After many Christmases away, am currently in my Pennsylvania stomping grounds. Got in Saturday, spent a lovely Christmas Eve afternoon with my oldest friends and her family; followed by a cozy, laughter-filled Christmas with my family. One day later, we are off to get our first-ever family portrait (!), so now we are biding time. CNN is on the TV (blizzards, tornadoes, fiscal cliffs!), Dad is pouring over one of his many new books (locomotives, Asian Art, Lyndon Johnson!) and Mom is perched on the arm of the (favorite) overstuffed chair, drinking her most recent cup of tea. It's blustery outside, hopefully tomorrow's flight won't be delayed.
So, hmmmm.... sounds like a good time for a cupcake visit. I had the happy errand of delivering cupcakes to the home of ThreeorFour, Five* and their parents, following a potluck last weekend.
{*Okay, lazy, but I'm just going to provide age progression right now -- >FourorFive and Six}
When I showed up FourorFive hailed my name, from the kitchen "Mmmmm! Mmmmm!" She still pronounces her Rs as Ws. I will mourn it when this pronunciation goes away. She launches herself at me for a hug. Six begins to feign an embrace, before stopping short: "Did you bring the cupcakes?" K rolls her eyes cielingward, as she often does in the presence of her offspring. We hold off from the cupcakes for a spell. The girls play next to us on their ipads, as K and I endeavor to communicate in that hampered little-pitchers-have-big-ears way that adults perforce become used to.
"You know, they're friends," I say."But now they ARE FRIENDS, really. good. friends.~~" I swing my head up and down, eyes widened: "So."
K scrinches up her mouth in sympathy. "Watch me M, I'm stuhwing the battuhr~" says Four, twirling her fingertip across a wee kitchen on her screen.
"~~Watch me, I'm winning," Six cuts in. "I always win." Six almost intuitively corrals attention back to herself. "I win: every time." Four falls silent, continues twirling.
"So...Thanksgiving? How was that?" I ask K.
"Better than last year." She gazes above the girls' heads. We try lowered voices, but they are immediately next to us. I'm sure there are tales! We briefly venture into lip reading, but sadly our shadow play lacks nuance. B came home, luring the girls out by lighting the porch Snoopy. K and I shifted to the kitchen island while K readied some child-friendly dinner plates (a.k.a. base layer for cupcakes). Regardless, there is dawdling and negotiating around the table, as Six (vocally) and Five (quietly) do the expected jockeying for nutritional control.
Finally, it is cupcake time: K does the evil bait-and-switching of half-for-whole cupcake, which is protested, before the girls settle in. "I thought this was CHOCOLATE," Six says, frowning at the chocolate-apricot glaze.
"It IS," I say. "It's chocolate and jam." She recovers enough from the initial horror to eat it. Meanwhile, Five has done a cupcake dance in her chair, but has grown uncertain. She peers closely at it: anything edible is potentially dicey. How exhausting, to continuously protect one's borders against these oddities introduced by adults!
Six pops up at my side: "What is your most favorite food??"
"Umm, I don't have ONE~~"
"~~Cheese? Do you like cheese??"
"I LOVE cheese~" This segues into a three-person food conga line around the island, with myself at the head. Six is in charge of the song. "Woohoo! CHEESE!" A splashy finish.
"Gravy, do you like *gravy*?"
You see what's coming. Six giggles and calls out to B. This is a big booyah! to Daddy, who does not love gravy. He takes this in stride. The final conga line celebrates chocolate muffins, before the girls peel out to other rooms. It's not long before they round the corner again, like high-stepping ponies; Six seems to be lassoing something. They cross their wrists and call out in concert before dissappearing.
"I'm sorry, that was NOT--"
K sighs. "Yes...A 4th grader likes Six and showed them at recess."
From the living room: "Gangnam Style!"
At a slight delay, from Four in the hallway: "Gangnam Style!"
From Six: "Got no style!"
"Got no style!"
Six, standing before me, "Can you do this?"
I raise my arms. I can, indeed, do this.
"Can you do this?"
I can. I had not anticipated: conga lines or dance lessons. And this? And this? And this?
"Now let's put it together!!" The adults watch Psy's dancefloor infection spreading.
Six is displeased. "Now you can JOIN me," she urges. I demure, she frowns and gallops away.
***
Back on the homestead, the TV is urging us to buy gold and silver; we are, instead napping, and eating cookies.
Hope Everyone's holidays were warm, relaxing and storied (in good ways...)
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