My dear friend and I had luncheon..............

It being May and allegedly pretty outside, my friend and I decided to go on a walk to our favorite cafe and sip delightful ice beverages and munch on delicate sandwiches outside under the glorious sky with sunshine, etc.

Except that it was cloudy, but we took it in stride (ha) and went anyway. As soon as we sat down at our lovely table, we realized we were not alone.

No. That would have been too dignified. No, we were sitting right next to a joyful reunion of two families. A rather loud reunion.

Me and My dear friend (MDF): Nom. *eat food, sip delightful organic healthy carbonated icy fruit beverages*
People at table next to us: lady, husband of other lady, infant, 9-month old:
--Lady: Ooh, we're going to France in autumn! Ooh, yay, so exciting. SO expensive. Tsk. We're going to France!
--Husband of other lady: *patting infant* *nodding*
MDF and I: *exchange glances*
People at table next to us: now Other Lady, her six-year-old, and Lady's child join them.
--Little Girls: *holding Lady's phone* Look!
--Lady: Ooh, what did you do? *looks* Sent a message to Facebook?
--Little Girls: *incoherent*
--Lady: Join Facebook! *laughs*
--Little Girls: *louder* Mommy, the baby's eating dirt!
--Lady: Oh. *Swoops up nine-month-old and puts on metal chair* *not even trying to get it out of the baby's mouth*

The baby had been eating dirt for some time now.

--Husband of Lady: Look! *holds out plate with a loaf of bread on it* *French accent*
--Husband of Other Lady: That's some serious bread, dude!
--Husband of Lady: It was for this much money in the deli! *French accent*

MDF and I: *get cookies*
MDF and I: *come back*

People at table next to us:
--Husband of lady: *strollers Infant over to Little Girls, who are poking HUGE dogs*
--Lady: I'm so worried about my little daughter! She's had this horrible rash!
--Other Lady: Oh, usually that's caused by wheat, dairy, or soybeans!
--Husband of Lady: *eats serious bread with knife and fork*
--Lady: I know! I took her to the pediatrician but they didn't say anything. *sigh* I wonder what it could be. I thought it might be strawberries. I've tried taking away foods for a week and seeing if that affects her rash.
--Husband of Lady: *chews*
MDF and I: *exchange glances*

I think we all know what the baby's been eating that gives her a rash. . . .*ahem* dirt *ahem*

--Nine-month-old: *rocks metal chair around, shakes back of chair, falls off, eats dirt again*

My goodness, that poor baby.

I do hope French dirt is healthy.

A Battle in Buy Mode

Before I turned on the computer......

Me: Hey, Peter and Laura, do you want to be on a blog post about your Sims?
Laura: Sure!
Peter: Okay, but you have to spell ten dinosaur names. This is a spelling test. Starting now. Spell 'Tyrannosaurus Rex.'
Me: *exasperated* Do YOU know how to spell that?
Peter: SPELL IT!!!
Me: T-y-r-a-n-n.......

