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Jacqui: Mom, I needta tell you somefing… Da kitchens and bafrooms are da germiest places in da house. You need da cleenin’ power, Mom.

Me: I do?

Jacqui: Yes, to get rid of da germies.

Me: It gets rid of germs?

Jacqui: Oh, yes! An’ da scoap scrum an nascee snackterias in da baff tub too.

Me: Soap scum and nasty bacteria? Well we certainly don’t want any of those.

Jacqui: Well… I hate ta tell you dis, but I fink I found some ub dem in da bafroom.

Me: You did?

Jacqui: *Sigh* Yes! Dat’s why I was tellin’ you dat you need da cleanin’ power stuff.

Me: Oh, I see. What is the cleaning power stuff?

Jacqui: Oh, I dunno. Some lady on TV poured some yellow stuff in a big green bucket wen Daddy was watchin’ TV. It’s posed to be da cleanin’ power dat chases all dat yucky germie stuff away. It looked yuckier dan da scroap scrummies and snackterias, if ya ask me.

Cleaning tips from a five-year-old… fabulous. Excuse me while I locate the disinfectant…

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Jacqui: *sighhhh* Are we dair yet?

Ken: Pleeeeease stop asking that.

Me: She’s just excited…

Jacqui: Dair’s some snow Dad! Stawwwwwwp!!! Can we jess stop dair an’ play?

Ken: No.

Jacqui: Why not?

Ken: Because.

Jacqui: ‘Cause why?

Ken: We need a nice hill for the sled. We’re not there yet.

Jacqui: I fink you need ta dwive fasser. Dis is takin’ a reely very long time.

Ken: *sigh* Jacqui… just stop…

Jacqui: *sigh* Dis was posed to be zillerating, not zausting.

Me: What???

Jacqui: (scowling) I not sayin’ it gain. You heered me.

Kyle: Ooooooo. Druck. Vrooooommm!!

Ken: (just before a very long hill) I think we’re going the wrong way. I think we should have turned back there.

Jacqui: No! No turning! Dis is da very right way ta go! Up da hill Dad!

Ken: *sigh* Jacqui … no more talking.

Jacqui. Hmmph! (muttering under her breath) Dis is too da right way…

Ken: I think we need to turn around…

Me: You’re serious?

Ken: I think we were supposed to turn back there.

Me: The other road went back down.

Ken: I think it goes down and then back up.

Me: Sure. That’s what one usually does when they are in search of high-altitude snow.

Ken: What?

Me: Go down and then back up.

Ken: (look of death while turning the car around)

Jacqui: No, no, noooooooo! Dis is da very wrong way!!! Go back dat way!

Ken: Jacqui! I said no more talking. I mean it.

Jacqui: (muttering while pulling Ken’s cap over her eyes) I jess can’t watch dis…

Me: (watching the snow get sparser) You’re sure this is the way we’re supposed to go?

Ken: (another look of death in my direction)

Me: Seems like we’re just going down and not very much up…

Jacqui: I telled you… dis is da very wrong way. You needta go back dat way Dad!

Ken: Jacqui… enough already.

Jacqui: (more indiscernible muttering)

Me: (giggling)

Ken: (another look of death)

Kyle: Druck, druck, druck! Vrrrrrooooooom!!

Ken: Everyone just be quiet please!

Jacqui: (mumbling softly to herself in a sing-song-ey voice) Who do ya ask wen ya don’ know which way ta go? Riiiiiiiiiiight… Da map! (begins singing “The Map Song” from “Dora The Explorer” in a whisper) …I’m da map, I’m da map, I’m da map…

Me: (uncontrollable giggling)

Ken: (yet another look of death) Absolutely no blogging about this.

Me: (mock salute)

Ken: I mean it.

Me: (more giggling)

Ken: Ok. Hand me the map.

Me: Uhhh. Yeeeeah. About that…

Ken: Well?

Me: We don’t have one.

Ken: What do you mean?

Me: Well, you remember when we bought the car the year before last?

Ken: Yeah…

Me: Remember how the glove box was empty except for the manual?

Ken: Yeah…

Me: Still is.

Ken: Still is what?

Me: Empty.

Ken: We never got a map?

Me: Well, actually we did. Last night when I was grocery shopping, as a matter of fact.

Ken: Well, where’s that one?

Me: At home on the kitchen counter, I believe.

Ken: (another look of death)

Jacqui: Snow is dat way peeple!!

Ken: Jacqui!

Me: I think we should have stayed on the road we were on.

Ken: The resort was at milepost eighty something on highway ‘X’.

Me: And we’re on highway “Y”?

Ken: No. We’re on highway “Z”.

Jacqui: (mumbling) Oh, jess stop counting numbers… da snow is dat way…

Me: So if we’re supposed to be on highway ‘X’, why are we on highway ‘Z’?

Ken: *sigh* I think highway ‘X’ turns in to highway ‘Z’.

Me: But you don’t know?

Ken: (another look of death) Well, I would know if I had a map, wouldn’t I?

Me: (sheepish grin)

Me: So do you think highway “Z” has turned into highway “X” yet?

Ken: (completely exasperated) I don’t know.

Me: Well you said it was at milepost eighty-something. What milepost are we at now?

