Emily has been eating up the book Pirates Don't Change Diapers, and although she can read, she wants one of us to read it to her because we do The Voices. There's especially a funny line in the book when the main character, a little boy, asks the captain to babysit his baby sister. The pirate replies, "Pirates don't sit on babies!" The funny part is when the chorus of other pirates holler out:
"No sittin on babies!"
To which Emily breaks out in hysterics.
This book has prompted the family room to turn into Pirate Training Camp. She had a plank set up with pillows and a tube that used to have posters in it that served as the plank. She had her stuffed puppy dog with her who was named "Baby Scurvy Dog," and there were no sharks in the waters, because alas, it was only training camp. Baby Scurvy Dog had to slide down the plank rather than walk the plank to see what it felt like, but again, since it was only training day, only sliding was necessary (and because Mom said).
I'm just waiting for her to say "Aye!" instead of yes from now on, especially now that she's looking into the pirate book that came before this one. I've promised her that we would look for it in the library, but I'm thinking that I may just have to go to Barnes and Noble to get her her own set.
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We were at the Y yesterday for gymnastics, and this was the day that I decided to take off from working out. One day. I stay in the gym with my book, half reading and half watching Emily. She's not having much fun with it today. The mean girl is back and the fun guy is gone. The fun girl is working with the older group, which is a shame, and the new girl doesn't have a clue as to what she's doing yet. That's Emily's experience. MY experience is a little different.
On the right of me sits Mean Mom. She has a two-or-so year old who has gymnastics for toddlers during the class right before Em's. She is the Golden Child. The girl's sister is in the same time gymastics as Emily, but she's at a higher level. Mean Mom repeated yells out this girl's name very gruffly and at one point calls her over to yell at her. I felt so bad for this girl. Mean Mom told the girl that she needs to get better, do what the teacher says and try harder. IF M.M. had been watching her elder daughter rather than stuffing her young one with crap food, she would have seen she was doing exactly as she was doing. I just wanted to tell both mean-girl gymnastics teacher and Mean Mom to lighten up! Good grief--if you want your kid to be a gymnastics star, go somewhere else. The Y's great, but they need a lower ratio of gymastics' instructors to kids for these little people to become so-called gymnasts.
Okay, that was my right side.
On my left was a young boy and an older lady who were going through the story of Harry Potter from what was probably book one all the way through to book seven. I almost wanted to say, "Harry dies. What a shame." But I held it in. They talked for the entire hour, and the little boy (8 or 9 years old) spoke very loudly because he apparently just loves H.P. I, on the other hand, do not. Talk, but for pete's sake (or Harry's sake), tone it down a bit, take a breath once in awhile.
At the end of the gymastics' class hour, Emily gets her stamp in her book, trots over to me. I ask her if she had fun, and I see out of the corner of my eye that Mean Mom's head just snapped towards me.
I wish I had said, "Fun? Do you remember that?" to her, but I don't. We gather our things and leave.