Archive | June 9, 2010

PB moustache


Compare with Squash goatee, of about a year and a half ago, for a quickie blast from the past. Double his lifetime later, he’s so sophisticated now. So debonair. So — hey! Is that a stinky diaper I smell?

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How do you get to Carnegie Hall?

Yesterday, whilst I was tootling around doing errands with the kids, I fell, as many are wont to do, to trying to perfect various farm animal sounds.  One has to while away the minutes somehow: can you name a better way than to perfect farm animal sounds?

Just late last week we’d gone to Little Farm — just what it sounds like: a wee, working farm, with a little bit of everything you’d want in such a place — in the nearby regional park with a school chum of the girl child’s.  So the barnyard’s aural landscape was still crisp in my mind. I had the chicken down pretty well, but the turkey escaped me.  I went back and forth between them, but was continually tempted to stick with the chicken sound, since that one was the one that made me feel successful. Like, Man Do I Have a Cool Parent successful.

Then the girl child casually pawned off this gem: “Baba, if you practice chicken, you’re going to get nowhere with the turkey.”

Well shet my mouth.  Now, whenever I find myself avoiding the shin-skinning scramble up the rough scree of challenge for the comfortable, back-massaging Barcalounger of guaranteed, no-effort success, well. I’ll just try to remember the deathless words of my five-year-old: if you practice chicken, you’re going to get nowhere with the turkey.

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