This morning, at precisely 10 am, Clara was ready for her usual plateful of Annie's organic Mac and Cheese with ketchup for dipping.
"Mai! Mai buck-kell!" she argued with me when I tried to buckle her into her booster seat. "Me mai! MINE!"
"No, Mama wants to do this fast. Not right now. Maybe you can buckle tonight."
"Mommy! No! Me new nis. Nis me. Mai!" She pushed against her tray with her hands.
"Do you want noodles?" I asked impatiently.
Her face collapsed into a toothy baby grin. She chuckled. "YYeessss."
I brought her a big pile, still warm from the saucepan.
"Oi oi oi oi-yewdles. EEEEeeee-yewdle yewdle yewdle," she said, suddenly sorrowful, as she dunked a peace sign-shaped noodle into the ketchup. Translated, this means, "Oh, noodles! Noodles, here we sit again, friends on the long journey of life. Wilt thou continue to be my friend, o noodle? Or wilt thou betray me like thine customary partner, the tomato sauce?"
Wilbur came through the dog door.
"O dosh doggie! 'Id da eeewwdles 'ake u drow up? O doggie. Aiiiiddle. Ay-dle, Aydle, Aydle. Oidle, oidle, oidle," she lamented.
I had never heard her say something like this, but it sure sounded like the following: "O gosh, doggie! Did the noodles make you throw up? Ai, doggie. Poor, poor doggie. Ai, Ai, Ai! Oi! Oi! Oi!" If she had suddenly produced and tied around her head a Babushka, or whipped out a parcel of firewood to carry on her back, I would not have been surprised. Scenes from Fiddler on the Roof flashed through my mind.
"'Ilbur! 'Bur, doggie! 'Bur dog. Burr-y. Burr-yee." She paused, thinking......"Beh-yee. Beh-yee." She looked at me for approval, and patted her belly. "Beh-yee butt-ton." she said, worming her finger around to find her belly button though her jammies.
"Clara, are you done eating?"
"Nope. Hhhhhhhhehh!" she yawned. She brought her ketchup-soaked hands up and ran them through the sides of her freshly-combed hair. She picked up another noodle for dunking. "Eeeee-yewdle in da dup. Bash. Bash o E-yewdle," she said, which means, "Look at the little noodle in the ketchup! It's a bath. A bath for the noodle."
"Mmmmmmm....Yessshhh. Nai no no?" she asked another noodle. "Hes, nai no. Nai no now." ("Yes. Do I know it? Yes, I know it. I know it now.")
I put some laundry in and wiped the dog hair off the kitchen floor. I felt like a snack.
"Done!" Clara said, just as I was about to dig into my own succulent pile of noodles. "Mommy, done! Done, done, done!"
Sighing, I wiped her down and set her loose. Wilbur did not have the foresight to escape, or perhaps he was too intent on searching for stray noodles that might have fallen to the ground. Clara half-collapsed on him, hugging him luxuriantly and resting her head against his fur. It was still a form of torture, but at least she wasn't pulling his tail or menacing him with the dog-door cover.
"Do you know what, Clara? I like it when you are kind to Wilbur."
"Tiss tiss 'Bur," she said, attempting to plant a smooch on the end of his snout.
After a moment, Wilbur escaped from her clutches and she wandered over to the top of the stairs.
"Eed, 'stairs. Eeeed, 'stairs!" ("Mom, I would like you to come downstairs and read to me.")
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