Sunday is Mumday

I always feel like I'm talking to myself if I post on a Sunday. Most people have other real life stuff to do and aren't surfing blogs. Like me. At our house, Saturday is Dadderday and Sunday is Mumday. That means, on Sundays it's my turn to get up early with the Girlie and, shudder, shudder... play with toys. Oh sure it sounds harmless and fun to you guys who have infants and toddlers but wait until you have an imaginative seven year old. Playing with toys means exactly this EVERY Sunday. First, she picks a toy. It has to be small enough to maneuver with your hands so she inevitably picks a rubber snake. Then I pick a toy. Sometimes it's a zebra. Today it was a turtle. I have some freedom of choice here: either I pick what she wants me to pick or I choose something different and she kills it off in the first five seconds. I usually go with her suggestion. Then, the two toy animals meet, exchange names and as per the weekly script, mine has to act scared to meet a snake and even more scared to meet the snake's big sister, Sara (the big one in all my cartoons). Once I'm convinced that I won't be snake food, we go on an adventure. EVERY WEEK, the adventure is hanging on to a paper butterfly to be flown upstairs to Girlie's room. EVERY WEEK, we sit on the floor while Girlie grabs whatever is handiest (today it was the net for her fishtank) and turns it into something EVIL that snatches her snake and requires me to rescue it. If you're thinking that about now after weeks and weeks and weeks of the same old script that I'd like to gouge my eyes out, you're about right. Instead I muster up the required enthusiasm, rescue the snake, call for the butterflies and we escape, but only until the next bedroom object ensares us. Pillow cases, blocks, broken rubber bands - they all have evil potential. The upside is that it makes her happy and we can then move on to more interesting (to me) pastimes like art, games, outdoor stuff, etc. And it keeps her off the tube. But we need a script doctor around here. I'm not allowed to tinker with it. Sigh. I'd write in a handsome Ken doll and some Druids and robot jungle animals that are being controlled from outer space and want nothing more than to listen to the Dog Train CD and dance. A mom can dream.