Richard III, Iago, Lady Macbeth. Three well-known Shakespearean villains. Three future role models for Zoe. As soon as she gets her library card. "Hear your mother's lamentation!" (Queen Elizabeth in King Richard III).
I've often had the impression that Zoe was smiling and smiling but still kinda sorta being a villain. Or at least disobedient.
The highlights from this particular weekend were:
Richard III: reputedly the Keyser Soze of the 15th century. |
The highlights from this particular weekend were:
1) Running in a circuit that involved climbing on the couch, jumping down (with maximum impact), and then hopping from couch pillow to couch pillow (which she'd conveniently placed on the floor). I kept telling her to stop (citing the unhappy downstairs neighbor), but this only meant she'd do it in slow motion for a minute or so before ramping it up again.
2) Stealing my exercise ball so she could roll on top of it. I said, Don't come crying to me when you roll into a wall and hurt yourself. As if I was a witch from Macbeth, I prophesied and it happened. She rolled herself into a wall and bumped her head. Then she came crying to me. Daddy actually diverted her so I could take my ball back and continue exercising, exhaling I-told-you-so's with each breath. Because I'm an adult.
3) After I finished exercising we took her out on our errands so she could expend at least some energy. I would take her to the park later. No sooner were we outside than she said she was tired and insisted on being carried the whole way.
Not to worry, she got a second wind, so after lunch I took her to the park. Where I got more exercise than she did. Combined with the morning's exercise you'd think I'd be thinner. An issue of too many sweets to the sweet, I suppose.
If only Zoe was half as concerned about cleanliness as Lady M. |
First of all, Zoe brought her bubbles. Usually she wanted me to blow bubbles so she could chase them. However, this time she wanted to blow the bubbles and wanted me to chase them. Bystanders were treated to the very rare juxtaposition of whimsy and sweaty exhaustion.
Next we played a game she calls Queen and the Princess, where an evil queen (Mommy) must chase the princess (Zoe). Pro: she gets tired. Con: I get really tired. Then our "rest" period consisted of me swinging her in the swing. (Higher, Mommy!)
To chillax or not to chillax. |
Finally I sent Zoe off on a made-up mission to the sprinklers so I could sit in the shade for a few blessed moments and nurse my blisters. As I watched her jump about, singing in her alien tongue that often frightens me, I thought of the line, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" Since I couldn't remember the rest of Shakespeare's "Sonnet 18," I made up my own version.
Here it is, fourteen lines in iambic pentameter, forged in fire and bought with blood:
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
I get hot just looking at you running.
Rough hands do shake my neck during our "play,"
Your expression? Disturbingly cunning.
Oft too tired you maketh me with your whines
Blows to my head cause my vision to dim.
Throughout the day my fortitude declines.
Anon, you monologue on jungle gym.
Thus employed, you miss my slip into shade.
Whilst thou cavort, I can sit, perchance, dream.
Yet thine energy never seems to fade.
Especially if you eat some ice cream.
So long as I can sit and eyes can see,
So long can you play, cause you're only three.
Zoe: 55; Universe: 0
LOL! I do think that the permanent sunburn deserves a photo op for the blog! And chasing games are always fun for the whole family, right? ;)-Ashley
ReplyDeleteStay tuned for my boudoir photo shoot. Just kidding. No one wants to see that! Next time I have a mole removed I'll save it and mount it properly though. Just cause.
ReplyDeleteBwahaha! Parents should write their own sonnets more often... :)
ReplyDeleteThanks, Stephanie!
ReplyDeleteYours is even better than William's! Maybe you need to start wearing turtlenecks year round - because that won't make you hot at all.
ReplyDeleteHaha, thanks, Dana. Imagine the itching too! Eek.
ReplyDelete