---

Laura: You're obviously going to make this funnier than it is.
Me: *types*
Laura: Emma!
Me: *typing*
Laura: And you're probably going to make up lines.
Me: *sigh* No. Okay. So. Um, Peter.... tell me about the Pop Stove family.
Peter: First of all, their middle name is not "Pop" all the time.
Me: So their permanent last name is "Stove"?
Peter: Yes. Second of all, the mom and the dad are aliens.
Me: But their son is not.
Peter: He is not because, well, he landed on a car out of the spaceship.
Me: But he's Caucasian.
Peter: What does Caucasian mean?
Me: Fair-skinned. Wait...how does landing on a car mean that he doesn't have green skin?
Peter: Well, if an alien falls out of a spaceship and they don't really want to, they become a person. They keep their alien traits, though.
Me: And his parents let this happen?
Peter: No! They never knew they had a son!
Me: Oh-kay..... So they adopted a son when they bought their house. Do they like children? Even though theirs is human?
Peter: Yes, because he has a lot of fishing skill, and they like fish. And, they really like that they can finally have somebody that's a Couch Potato in their family.
Me: And that's a good thing?
Peter: Yo, like totally!
Me: Okay. Let's talk about where their son got adopted to in a few minutes. I want to ask Laura about her families. Which is your favorite?
Laura: The artist one I just made with the lady and the guy I made to be her husband.
Me: Yes.... and they are nocturnal?
Laura: Yes. The guy is a Ghosthunter, so he has to get up at all times of night, and the mom is an artist (that's her job) and she works at home. So she can sleep whenever she wants, and stay up as late as she wants. They're going to have kids soon.
Me: Twins? Triplets?
Laura: Singlets!
Me: Oh. What about your other families?
Laura: Oh, well, which one? Do you want to talk about the celebrity one?
Me: There's a celebrity one?
Laura: Yes. She's a five-star celebrity and lives in a cool house--
Me: The one with a dance floor, pool, hot tub, and lots of windows?
Laura: That's the one. She loves to paint and she loves music and she has a butler.
Me: *gasps* Bertram Plunkett?
Laura: No. But, maybe, actually. Um, she is not married (yet) and if there were pets on Sims 3 she would have pets.
Me: Any other families?
Laura: Uh, yes. Well, there's a family with a mom and a dad and the dad is a Police and the mom is an Investigator. Their kids include a child boy and a toddler girl. I think the boy's name is Walter.
Me: And they live in a very small apartment.
Laura: No, I moved them.
Me: Really?
Laura: Yes. Now their apartment is the whole floor.
Me: Ooh.
Laura: Their whole family is good at Logic.
Me: Cool. So, Peter, tell us about the family your guy was adopted into.
Peter: Huh?
Me: The 'naughty boys' household.
Peter: Oh, yeah! Well, the Naughty Boys were pretty naughty!
Laura: Tell them about the nice mom.
Peter: Later. And the baby was a fighter in crime.
Me: Didn't he sleep outside?
Peter: For just one night!
Me: I think that's illegal.
Peter: Let me tell you about a different family.
Me: *sighs* You may talk about the Ninjas later.
Peter: *sigh* Not the Ninjas!
Me: So, what?
Peter: The family that, you know, created the Smasher!
Laura: You mean the Chinese family? Then I get to talk about it too, because I made a character. I made the girl.
Me: Please. Let's move on either to elaboration on the Naughty Boys or your architecture techniques.
Peter: Well, the Naughty Boys *sigh* I don't really know where they live.
Me: *sigh* Let's move on to architecture. I know that both of you like excessive lighting!
Laura: I like lighting!
Peter: Well, I make graveyards a lot! I accidentally made one when I tried to make an outdoor sleeping place.
Laura: He had the graveyard statue.
Peter: Hey! I put Stonehenge in too! I think. But now I'm sure I made beds, too.
Laura: Yes, you did.
Peter: I also put in an outdoor grill.
Me: Do you like basements?
Laura and Peter: Yes!
Me: Do you ever make nine-story-tall houses?
Laura: Five and three, yes.
Peter: No. I can do only three stories.
Me: Do you 'Edit Town'?
Peter: I delete the school. And the Criminal career. I turned it into a nice park, aka accidentally a graveyard.
Me: I thought you did that to the school, too.
Peter: No.
Me: On the Ninjas.
Peter: No, both of them were parks.
Laura: *leaves*
Me: Go get her!
Peter: No. I'm leaving, too.
Me: *dejected*

Peanut Butter Mousse Chocolate Cake. . . .

May have had a moment last night. . . .

Me: *sways back and forth* *eating cake* *euphoric*
Laura: Emma.
Me: *la la la la la dee lah*
Laura: Eh-muuhhhhhh.
Me: Mm?
Laura: We're about to go.
Me: *Stops eating cake, of which about half is left, and commences scraping chocolate syrup off the plate*
My Darling Mother: Here, Emma, put the rest of the cake in this. *hands me a leftover box*
Me: *laughs like a maniac, with syrup and mousse on nose* *flips cake into box*
My Darling Mother: Why don't we put the rest of my cake in there too, for later. *puts 1" by 1" square of chocolate cake into box*
Me: * laughing crazily* Yeah, for later. . . . *finger air quotes around later*
My Darling Family: *exits restaurant*
Me: *walks into door*

I love peanut butter mousse chocolate cake. . . too bad I only get it every other year or so.

Daisy Looks at Shoes

I don't know when Pet Day will be, but here's a Daisy story I hope you won't find tedious.

This may be utterly shocking to you, but someone likes my shoes. And by someone, I mean Daisy. And by likes, I mean "views as prey". The rest is pretty much literal.

Saturday morning, at approximately 5:14 AM, I awakened to a very irritating sound. [You must understand that with loads of homework and an overzealous Perry who wished to eat my carpet, I had had little sleep last week. So much that sometimes I slept in (gasp) ten minutes and thus couldn't edit my blog.] Hearing this, I turned over to see Daisy nuzzling my boots.

