenging thing to build well.
Believe me, I suck at them. Too simple, and it’s boring to sit through a predictable and pedestrian story, like, well, most children’s movies and an awful lot of adult ones. Too haphazard and you get a story that doesn’t seem to know where it wants to go, like Happy Feet.
But Wreck It Ralph is just… beautiful.
Every time I thought I knew where it was going, it threw a new wrench in the works. Every time I thought I knew how it fit together, it introduced a new twist. And yet everything did fit together, very well.
Yes, it had a couple of predictable bits, but then it was satisfying to see something so carefully constructed come to fruition.
I love Jane Lynch. Sure, she’s basically Sue from Glee, but I LOVE SUE FROM GLEE.
I love Sarah Silverman and the character of Vanellope. I even wore candy-striped hair pins at Christmas because they made me feel like her.
I love Ralph, of course.
I love the eye candy, by which I mean THE CANDY.
It’s just… perfect.
I can’t wait for Owl to be old enough to enjoy it. It has cars, it has candy, it has strong female characters, it has strong male characters, and only a couple of poop jokes.
It started out so normally.
There we were, in Tim Hortons, which could have been any Tim Hortons in Canada. But it wasn’t any Tim Hortons. No, we were in a NOVA SCOTIA SMALL TOWN Tim Hortons.
So I’m munching on my apple fritter and Babby is chewing on a piece of bread from my BLT, and he starts making eyes at the old lady sitting behind us, offering her his gummy bread.
Babby is a massive flirt with the ladies and it is his newest trick to entice them over to him by removing food from his mouth and holding it out to them with an alluring smile. They always laugh, and smile back at him, and politely decline the slimy lure, and he returns it to his mouth with a resigned expression.
This lady was no different from the others. I exchanged a smile with her as she gathered up the detritus from her meal and walked towards the garbage can, passing us on the way. She asked the usual questions (“how old is he?” “does he have any teeth yet?” “Is he a good sleeper?”) and I gave the usual answers (“nine months” “yes, two on the bottom,” and “oh hell, no”).
“Wall, he’s a reel sweetie-poi,” she said in a thick Maritime accent. I thanked her.
“Oi have to get to the hospital naow,” she said conversationally as she moved towards the garbage. “Moi nointey two year oald husband broke his hip.”
“Oh, no!” I said politely, “I hope he gets better soon.”
“Oh moi, yesh,” she said, “But Oi’m jest determined to get ‘im hoam. Oi sez to the docter, Oi sez, ‘jest yoo let me get ‘im hoam and Oi’ll be the best pill yoo ever had!”
“That’s right,” I said.
“Wall, Oi’m going to go an see him naow, and hopefully Oi’ll be bringin’ him hoam!” she said again.
“I hope you do.”
“Oi WILL bring him hoam! Oi’m determined!”
She came closer and said confidingly, “Y’see, the docter was concerned, becuz he wuz on some heart medicayshuns. But I tole ‘im, I sez, “those wuzn’t foar his HEART, they wuz becuz he gets angshus. Cuz of hiz job that he had long ago, roight? He gets roight angshus an’ his heart starts goin’ that fast, but it ain’t hiz heart, it’s the anxiety, roight? Becuz of hiz job…”
She set her plate and garbage down on my table and began to tell me her husband’s entire medical history in detail.
Her green eyes held mine as I sat and tried to listen, realizing she needed to tell someone, and for some reason, I was that someone.
Like a wedding guest in a Coleridge poem, I was destined to hear the entire tale.
And so the minutes ticked by as I was held hostage. It was difficult to maintain strict attention when I had a sandwich waiting to be eaten, in-laws expecting me at home, and a fussy Babby on my knee, but I did catch bits of the story.
“…and it wuz a pink pill,roight, like a salmon coloured pill, and it’s to slow daown the heart, only he had it cuz he wuz a foir-man fer so menny years, roight? And he would get roight tense, and he couldn’t breathe roight, and his heart would jest race, loik a panic attack, roight?”
“…So after the sergery the docter looks at his chart, and he seez that he wuz on this pill, and he sez ‘Oi didn’t know yer husband had a heart condishun’, only Oi sez ‘it wasn’t FOAR his heart…'”
“…so wen he woak up he didn’t know where he wuz, roight? He wuz scared. He thought maybe he wuz in a hospital after a foir, cuz he was a foir man for so menny years, so he panicked, roight? And he troid to cloimb right out of his bed, and he wuz jest owt a surgery, roight?”
“… an the docter, he sez he wuz lookin’ all arownd, and Oi sez, ‘yeah, he wuz lookin’ for me, see?”
“…So then Oi come in, and he seez me, and his arms go owt loik this, woid, loik a little boy holdin’ owt his arms to his mama…”
“…and they asked him if he knew where he wuz, and he sez ‘camping!” cuz we wuz supposed to go, roight, but then he broak his hip, and the RV new and everythin’…”
“…but he ain’t the same, with them new medicashuns hez on, he ain’t roight… Oi keep tellin’ the docter, ‘you let me bring ‘im hoam, and Oi’ll be the best pill yoo ever give ‘im!”
“I hope they send him home with you today,” I said, nodding. Finally, FINALLY, she gathered up her stuff again and put it in the trash. Then she told me,
“Oi’m going to get wun of them ramps bilt on the house, cuz he’ll have trubble getting up them steps fer a whoile. Of coarse, he’ll be a big baby when Oi bring ‘im hoam. Men always are,” she said with a twinkle.
“But Oi’ll get ‘im fixed up. We’ll go on that campin’ trip later this summer, Oi think!”
“I’m sure you will, and I hope he gets well soon,” I said, trying to break eye contact politely. She started to head toward the door.
“Don’t yoo be feedin’ that baby lettis,” she called from the doorway, pointing at Babby who was happily gumming some of my BLT, “Moi sister in law she give ‘er baby a piece a apple, an she near ’bout choked on a liddle bit of apple skin!”
Oh, Nova Scotia. I did miss you.
Okay, I’m woefully behind in NaNoWriMo, considering I haven’t got a story yet and we’re three days in.
Maybe you guys can help me.
I’m trying to put together a story, half make believe and half real, basing the characters on myself and a couple of my friends when we were in our early teens.
It would help me out if you could answer any or all of the following for me:
1. What emotions do you remember most strongly from your early teen years (12-14)?
2. What is one of your strongest joyful memories from that age?
3. What is one of your strongest unhappy memories from that age?
4. Did you or your friends believe in ghosts/claim to have ghosts in your house?
P.S. More details about the torch relay later.