Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Tiger, spider, tweezers, toad (a laundry list of ordinary living)

image via Keith Marshall

We have a new toad, a friend, a family pet, but the secret kind that the lovely husband and I comment on after hours when kids are sleeping, because that's when we see him, and also because if the kids knew about him they'd want to bring him inside, and that's not happening. And then they'd want to name him, and I have no idea what the amphibian equivalent of Rainbow Sparkle Fireworks Sally is, do you? And so we keep our toad-friend a secret. He sits under the porch light, stealthy, and gobbling up bits of moth and other nocturnal airborne deliciousness. In the morning he's gone, leaving a toad-butt print on the concrete.

I think he's good luck (and I know he's a 'he' - have you seen toads? They're not very feminine). I wonder how he came to choose our porch, stand sentry on our slab. I guess my porch light brings all the best bugs to the yard. We don't really live near any body of water, and he's just a solitary toad. Makes you wonder.

L climbed a tree so high she couldn't get down, right outside the doors to her daycare. With her in my far vision I ran to her rescue, never noticing the huge spider web in my near vision. I ran right through it, ribbon-at-the-end-of-a-race style, and it was in my hair, my eyelashes, across my shirt, on my tongue. I pulled L down and she asked me in dismay, why did you break that spider's house? It wasn't nice of you.

G still roars but now he's a tiger. He and L were rolling on the floor 'napping' and they knocked a low shelf down on them, causing L to have a swollen right eye. The next day, he ran into a boy on the playground and fell, and he has a swollen left eye. They're a matched set. I introduced him to someone today who had only previously met the girls. "This is G," I said. No me name is not G! he yelled. Me a tiger named Tiger! Then he roared. He has gained back almost all his salmonella weight, which makes sense because tigers are heavy.

E asked me but HOW does the daddy get the daddy part into a mommy's egg to make a baby? With tweezers? First grade has taken a turn for the anxious. She gets so upset with herself for less than perfection, and for the first time in maybe ever, not every academic lesson is instantly easy. She's reading in Hebrew (are there any newbies here who need a word of explanation that we're Jewish and she attends a private religious school? Hi newbies! Do you have toad names?) and she stumbles on the vowels. Vowels aren't letters in Hebrew. They're funny lines and dots and squiggles that live above and below and inside the hollows of letters, the same single letter being able to take on near a dozen sounds depending on the curlicues and hatch marks around it. Poor thing (the letter). (Poor thing, the first grader confronting those wild wonders.)

The lovely husband is not home. He will not be home tomorrow night. Good thing I have a sentry.

There's a toad on our porch who appeared from just mists and doesn't have a rainbow sparkle name and that's the most straightforward part of this week.




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