Me: Dai-syyyyyyyyy. Nooooooooooooooooo. (obviously tired)
Daisy: *jumps backwards and crouches behind scratching post*
Me: *falls back onto mattress, groaning*
Daisy: *leaps at my ballet flats*
Me: *sigh* Daiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisy.
Daisy: *treadles ballet flat*
Me: Go awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.
Daisy: *gets bored and commences eating boot*
Me: *buries self in comforters*

How many cats like shoes? (Probably a lot more than we need to know.)

The Great Telly et al

As you all may have heard, I have a new television. I find this very exciting (free cable for a month!). I have not watched television at my home in three whole years.

Us watching television on the first day:
Me, Laura, and Peter: *watch television*
Laura: Ah! This is different!!!
Me: (calmly) No, Laura, it's not.
Laura: But it's all weird!
Me: Laura, when was the last time you saw this show?
Laura: Uhhh....
Me: Precisely.
Laura: Hmph.
Me: Just watch it, Laura.
Laura: *watches silently*
Laura: Ha! Aha! Look! It's different!
Me: Psh! No it's . . . *looks closely* not...no! I mean, yes! It is different! Aw, it's all 3-Dy.
Laura: *nods smugly*

The story of how this came to be is rather funny. Laura and I were banished to the dining room to play Sims. Laura likes to make dysfunctional families. She started off with a mother, a father, and a baby named Virgina. Then they had another baby, a boy, named Maine for the state--but she forgot the e, so his name is Main. Bored with the game, Laura divorced the parents but then made them remain friends. The mother then married a ready-made character: Christopher. The mother's name is Christina. No confusion there, of course. The dad, a misspelled Ghram, continued to sleep in the master bedroom with his ex-wife and her new husband, who soon had a baby girl named "Saraphina". Laura then put the toddler Main and the infant Sophronia in the same room as the teenage Virgina so that she could wake up every hour or two to change diapers/feed/snuggle/play with them. Laura also wanted Virginia to have a boyfriend, but the highest person with whom she was very close was her old babysitter, the kleptomanic non-aging gold digger Davie. However, right after Ghram's marriage to Jamie (now all the adults sleep in the same room), a vain snobby doctor who required us to add another bathroom for her, I made Virginia break up with Davie. Directly afterward Laura aged up Saraphina and Main, so that they were now, respectably, toddler and child. Unfortunately, since one of Christopher's dreams had been to "ask the newspaper boy to hang out", he came to our party, too, which was at 9am, and stayed, playing with our dollhouse, until 12am. Such as it is.

Anyway, Laura and I were disposed of while Peter played on the computer. Which is. . . ? Right by the television. So, while my parents loudly removed our old television, received the new one, unpacked it, and hooked up the new one, Peter played games. He even once looked at my mom as asked her what she was doing. "Working on the television." "Oh." He then commenced to resume playing on the computer and did not look up again until Laura and I were dancing around gleefully. His only comment was, "Where's our old television?" Such is the magic of technology.

Off to buy gifts! (I haven't bought any yet. :-o)

Laura's Room and Its Sign

By orders, Laura has been (gradually) cleaning her room. Innocently, I came into her room, just to find an odd sign on her billboard.

Me: What is that?
Laura: I don't know, I found it in my room.
Me: *reads it* *laughs* Can I put it on my blog?
Laura: No.
Me: Please?
Laura: Fine. *goes over to billboard and commences to read it out loud*
Me: May I please look at it?
Laura: NO.
Me: Please?
Laura: Fine.


THE SIGN:

Laura

children (check mark)
mice (check mark)
oxen (check mark)
wolves (check mark)
geese (check mark)
mysteries (check mark)

A grocery list for disaster? I think so.

Horror, among other emotions

Dutifully and STUPIDLY, I signed up for snack duty for my church class. This has caused me SO MUCH PAIN. Now we have lemon poppyseed muffins, chocolate chip pumpkin bread and a jug of juice (to which I was like, COME ON, we're much too old for juice).

And of course, I do not want to be there when the snack is eaten.

Me: I have a temperature.
My mother: Emma. . . .
Me: I'm going to faint.
My mother: *walks away*
Me: *yells* I CAN'T GO!!!
My mother: *folds laundry*

Yes, I am scared of food and its eaters. Sue me.

DUN DUN DUN DUN! *trumpets*

As you can see, I am in a regal mood. La! La! Laaaaaaa!

