Pointless Drivel

Tell Her to Bring Warm Clothes

One of the recurring questions at our house is, "Where did that come from?"  Meaning, when The Shmunkin says something seemingly out of the blue, we struggle to figure out how it originated.  Many times those mysterious statements probably came from something she heard or saw at Big Girl School, but other times they are a window into her mind:  Telling us what she is thinking, as long as we can decipher the clues.

We are currently in the process of getting another Shmunkin.  This one from Korea.  Originally, it was going to be China again.  Then Taiwan.  Now it's Korea.  Don't ask.  The point is, the Shmunkin is very excited about the prospect of having a sister, even though we don't talk about it very often.  At the beginning of the process, many months ago, we discussed it quite a lot, and noticed two things:  First, her little Shmunkie mind does not process time well, so it was hard to explain how long the adoption would take.  And, second, she started regressing -- acting younger than she had been and demanding more and more of our attention.  She even started crying when I dropped her off at Big Girl School.  Her teacher mentioned this once, adding other teachers asked her a lot about it, and suggested that may be part of the problem.  So we stopped about the adopting to and in front of her, letting her bring it up if she chooses.

Every once in a while, she will bring it up.  Sometimes in peculiar ways.

This morning, I was sitting at the computer doing my regular stuff, and The Shmunkin was in her play room doing her regular stuff.  Normally, she will play quietly by herself for a while, coming in the room where I am from time to time, mostly to check to make sure I am still there, but also to ask for help or tell me some new revelation she has had.  This time, I heard her coming, and she was talking the whole way.  Except, I could only hear one side of what appeared to be a two-sided conversation.  As if she were talking to someone on the telephone.

Turns out, she was.  As she entered the dining room, I could see she was dragging her toy phone on wheels (you know the kind), and had the handle up to her head.  She sounded like she was making plans for someone to visit, including when they would arrive and how they would get here.  She walked up to me and said, "I'm talking on the phone." 

"Oh," I said, "to whom?" 

"To sister.  I'm giving her directions to get here."

Can I Take Your Order?

The Shmunkin loves play acting. One of her favorites is being a waitress. We got her one of those magnetic drawing tablets, and every once in a while she will walk into the room with it, and ask, "What do you want?" When you tell her something, she will say, "Okay!", then pretend to write it down and leave the room. A few minutes later, she will return will a plate and a glass, presenting you with your order.

Most of the time, but not always.

In keeping with her (apparently) subconscious effort to always keep us guessing, sometimes she does things different.

This morning was a bit more relaxed than usual. We were going to the doctor's office to check Shmunkin's persistant cough and get a flu shot. The Ways and Means Committee has already left, and I was in the dining room getting some work done. The Shmunkin was in the playroom getting into her dress-up clothes, then appeared in the doorway, magnetic tablet in hand.

"What do you want."

"I'll have a hamburger and french fries."

"Okay!" [Leaves the room.]

From the other end of the house, I can hear the rustling of items in the playroom. It is taking much longer than normal. Just when I figure she has moved on to something else, she is back in the doorway.

"We're all out of hamburgers."

"Then just french fries."

"Okay!" [Starts to leave, but turns around.] "We're all out of french fries, too."

"Okay, I'll have chicken."

"We're all out of chicken."

"Then I'll have a grilled cheese sandwich."

"We're all out of grilled cheese sandwiches."

"Then I'll have the Turkey Tetrazini."

"We're all out of turkey za...za...zee...nee."

"Okay. What do you have."

"We have Diet Coke."

"Well, then I'll have a Diet Coke."

She leaves the room again. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Back at the doorway with a toy cup and plate. "Here's your Diet Coke. And I found a hamburger and french fries, too."

Well, thank goodness for that. I gave her a big tip.

Let Me Grab That Right Away

Why is everyone in such a big hurry all of a sudden?  And why have restaurants seemed to take up the torch of hurried meals?  Even sit-down restaurants.

Now, there are times when I'm in a hurry and just want to have a quick bite to eat.  On those occasions I will stop at a fast food restaurant, or pick something up a grocery or convenience store.  If I have a bit more time, I like to go to a semi-quick place like Perkin's or Denny's or, my absolute favorite, Big Boy.

