Thursday, May 17, 2007


I'm not at The Ranch tonight. SuperNan and I decided to make a last-minute trip to visit Big Brother and Family, and we arrived this afternoon in perfect time for me to break into their spare-bedroom closet and take the down duvet out, curl up on the floor and have a luxurious nap. Nothing in this life is better than down duvets -- except of course clean socks -- and naps burried deep within their fluffy goodness make my days sweeter and my nights dreamier.

The Princess is growing up, really and truly, because now that she is nineteen months old she can actually say 'Auntie'. It is very priceless but the problem is she knows the word but not who it blongs to. All afternoon she was pointing at me and saying Nanny and pointing at SuperNan and saying Auntie. So she has a little bit of relative confusion going on but hey! She said my name!

She showed me the art of coloring today, and made us all a picture while she was strapped into her high chair after she ate her dinner. I was given the pleasure of feeding her and unlike the Precious Boy used to, she didn't bother to strawberry-kiss any of it into my hair in the five minutes before I leave for a job interview. Already, the Boy has competition over what, exactly, he gets left in my will because not having crusty hair is high on my list of priorities.

After hte Princess went to bed, I spent a fair amount of time outside playing fetch with the dog, the insane, oversized mass of hyperactivity who lived in my parents' house for six months and who is the reason I do not have ethical issues with spoon-feeding animals large quantities of sedatives. Wrapped in Steak. And dipped in gravy.

I have to say that nothing beats playing fetch with a well-trained dog because this dog fetches every single time, repeatedly, for as long as you have a desire to toss her retrieving dummy. Not only does she fetch, but she sits absolutely still while you take aim and throw and then? You have to TELL her to go and get the dummy. Then she brings it directly back to you, drops it at your feet, and waits for you to repeat the process. She repeats this process with such joie de vie and exhuberance that you begin to think for a second, wait. Maybe this dog isn't really, really smart. Perhaps she is really, really stupid because she just performed the same action thirty-seven times in a row and she's still acting like it is a very important job to be done. As though God is depending on her to retrieve all of the world's dummies, because if she doesn't retrieve them and drop them at my feet, MY WORD, WHO WILL? I suppose that the retreival of dummies is not something that can be taken lightly, and Big Brother's dog is well aware of her obligation to safely-- without ripping, slobbering on, or defacing-- bring back every dummy that is ever thrown her way.

Rock on, Calypso.

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