(Warning:Sideeffectsmayincluderandomtypingofmusicalsounds.
ThankyouandrememberEmmaisnotresponsible
inanywayshapeorformfordamagedonetoyourearsandoreyes.)

In Emmaland, where everyone wears Victorian frocks and opens doors for Emmas and holds her parasol while she cleanses her gloves, her entrance to school is regarded as a national holiday. Mind you, that is not to imply that she seldom graces her educational building with her lovely presence, but that her very being there is special.

Holders-of-doors: *open double doors*
Trumpeters: *trumpet*
Roller-outers-of-red-carpet: *roll out red carpet*
Announcer: *announces Emma*
Me: *enters hallway complete in Victorian garb*
Random people in hallway: *laugh*
Me: *walks down carpet to grace them with the presence of my lovely and pointy parasol*
Random people in hallway: *bow/curtsy* *back away looking scared*
Me: *smiles*
Other and now wiser people in hallway: *throw flowers*
Me: *wakes up and sighs*
Random people in hallway: *gasp and run away from me*
Me: *looks appalled*

And yes, I switched narrative styles. My deepest condolences.

(***Thanks to Madeleine for the new sites!***)

Sun-day

Today I woke up at the lovely late time of oh-seven hundred hours. And nineteen minutes. This means only one thing. . . .

Kitty feeding time!

Perry was delighted, Daisy was mildly pleased, and I was disgusted.

Then, seeing that there was absolutely no one else up, I went back to my bed and read my murder mystery. Every character was a criminal, I think. Except for two. There were many triple-negatives. But what truly made my reading experience lovely was that my neighbors a football field or so away were playing their eight-a.m. concerto. The rest of my family slept until nine.

Peter went to his friend's birthday party yesterday.

Peter: *walks up steps*
(One of many of) Peter's friend(s): PETER!!! *giant hug*
Peter: Ack! *goes inside*
(From inside)Peter! Peter! I love you, Peter! It's Peter! I haven't seen you in forever, Peter! PETER!!!!

Yeah. . . .

Push-Ups and Gladiators

Before gladiators go into battle, adorned with $50 pink sandals bearing their names, they say to the emperor: "We, who are about to die, salute you." This pretty much sums up my feelings for PE, which I have dubbed "Public Embarrassment".

Me: *does push-up*
Person next to me, whom shall hereby be referred to as "Ick": 90 degrees!
Me: What? *makes an effort to execute another push-up*
Ick: That's still 45 degrees.
Me: I don't get it.
Ick (exasperated): Your arms!
Me, who already knew that: *sighs and does push-up with effort*
Ick: Oh, never mind. *goes back to bragging about athletic prowess*
Me: *sighs and does last push-up*
Teacher: Good job, Emma! You're really working up a sweat!
Me: *smiles tightly, because I assume that no matter how dreadful and primitive PE is, that was meant as a compliment, and is equally sure that the teacher had been listening to the whole conversation, and may take points off of Ick's score for not showing me how to do a push-up and just insulting me instead*

I WAS NOT BORN WITH THE GIFT OF PUSH-UP-NESS. SORRY.

Roses and Thorns

Today was the first day of my church group. We had to give a good thing--rose--and a bad thing--thorn--about our day/week. Pretty self explanatory, yes?

Leader: "Emma?"
Me: "My rose is that my siblings have been having a good school year so far and last year they didn't, so that's really happy and they leave me alone when I do my homework."

*pause*

Me, cont: And my thorn is that I've had to speak today.

*awkward pause*

Yeah, I'm such a good contributor.

Bribes

As an older sister with a brother five years younger than me and a sister two years older than him (do the math, y'all, you know how old I am, 72, of course) I have found bribes to be essential in everyday life, especially since one is very, very, popular and the other has her ears pierced. My only claims to in-charge-ness/big sister rights are a) I'm taller than them and b) I'm older than them. Here are three few such scenarios:

Me: *plays on computer*
Peter: *whines* EMMA!! GET OFF!
Me: Make your cute face!
Peter: *makes cute face*
Me: Aww, he's so adorable!!!
Peter: *continues making cute face*
Me: You are the cutest wittle Petew in da whole wide world! How about I find a game for yooou and I'll play it for you in case it's hard!
Peter: *smiles and makes cute face*
Me: *celebrates internally*
(Note: Unfortunately, the game Peter chose is this: http://www.youdagames.com/Zoo-Escape-game-info-4497 Click "Play Online" and turn on the sound.

