My Kingdom for a Sponge.

The fluidity of children at play puts improvisation masters to shame.
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Annika's vocabulary has leapt a few light years forward in the last month or so, but, despite the cache of words she now has in her repertoire, she can't dismiss the old faithfuls.

For example:
I admonish her, speaking sternly in regards to her disobedience.
Annika, sniffing and teary-eyed: 'Ank yew.

Millie: Annika! You shouldn't go poop in your undies!
Annika, gratefully: 'Ank yew.

John: It's time for bed, babe. Come get your jammies on.
Annika, smiling: 'Ank yew.

Even clouded over, she's a sunbeam.
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Today, we awoke to fog and drizzles, which meant the girls were trapped inside with nothing to do but play with one another. I left them to their own devices until Annika, brandishing an invisible weapon, broke in on my kitchen-tasking.

Vehemently sez she, "Doot, doot, doot, doot!"

Asks I, "What are you doing?"

Sez she, "Bear 'unting!"

At this point Millie saunters into the room and, with the patience appropriate to conversations with adults who just don't get it, says, "Bear and deer hunting, to get their meat."

I nod blankly, and then they disappear. I know they are driving to find more meat because I hear Annika's tell-tale narration, "Buckle," then a quick, "zzhoo, zzzzhooo, zzz," immediately followed by, "Unbuckle."

Two seconds later, a breathless Nixie again runs into the kitchen to announce, "SEE BIG BEAR! SEE BIG BEAR!"
Asks I, "What are you going to do?!?!"
She thinks, and then grins in triumph, "....PICK...'IM.....UP!"
And so she does, arms miming a BIG bear pick-up and mouth sounding the natural effect, "WHOOSH!"

So she, arms full of Big Bear, runs back into the living room, where Millie, during her short absence, has toppled a chair over to make a restaurant.

Asks Restaurant Girl Millie: "Hullo, child. What would you like?"
Sez Annie, "Ice 'ream."
Millie blithely replies, "I have ice cream....but no bowls and no cones....and no plates. What kind of drink would you like?"
Annie pauses before answering, no doubt pondering what might possibly be stocked in the restaurant, "Lemonade."
Millie predictably replies, "We don't have that," and then, I presume, abruptly remembering what's in Annie's arms, "Give me the bear."
Annie does so, and after the handoff remembering her manners, politely says, "'Ank yew."
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We've been reading in Matthew during our family worship after supper, and one can tell Annika's paying attention if she repeats words after John. (When she's silent, it usually means her mind is somewhere else entirely.) Last night, she was admirably attentive and provided a soft echo for every phrase John read. My favorite was her version of "[And Jesus went...] healing every disease and every affliction."

The echo answered, "'Ealing d'seezes and dictions."

I suppose some of us would do well to have our diction fixed.
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And after our diction is healed, perhaps a balm for hearing is in order.

Me: "Annika, please pick up those stickers by your foot."
She, looking a mite confused, awkwardly shuffles the stickers with her toes in an attempt to pick them up with her foot.
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Annika wanted to end the post that featured her with a bang. While I was typing that last sentence last Friday morning during the girls' naptime, I heard the sound of falling water.

Inside.

Which is a Very Bad Thing Indeed.

I ran upstairs to find my middle child awake, the bathroom sink overflowing, hot water running full blast, and a flooded bathroom. Seven soaked towels later, I came back downstairs and discovered that the water was indeed falling and, while I cleaned upstairs, it had gushed through the ceiling, soaking John's desk and everything on it, including our non-responsive computer. We set it in front of the fan for a day, and it has miraculously revived.

I think it realized the importance of leaving no blog post unfinished.
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Which, a few days later, brings us to tonight, as I finish a neglected post. Millie and I were awake for most of last night and the night before. She emptied her first, second, and third bellies while I smoothed her hair and voiced those wordless murmurs of comfort. Then I cleaned up the contents of her first, second, and third bellies. She is sprightlier today, but I feel like a girl who stayed up all night nursing a baby and scrubbing a bathroom.

I asked her what she'd like for supper, and she declared, "Tomatoes! Just tomatoes!" No wonder her belly turned traitor.

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HERE ARE SOME OLD, STALE PICTURES.
(THEY TASTE LIKE HARDTACK.)
HELLO WON'T LET ME POST MORE TONIGHT, BUT BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR ABOUT FORTY MORE HARDTACK BISCUITS TOMORROW.*** (I haven't taken more than a few pictures for several weeks, so vanquishing this backlog and catching up to the present shouldn't take much longer.) Backlog, avaunt!

(***Read: next week.)