But many times I like to linger over a meal in a place with decent food and a casual atmosphere.  I want to relax and eat slowly, enjoying both the food and the people with me,  Yet, it seems this is no longer allowed.  Even in those moderately-priced, American-style national chains with all of the [INSERT THEME HERE] memoribilia hanging on the walls and the ceiling.  The places where, even though they may have a theme (airplanes, bicycles, boats, sports, etc.) , you know what is on the menu when you walk in the door.  Oh, sure, they go by different names -- T.G.I. Fridays, Applebee's, Ruby Tuesday, Champp's, Hoolihan's, and that one pretending to be Australian with those incredibly annoying commercials -- but they're all the same.  I call them A.F.B. Restaurants:  Another Frickin' Bennigan's.

It seems to me that even these place are trying to get you in and out as fast as possible.  I understand why:  The more people they can serve in a finite amount of time, the more they make.  I just don't want to be rushed.  But lately, it seems the wait staff are specifically trained to move us along as quickly as they can.  It's in the language they use:

• "I'll grab those drinks for you right away."
• "I'll put in this order right away."
• "Is there anything else I can grab for you right away."

These people are spending so much time grabbing things right away, it makes me wonder if they're washing their hands properly afterward.  Plus the noise is so loud, it's difficult to have a conversation without yelling at each other.

Sadly, I think the days of the leisurely meal, perhaps with a cup of coffee afterward, are gone.  Oh, there are still some restaurants where you are allowed, even encouraged, to linger after a meal to enjoy a cup of coffee or an after-dinner drink.  But those are the places where the meal itself can cost more than my first car. 

Maybe that's what I should do:  Open up a place of my own.  A place where relaxing and lingering are encouraged.  A place people just want to hang around with a cup of coffee and chat...maybe read a newspaper.  For that matter, maybe I should stick to selling coffee and coffee-related products only.  Of course, I'll have to charge more for it; minimum two or two-fifty a cup, I would think.  Then I could add some fancy coffees with wierd names for four or five dollars each.  And to justify the price, I'd have to figure out a way to make it trendy, but not cost more to produce.  I know! I'll use fewer grounds but over-roast the beans so people think it's stronger.  Then I'll brew it using water twenty or thirty degrees hotter than it should be, so it pulls too many oils out of the grounds an the coffee tastes bitter.  Then people would think it's trendy, and flock to my restaurant.

Eh, never mind.  It would never work.

Comeuppance

Bedtime can be interesting here at the old homestead.  We have progressed to the point where, frequently, The Shmunkin will actually go to sleep on her own in a timely matter.

But not always.

We've gotten The Shmunkin established in a routine for bedtime.  Normally, she will chatter to herself for a few minutes, then go to sleep.  But sometimes she isn't quite ready to sleep, which results in a parade up and down the stairs are she repeatedly calls us for some urgent issue.  So I started telling her she can only call us if it is an emergency, which works for the most part, but sometimes she forgets.  The other night, after my third trip upstairs, I told her no more calling for us, and that she must close her eyes and go to sleep.  And it was quiet for a while.  Then she began reciting one of her favorite books.  Normally, we would let this go; if that's how she wants to get to sleep, so be it.  But it was getting late and she really needed to get to sleep, so I went up for the fourth, and what I hoped would be the final, time.

I had to make her think I was serious, so I used my "stern walk" up the stairs -- not stomping, but stepping hard to make a noise she would think is serious.  She quieted down and, by the time I reached her room, she was snuggled in a pretending to be asleep.  (Apparently, she hasn''t figured out the monitor yet.)  When I entered her room, I used my stern voice:

"Why am I hearing noises coming from up here?"

"I don't know."

"Was it you making the noise?"

"Maybe."

"The only noise I should be hearing from up here is 'hornk-shoo, hornk-shoo, hornk-shoo'.  Do you know what that is?  That's the sound of a Shmunkin sleeping.  Okay?

"Okay."

Satisfied I had at last solved the issue, I went back down.  By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard: 

"Hornk-shoo [giggle-giggle-giggle], hornk-shoo [giggle-giggle]..."

I suppose I could have gotten mad, but I couldn't resist laughing.  Besides, it's not like I never heard it before.  From the other side.

When I was in first or second grade, we lived in a two-story house in Rochester.  One night, my sister and I were fooling around and The Mother, in her stern voice, called up the stairs:  "Go to bed, and I don't want to hear another peep!"  So, of course, our response was, "Peep...peep...peep..."

It's hard to get mad for something you've done yourself.