Me: *steals chocolate-chip cookie from top shelf of pantry*
Laura: *catches me* EMMA, what are you doing?
Me: *thinks fast, puts finger to lips, hands her a cookie*
Laura: *munches away happily*

Me: PETER!!!
Peter: No.
Me: I'll give you a gummy worm!
Peter: An orange one?
Me: Sure. . . .
Peter: Yippee!!!


Et cetera. Do with this what you will.

Interview with Peter: Sauropods & Food

Ah, the whimsical life of we who boink our noses into our bed headboards on the one day our cat doesn't wake us up. . . . I'm not sure why I made an entire post about breakfast yesterday. A short one, too. Hm.

Here's the interview.

Me: PETER. Come over here so I can interview you.
Peter: Interview me?
Me: Yeah.
Peter: ANNNH!!! I was going to say the word but then I forgot it because of YOU!!!! Hmph.
Me: *waits a while* Peter?
Peter: What? What does what and you're saying mean. 'Cause if you don't tell me anything, then I'm not going to talk to you.
Me: Okay, Peter, would you please come over here? Or do you want me to ask you from here?
Peter: I not talking. And you didn't tell me what that means.
Emma: COME ON.
Peter: What's an interview?
Me: It's where you ask questions and someone else answers.
Peter: Okay. I'll start.
Me: No! I ask the questions!
Peter: I won't interview otherwise.
Me: Fine.
Peter: What was the biggest dinosaur?
Me: Um, a sauropod.
Peter: What type of sauropod?
Me: I thought sauropod WAS a type.
Peter: Remember this, Emma. There are two different types of sauropods. Wait, make that three. There's a long one, a procerapod--
Me: My computer doesn't think that's a word.
Peter: There's a titanosaur, and a big one. You might be spelling them wrong.
Me: Fine. My turn. So--
Peter: You have to guess!!!
Me: I have to guess?
Peter: Yes! It's not the titanosaur, a procerapod, or a long one.
Me: Oh. So it's the big one?
Peter: Yeah.
Me: Can I ask the questions now?
Peter: I already did!
Me: But I--
Peter: Why is there a big "L" and a small "A?" *laughs*
Me: Where?
Peter: Already. *points*
Me: That's a little "L."
Peter: I mean small "A."
Me: But I already capitalized the "I."
Peter: I want you to answer the question: what was the biggest dinosaur?
Me: A big one.
Peter: NO!! No. No, no no.
Me: Um. . . the one that swims and is as big as our house?
Peter: Brachisaurus? No way.
Me: My computer doesn't think that's a word, either.
Peter: Emma, you spelled it wrong. Do you want me to get my book?
Me: Fine. Get the book.
Peter: Do you think it's this one?
Me: That's Brontosaurus. It's not real.
Peter: Yes it is! It's Apatosaurus!
Me: Whatevs.
Peter: This is how you spell sauropod. See?
Me: Yeah.
Peter: Pooey.
Me: I already spelled sauropod correctly.
Peter: On every single one?
Me: Yes.
Peter: Answer my question!
Me: Fine. I give up.
Peter: Lee-o-lee-o-lee. It's U-tral-SAURUS. (Note: pronunciation guide only, as I'm too lazy to find the real name.
Me: It's Utahraptor? I don't think I spelled that right.
Peter: NO!! RAPTORS ARE TOO SMALL. I can't find my other book, Emma.
Me: *sigh*
Peter: It's Utralsaurus. Just put them together.
Me: No. Let's move on. Can I ask a question now?
Peter: Okay. *sigh*
Me: So, Peter. What is your favorite food?
Peter: Don't do so before my name!
Me: But that's what I said.
Peter: *laughs at accidental keyboard shortcut that italicizes stuff by surrounding them in code*
Me: What is your favorite food?
Peter: I like Pete. And I won't tell you for a long time.
Me: This is an interview. You're supposed to answer questions.
Peter: You did for long time!
Me: Well, yeah, now it's your turn.
Peter: Okay! It's tangerine. Wait, it's not tangerine. It's. . . um. . . what's that thing called that you didn't want, Emma?
Me: It's an apricot, and it has no flavor.
Peter: I love apricots. My turn.
Me: No, let's continue this another time.
Peter: No.
Me: Yes.
Peter: N-O N-O N-O!!!
Me: Yes.
Peter: Hmph!
Me: But we'll continue it later!
Peter: No!
Me: Hmph.