"Tweasure!" Said The Bad Pirate

"Tweasure!"  That's what both of them claimed!  Both Miss Lilly and Jay claimed they were pirates.   She said, "I'm a good pirate."  He said, "I'm a bad pirate, arrrrgh!"  and this 4 year old did the pirate stance, leg out, hand on hip, and wooden flower stick held high!

Ha, ha, ha, these two dirty urchins, toddlers, were playing in the dirt with me.  Earlier in the afternoon I'd been to Jay's house to help weed the west side.  Of course, he and his 1 y.o. sister came running out squealing "Pee-am!"  Sometimes they call me GwammyPee-am, and sometimes they shorten it.

With my bucket of shovels, gloves, and hand rake, he had to partake.  She, too - she wanted my "glubs".  He dug a hole which was fine, I worked along beside him while he became a boy.  Next thing I knew, he was complaining, "Ew."  There were bugs in his hole -- ants, aphids, and a worm, "Ew.  Worm's dead."

Then Jay wanted to go home with me.

Didn't we?  Remember playing so hard, and having so much fun you didn't want it to end, you wanted to go home with them.  So, we made a plan.  Mom would go to town and drop him off at where I'd be.

I'd be at Miss Lilly's house with Darling Hubby who was there laying block in her parents' cellar.

In my backseat was that bucket of stuff.  And I added a basket of Matchbox cars, and about 6 wooden flowers on sticks.  They were yellow and red and pink and had red lady bugs on the leaves.  They were old and faded having been outside for 2 or 3 summers in a row, which means they'd be disposable at this point -- fun for kids.  The cars were for teaching them to make roads in the dirt.  No need.  The toddlers created their own play in the dirt starting with digging for "Tweasure!"

Miss Lilly, "I'm digging for tweasure.  I'm a pirate."
Jay, "Arrrgh, that's what they say."
Miss Lilly, "I'm a pirate.  I'm a digging pirate."
Jay, "I'm a bad pirate."
Miss Lilly, "I'm a good pirate."

So be it.  They were pirates.  Miss Lilly, the girly child, said, "I found X!" and she stabbed the dirt with her shovel.  "Tweasure!"  She exclaimed.  I asked, "What's treasure?" and she handed me a rock. Next she told me the bucket was for treasure and filled it with more rocks and a stick and then amongst it all, planted a flower!  LOL!

Jay got brave and climbed the nearby dirt pile.  It was about 5 feet tall with a gentle grade, no danger whatsoever.  He climbed up willy-nilly.  More cautious was Miss Lilly.  She climbed gingerly, keeping her balance and footing, but boy, once at the top she said "X is for tweasure!"  and she stabbed the dirt with her yellow handled shovel and then bravely, on shaky legs, raised her hands to the sky.

Jay, right behind her, had no such problems.  He looked at the side closest to me, and because it had erosion, declared it to be a waterfall and promptly slid down on his butt.  At the bottom he relabeled it, "It's a swide".

We took a break from dirt play to watch the big boys play in dirt.  Miss Lilly's dad and Darling Hubby were using a mortar hoe shoving quikrete back and forth in a wheel barrel mixing it with sand and water.  "Ew" said the toddlers peering over the sides which for them was eye level.  "Ew", they said as gray wet specks splatted on their shirts, and arms.  But, it wasn't too ew, because they each insisted on taking a turn at manning the water hose.

More shovel slinging dirt, more digging holes to plant and replant flowers, more rock finding, and further attempts at sliding, filled the evening.  Jay slid down on his backside then Miss Lilly decided she could, too.  Back up he went, this time, he came down head first belly-side down!  That's a boy!

Jay was getting chilly, waiting on his ride home, so I grabbed a small green ragged towel to drape around his neck.  Immediately, he morphed into Superman!  He ran to the blue truck, then zipped to the trash tote, hid, then squealingly revealed himself and ran back up to the top of the mountain!  "I fast!"

But then Miss Lilly got called in for a bath.  Jay said, "I take showers. I'm a big boy."  We all needed showers!

Childs play.
That was my plan for the evening; to play right along with the children -- digging for "tweasure."
Shovels, and rakes, and "glubs", and pirates, the bad and the good.
"Arrrrgh!"  It's all good!

Sunday's Toddlers' Trucks and Toes

The air explodes with squeals, giggles, kid calls, and the pitter patter of many feet when church lets out.  6 or 7 toddlers, with 2 or 3 primary aged children, are thrilled at being cut loose from adult restraints.

Our current small membership has recently had a population explosion.  After dismissal, the church house experiences after-shocks of frenzied activity.  It's wonderful!  Innocence and exuberance make the rest of us smile.

Earlier, during services, Jay and I read an interactive book titled Matching Pics Slide and Find Trucks.  Just as he had done on the previous page with a red fire truck,  I slid open an orange tab.  Under it was an orange backhoe and I pointed to the matching orange backhoe on the opposite page.  This precocious 4 y.o. claps his soft little hands and cheers, "Yay.  You found it.  Good job!"  Of course, I laughed at the irony!

After Jay scooted away, Lilly sidled in.  She and Layna got out coloring books and a bag of crayons.   Lilly asks Layna for purple but also wants another color, "Yell-yo" so she returns the purple one.  Polite 2 y.o. Layna says, "Thanks Yill-yee" and adds her little thoughts, "Yill-yee's funny.
It's my col-wer."

