"How sweet,"

I think to myself. "They're playing with their toys. And how quiet they're being!" I smile to myself. How lucky I am to have such lovely, well-behaved children. And how gently Phoebe is carrying their toys one by one over to the table, and how carefully she's sitting them together. Maybe they're going to have a tea party together. Oh, and she's talking to them as well! What's that she's saying?

I draw closer and listen, as she lines up the toys in a row:

"Roast bunny rabbit... Roast mouse.. Roast dog..."

Oh.

Never mind, then.

As you were.

"Hello boys, remember me? I'm Phoebus!"

Phoebe's attempt to gain the interest of some local kids who were playing in the street fails utterly.

Are they unimpressed by her doomed attempt to pass herself off as a boy or just suspicious of her antlers (see previous post)?

Who can tell?

Reindeer games

Phoebe does her best Rudolf impression.

Why I haven't posted anything recently

Emily and Phoebe keep me fairly regularly supplied with material to blog about. Not every day perhaps, but once or twice a week one of them will say or do something particularly bloggable. That's probably been true for the past couple of weeks as well, but I've had so much work (not to mention a run-in with the dentist) that I really haven't been paying as much attention as I might have done.

And actually, constantly hammering on their bedroom door begging to be let out doesn't really make for the most interesting posts...

I have a couple of useful players Sven might be interested in

(A darn sight more useful than some of the anonymous bunch that turned out against Paraguay, anyway...)

It's time...

to register Phoebe for pre-kindergarten in September, which involves collecting together various important documents that prove where we live and that we are indeed the parents of said Phoebe.

Emily is helping out by explaining to Phoebe what she can expect. This morning on the way to school she was extolling the virtues of the teachers there and telling Phoebe what she'll be learning. "First of all they'll show you how to write your name and then you'll learn how to write other important words like Mummy and... "

Here I allow myself a brief nostalgic reverie, remembering the first time Emily wrote my name, which is somewhat spoiled when she continues,

"...Fish!"

"Mummy and Fish." Absolutely great. Seven years of non-stop care and attention, and I still rank somewhere below cold-blooded vertebrates in the overall scheme of things. Good to know...

Phoebe is Tarzan.

Or at least that's what she keeps telling everyone. We went to a birthday party held in a children's playground last Sunday (what a brilliant idea - we'll see if we can do the same) and she spent much of her time either clinging to a rope or beating her chest while performing her own version of the Ape-Man's familar yodel. Emily, however, is not as encouraging as she might be of Phoebe's dreams.

Phoebe: "Emily, do I look like Tarzan?"
Emily: "No, Phoebe, you look like Pumba."
Phoebe: [Sadly] "But Pumba's a pig. And he smells."
Emily: [Sorry that Phoebe's sad] "That doesn't matter, because he's the very good friend of Timon!"
Both: "Yayyyyyy!!!!"