On Monday, as I was getting Clara into her pants, she twisted to face me and held my face in her hands. She looked at me very seriously and asked, "Daddy at?"
"He's at work," I replied.
After I had her pants on, I busied myself with putting her books away. She, meanwhile, had dug around in her hamper and found a pair of capris that she was struggling to put on over her pants. She had both legs in one leg-hole.
"Would you like some help?" I asked.
"Hes."
We got the capris on over the pants, but we couldn't button them. Unfazed, Clara pulled a pair of leggings from the hamper. I helped her with the leg-holes, and she managed to get them to her knees before the sheer bulk of material underneath hindered her progress. It was still very interesting, she seemed to think, to wear three pairs of pants.
And then she tried to walk.
She looked like a penguin.
"Mess," she sighed, looking down at her trio of pants.
***
On Tuesday night we were grocery shopping, and we passed a display of Moose Drool. Moose Drool is a super-dark ale, and the cans have a picture of a moose on them. Clara pointed to them as we passed by.
"Dog. Dog juice," she said.
***
On Wednesday, we decided to visit Simon at work. As we barreled down the freeway, we saw an emergency helicopter hovering in the air near St. Al's hospital. Clara sucked in her breath sharply and ducked her head to see it better through the windshield.
"Boat," she whispered.
***
Yesterday we went to the Y. We saw the other Clara who goes to the Y. She's about seven, and is getting some permanent teeth in front. The new teeth are no doubt responsible for helping to disappear her adorable lisp (though you can still hear it, now and again). She has blond hair and bright eyes, and she absolutely loves my Clara.
Yesterday she was carrying around a container of sushi that she'd had for lunch.
"Do you like California rolls?" she asked me. "Because you can have the res-tht of these, if you want." I eyed the rolls. They had that greasy, been-at-room-temperature-too-long look. I suspected she'd been picking at the orange fish eggs on top, too.
"You know what, Sweetie? I love California rolls, but I just had an enormous lunch. Thank-you for asking, though."
She was visibly disappointed, but then something occurred to her.
"Hey, does Clara talk yet?" she asked.
"She sure does."
Bigger Clara bent down until she was eye-level with little Clara.
"Clara, can you say thushi? Thu-shi. Thushi. Thushi is delicious. When you get bigger, you can have some."
"Hes," said little Clara, ducking her head in bashful delight.
***
Clara has lately been getting into the dresser drawer where I keep her tights. She strews them all around the house. On any given day there could be a pair decorated with tiny green whales under the dining-room table; a pink, ruffled pair in her potty; a few pairs downstairs in her toy chest; a pair in her play picnic basket; and perhaps even a pair in the seat hatch of her Barbie tricycle.
The girl obviously has way too many pairs of tights.
She calls them "'ocks." Her shoes she calls, "hoofs." When she wants her everyday socks and shoes on or off, she says, "'ocks hoofs on," and holds out her feet.
Last night, just to be silly, Simon tried to teach her how to put a pair of thin, pink mesh tights over her head. Very funny, indeed. She thought it was hilarious, the way the tights mashed her nose and made the whole world look pink. I thought she looked ready to rob a gas station.
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