Thank you all for suffering through my first attempt at a home movie of sorts. I thought it was going to be this awesome click/paste/cut/slap/done situation, but it ended up taking me the better part of six hours to get it compiled, formatted, and posted. And yes, it is embarrassing as all jehoshaphat to admit that to you. Oh well. Learned something about this lovely piece of macintosh machinery here. The upside is that I apparently nearly made a pregnant lady cry (said pregnant lady who took at least half of the photos that comprise that little number), if you consider that to be a good thing, anyway.
I'm here to tell you a quick story and to direct you to the new! awesomesauce! photos of Iris in her yellow swim suit from last weekend, which are completely dissimilar and opposite in every way to the photos of her in her green swim suit from the weekend previous. har. Anyway, second things first: go check out the Picasa albums to see the new set of pool pics. They're cute.
Okay, story time: Every morning at dawn o'clock, light begins to seep through curtains. The house starts shuffling and rolling, trying to hide from the shifty new light, and a little chubbylegged, curlyhaired, sassyfaced monster begins her song. "Woof? Dawh? Dawh? Dawh? CACK CACK CACKCACKCACK! woof? aaaaaahhhhhhhhh! AH!" Every day is the same. Every song begins with a "woof" and ends with an "AHHHHHH!"
Eventually the monster is dissatisfied with her lack of audience and commences a round of protestation so thorough that it cannot be ignored. Then, the gate to the evil steep stairs is closed, the monster is relocated to the big bed, and the assault begins. First it's wiggles. Then it's thrashing. Then it's full-on grabbing and kicking and pulling hair and gnashing (of tiny, singsong, monster) teeth. Once the slumbering beasts in the big bed have lost enough hair/sleep/sanity, the monster is returned to her white wooden sleigh with a book and a toy and a kiss.
The monster recommences singing, and the slumberbeasts pretend like there's still some night left in which to sleep. Dawn solidifies, and there's silence again. Curlyhairs plays with her toys or reads her book to herself, or contemplates Hemingway's position on modernism and houses on stilts. No one knows, but they welcome the quiet nonetheless.
The silence lasts for an indiscriminate number of minutes before the pleas for rescue begin. They are traditionally jumbled cries, but they are not always without actual words. Favorite requests include "ba!" (bottle), "Moah! Bie! Eeee!" (More! Bite! Eat!), which are always fulfilled with expediency, as hungry monsters are sad monsters, and no one wants that. Some days, there is no request for goods and services, only a call to action: "Da. DA! DADADADADADA, Mama. Mama?" So the beasts heed the familiar call of the monster; they accept defeat, flick switches and squeeze chubbylegs and descend evil steep stairs, and the day begins.
Today, the monster completed her silent dissertation on Lacanian Jouissance while the slumberbeasts slumbered, and when she was finished, she said,
"Lola?"
We weren't quite sure what to do. So we fed her some strawberries and pickles, gave her a bottle, and got ready for the day.