Later in the hall, Kit, who has recently been introduced to other churches, and hasn't attended here for a few weeks, peeks from behind his mother's skirt to declare, "This is MY church!"

And then there's Olga, the hair flouncing, confident princess, who gets in the middle of the adults to twirl on the sidewalk, "Do you know why I'm happy every day?  Because everyone tells me I'm cute."

Can't forget Bruce; 2 years old, a bit dutchy in speech, full of vinegar, throws a toy on the top step, looks me in the eye, and with proud clarity says, "TRUCK!"  Well, I sure understood that!

Let's tack on one more little story.  It happens after church-goers break up from eating Mexican fare.  Lilly is playing outside on the pavement, claiming the area, "This is my house.  These are my toys.  Over there is not my house."  Suddenly, she stands stock still and points to the heavens, "LOOK!  It's an airplane with fwashing lights."

At home she rides her Playskool scooter and purposefully drives it over a rock, "I have a flat tire", she states.  Since I'm a good "GwammyPam", I pretend to fix the flat tire.  She straddles it again, goes forward a few inches then parks the right front tire smack-dab on a rock!  "I have a flat tire", she raises her voice.  Laughing, I again pretend to fix the flat tire.

Deciding to get a screwdriver and a box end wrench to tighten the handlebars I head for hubby's tool chest.  Behind me I hear her little feet padding along, and her little girlly toddler voice, "I have a flat toe.  I stepped on a rock."

To make sure I knew, (And I did.  I knew she was threading a story and making connections.) she restated it.  Her dad heard, her grandfather heard, I heard, and the air exploded with giggles again.

"I have a flat toe!"

That Man's Here For the Heater!

Boy, was I flying!

Yesterday, a man said he'd be here at 9 o'clock to pick up a kerosene heater we were selling.
Today, I forgot.
This morning (I woke up late after a long evening and rough night), while sitting at the computer to leisurely check up on email posts, the driveway alarm went off!

My mind:  Don't worry; it's just someone turning around.  
My eyes:  SHOOT!  That man!  That man's here for the heater!  SHOOT!

Still in my jammies with only the amount of time it takes to drive the length of the driveway, I shot up out of that rolling chair.  I SCOOTED!

Up I ran, double stepped up the stairs, and ripped out my braid out as I went.
Ran through the den, hit the light switch to our bedroom, stripped as I quick-stepped.
Grabbed undergarments, scanned the closet for easily donned blue blouse while I put on the undergarments,
Threw blue blouse over my head.
Pulled white capri pants up.
Grabbed hair for more unbraiding.
Turned down light switch.
While running back through den adjusted all clothing.
Zipped up pants, breezed down the stairs,looked out the window, “Shew, that man still hasn't gotten out of his car.”

Zoomed to the bathroom.
Grabbed brush and ran it through top of hair, not the ends "keep your back turned to him".
Returned to the window.
Yep, there he is, testing the heater.
Take mental inventory from head to toe, shoot, feet are bare.  Oh well, can't hunt shoes now!

"Smiles, everyone, smiles!" as Mr. Roarke of Fantasy Island would say.

"Hello Mr. Scott, you're early!"

Be A Cat! Sneaky.

Be a cat!

You want all the caressing and nuzzling and scratching and loving you can get?  Be a cat!

We have a cat.

Boots.  Black, white chest, white feet, tuxedo coat; Boots.

Boots saunters in.

Boots is soundless.

Boots glides on all four feet, long black tail gently bending and curving this way and that, 

stroking the air, detecting.

His whiskers have little fuzz flecks.

His black fur has little fuzz flecks.

Boots is here, but,

where in the devil has Boots been?

Detection's needed to locate Boots' hiding spots.

No one ever knows where Boots spends his days.

Many times Boots doesn't come when called.

Open a can of kitty food?   Boots'll be there!

Today's Garage Sale day.

Never inside is Boots allowed, but

he takes advantage of inattention and rests on folded sequined purple material.

Almost camo, but no, he's detected, "Off of there!"

Female shopper feeling empathy reaches for a furry caress!

Arching, slinking, and total immersion in affection, 

and then obseqence, slipping to the floor.

Later, other garage sale shopper stops at the money table,

Boots is there.

Jump.  Up on the table.  Curving body around the money box closest to the customer.  (Traitor.)

Beguilingly begging.  He wins. 

Gathered in arms for close chest cuddles.

More petting takes place between cat and cat-lover.

"Where's that cat?"

"Boo-oots!"

Sale customers are gone.

Cat is gone.

Ut-oh.

Together they wouldn't have  secreted off, would they? 

A mutual love fest?

Boots was gone.

Teen customer squeezes out an exclamation, "Ah, look at the pretty kitty."

Huh?  Where?

Quick!  Find that customer.

Ah ha, cat found!

For hours Boots slept

in his hiding place.

Well, you sneaky cat!

Cat stays.

In the box, on the linty rope.

Behind box for sale.

Nothing to view -- but the ear.

More customers come.

They come and go,

Boots stays.

Boots in his zone;

the perfect zone where everyone passes through

and benevolent hands, too.

Love strokes, tender caresses, 

belly rubs, ear scratches, 

nose scritches, tail skimming,

much appreciative affection given.

Be a cat!

You can have it all!