Last week in the House of Hayes was very exciting, indeed. We had visitors, we ate turkey, we learned what a giraffe says...
So Claire has this peg puzzle with six little animals on it: a tiger, a lion, a zebra, a giraffe, a hippo and a sheep. Now, if you say, "Sheep? Why is there a sheep in a puzzle with exotic animals?" My answer to you is who knows? But, I found this puzzle in the dollar bins at Target. I guess you get what you pay for? In this case, a barnyard/exotic animal mix. Reminds me of the Exotic Animal Paradise outside of Springfield...shudder.
Anyway, Claire loves this puzzle. She likes to grab the lion and tiger and growl like said animals. It's just about the cutest thing in the world. She also says, "Baa!" for the sheep and we're working on "Nay!" for the zebra. Here's where we run into trouble. What in the world does a giraffe say? I went on a mission to find out. Okay, it was more like I asked my mom while we were on the phone and she googled, but it felt a lot more dramatic than it sounds. It turns out that giraffes say nothing. Well, nothing that we can hear at least. I call bullshit. Apparently baby giraffes make noises. Of course they do. I'm sure they cry and scream bloody murder every time someone puts them in their bouncer, too...
Back to the grown-up giraffes. I'm sure they make some noise. I've decided they say "Giraffe! Giraffe!" like this SNL bit. Claire isn't so convinced. Maybe they just glare at each other like my sister and I when our parents are being ridiculous at dinner and we have that eye brow conversation that says, "Can you believe these people produced us?" "No, dude, they're so lame." "Will you pass the wine?" "Yes, and here's the gravy, your potatoes look naked." If you aren't having these conversations with your sibling, I'm sorry.
Whatever, if giraffes have decided to be mute I guess I'll accept it. But then we come to Mr. Hippo. Other than being hungry, hungry, what the hell does this guy say? Claire has decided the hippo moos. Okay, I'll bite. Maybe a hippo does moo. Here's another hippo inquiry, do they really produce pink milk? I've never had the occasion to milk a hippo so I have no idea and while HyVee carries a lot of organic and otherwise fancy-shmancy things, sadly I've never found hippo milk. If it is pink, I hope it's also strawberry flavored because how pissed would you be if you grabbed the pink milk only to discover it's not strawberry? I'll tell you, you'd be very pissed.
So after Claire and I answered all of the important questions of the universe, see above, we moved on to general play, reading and the like. Claire, I have discovered, likes her baby sister a lot, I mean a lot. This has lead me to label her as an "Aggressive Lover of Babies." This is an upgrade from her previous label of "Aggressive Lover of Cats." Unfortunately for Miss Baby, she can't flee Claire's attacks, I mean hugs, like the cat. These love session usually start with a greeting of, "Hi, B!" and continue until Zora has been squished, kissed, hugged and otherwise loved into a fit of what I would like to think is reciprocal love that she is so far unable to express. I'm pretty sure she's just really angry, though.
Ah and we reach the purported subject of this blog, TV. Last week I let Claire watch Thomas and Friends so that I could clip her nails before my family arrived. It worked like a charm. She stood perfectly still, mouth agape, while I clipped and filed her nails. We also had a bit of TV here and there while my family was visiting over the weekend. Nothing kid-oriented, mostly Travel, Food and football. We had the first of a series of Thanksgiving feasts so there was an apparent need for football. Thankfully all pertinent teams won their games so there wasn't an uprising or anything and watching Kansas get beaten to pulp was a glorious Thanksgiving miracle.
This week should be interesting because it's a holiday and we're traveling to visit Rob's family. Happy Thanksgiving everyone. Go eat too much turkey and pass out on your couch on the person sitting next to you.
No comments:
Post a Comment