My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

Hide & Seek (and Cat Tales)

2005-07-13
Both Dusty and Red have begun their own versions of Hide and Seek in the last week or so. Red�s is the typical variety for a 13 month old: she covers her face with a towel, piece of clothing she�s stolen out of the dirty clothes hamper, or a pillow case. You say, �Where�s the Baby? Where�s Red?� And she reveals her face and giggles.

It�s very adorable and she especially likes fabric that will cover her whole body so she can be Ghost Baby and stumble around the house, crashing into furniture she can�t see. If only I could get her to say, �WHHOOOOO!� we could all be even more frightened.

Instead, her current word is �Hi.� She says it in this quiet, little breathy way, like she�s hitting on you, and leans her whole body into you � man, I think that baby�s coming on to me! � that you can�t help but just pick her up and kiss her on her sweaty, fleshy neck.

I heart Red.

Dusty�s version is, naturally, a bit more sophisticated. She gathers up all the little stuffed animals: finger puppets, doll house-sized critters of all flavors, and puts them in a bag. Then, she chooses one and hides it. You have to then find it but she won�t tell you which animal you�re searching for. Fun! And, confusing! And slightly frustrating! Just tell me, already! TELL ME what I�m looking for! Once you�ve finally found your hidden animal, it�s your turn. Over and over and over again, back and forth, until...

My word! Look at the time. I believe it�s time to brush your teeth and get ready for bed! Of course, the game continues at bedtime. Her father will play these games with her and I can hear her down the hall, the laughter getting louder and louder, and the harmonica she recently received making its distinctive harmonica sound, whatever you�d call that. When it�s my turn, I get the chore of calmer her down, reading a couple books, and telling her stuff.

�Like what?�
�Tell me about your cats.�
�I did already. Last night.�
�Tell me again.�
Sigh. �Alright! There was Kitty Cat, Sami, Francis, Tripod, Pookie and Oates.�
�Tell me what they did.�
�Kitty Cat. I had him as a kid. He was Siamese and liked to sleep in my armpit��
�What�s your armpit?�
�Right here. The space between your chest and arm.�
�Oh.�
�Kitty Cat would knead me like bread.�
�How?�
�Like this� and I�ll demonstrate. It tickles. A lot.
�Who�s next?�
�Sami. I used to dress him up: dress, bloomers [pause here to explain bloomers], bonnet, socks. Usually, he wouldn�t mind and I�d put him in my doll carriage and ride him around the house. He�d fall asleep.�
�Then who?�
�Francis. He�s the cat in the big painting in the t.v. room. Wrapped up like a mummy in an Ace bandage [another pause to explain THIS]. He had no bones and was all floppy.�
�Really?�
�No. But, it seemed like it.�
�He really had bones.�
�Yes, he really did. Then, Tripod. She adopted me. She was solid black and only had three legs and when I brushed out the flea scabs behind her ears, she�d bring me dead squirrels as presents. Once, it was half a squirrel.�
�Eeewww.�
�Yeah, it was gross. I had to ask her to stop.�
�You did?�
�Yeah. And she stopped.�
�She did?�
�Yeah. You know, it�s time for you to go to sleep now.�
�But you didn�t finish!�
�I�ll finish tomorrow. Promise.�
�For real?�
�Yes.�
�For really real?�
�Yes.�
�For really, really real?�
God. �Yes, a thousand times, yes!�
�All your cats are dead.�
�Yes, they�re all dead now.�
�Were they old?�
�Some of them.�
�Were they sick?�
�Some of them.�
�Which ones?�
�I�ll tell you tomorrow.�
�No!!�
�Good night!�
�Misha mush mosh, chigga-ba!�

This last bit is Dusty-speak, a language only she can speak fluently. I don�t know where this gibberish comes from � whether her friends speak it or whether it arose spontaneously from her Amazing Dusty Mind � but often, when she�s unhappy with an answer she receives, she�ll mumble this Chigga-ba talk. She�s an odd one, that Dusty. But she�s non-returnable. So, don�t even THINK about it.

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3:27 p.m. ::
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