Ken: Gee. I don’t know. It’s a little hard to see those two-foot high milepost markers under four feet of snow.

Me: Oh. Yeah. Right.

Ken: (eye rolling).

Jacqui: (apparently gives up all hope and begins singing softly to herself a tune of her own creation) Dis da wrong way… da very wrong way… we never gonna get dair, dis a no snow day… wrong way… dis da wrong way…

Me: Ok. I think we’ve explored the downhill option long enough.

Ken: You think we should turn around?

Me: (rolling eyes) Uh… Yeah…

Ken: (turning car back around) Alright…

Jacqui: (peeking out from under Ken’s cap) Well. At least we are driving da car to da mountain ‘gain. Daddy? Will dair be enny snow left wen we get dair?

Ken: *sigh*

Update: Finally reached our destination. Arrived mid-afternoon instead of mid-morning as planned. Kids had a ball. More to come in following posts - stay tuned!

Ken: (on the way back home) So I was thinking we should try taking highway ‘Z’ back home instead of highway ‘X’.

Me: (look of death)

Did you know that you can buy happiness? Yep. Costs a quarter. At least if you’re Jacqui it does.

Last night I forgot to call and ask Ken to pick up milk on his way home for Kyle. He was almost to our driveway when I remembered - too late. I think Ken was secretly amused because it meant that I would have to ’stop by’ the grocery store on our way home from Jacqui’s swimming lesson. Both kids, a shopping cart and aisle after aisle of floor-to-ceiling distractions. One doesn’t just ’stop by’ such places.

Jacqui had been driving me nuts with questions all morning and she started up her rapid-fire feature during the two block drive from the pool to the grocery store:

“Why do bees hab wings and legs? Why bowf? How many is dis (holding up random numbers of fingers)? What color is dat car? When’s da light gonna be green? Why are dere no pink lights? What’s a pink light mean? Why’s Kyle need milk? How come milk is white? Milk builds bones, right? Does blue milk build blue bones? What are shoes? Are dey clothes? What are dey? Why does just peeples wear shoes? How come not doggies and kitties too?”

As I pulled her out of her car seat I asked her if she would please stop asking questions for a few minutes.

“Ok. I will try… Is dat sun shiny? Why peeple’s say shiny? Why dey don’t say sunny ‘ stead?”

“Jacqui. Enough questions. How about if you be really good in the store and give Mommy a rest from the questions, we get a surprise when we are all done?”

“Oh! A spurrr-ize! Yes! I will be very streemly good and save my questions for later!”

“Yay.”

We zipped through the store in record time. Jacqui didn’t ask any questions. Instead she kept up a running commentary on her lack of question asking.

“Mom… I’m beein’ good. I didn’t ask why dere’s so very many beach balls in dat box. Mom… I’m doin a good job. I didn’t ask why dat man have so many drawings on his arms. I fink his Mommy will be very not happy when he gets home and will take away his markers!”

Finally we got through the check out and it was surprise time. We headed for the gumball machines and Jacqui lost no time making her choice with her shiny quarter. One green plastic space alien coming right up!

“Mom! I will get da one wif da pink spaceship. She’s a girl. Her name’s Footie.”

I attempted to prepare her for possible dissapointment. “You just get whatever one comes out of the machine. It might be blue, green, or yellow.”

“No.” She cranks the metal key. “She will be in her pink spaceship. Footie’s spaceship is pink, Mom.”

And out pops a pink plastic bubble with a doe-eyed green alien inside. Jacqui grins from ear to ear and she and Footie become instant inter-galactic friends. She dances Footie along the top of the shopping cart as we walk to the car to the tune of ‘Alouette, Gentille Alouette’, with all original lyrics : “Foooootie, Foot-ie, Footie Footie Footie, Fooooootie, Foot-ie, Footie, Footie, Foot.”

I start buckling her into her carseat.

“Say ‘Hi’ to Footie, Mom.”

“Hi Footie.”

“She don’t unnerstan’ you. She speaks alien-ish. Say ‘Bleeeble-EEP! Bleeeble-EEP!’ Dat’s how you say ‘Hello’ in alien-ish. Say it, Mom. Say it!”

“Beeble-eep. Beeble-eep.”

“No. You said it wrong. It’s Bleeble-EEP. You hurt her feeling. Say ‘Bleeble-EEP! Bleeble-EEP!’ Like dat. Try ‘gain.”

“Bleeble-EEP. Bleeble-EEP.”

“Oh! She is so very happy to meet you!”

We start driving home and the happy chatter continues:

“Footie walks side-wards ’cause she’s an alien. Boop! Boop! Boop! Side-wards… side-wards…”

My curiosity gets the better of me. “Why is her name Footie?”

“Cause she’s an alien”

“Are all aliens named Footie?”

“Nope. Jus’ Footie.”

“Why did you name her Footie?”

“I dint. Dat’s jes’ her name.”

“Is she named Footie for a special reason?”

“Mom. It’s really not pah-lite to talk bout Footie wen she’s right here. You’re hurting her feeling. Let’s just not talk bout it right now, OK? You can ask me bout it later if it’s still boddering you.”

Enough said. I return my focus to driving.

“Ohhhhh Nooooooooooo!”

“What?”

“Dere’s been a horbible axy-dent!”

“What kind of horrible accident?”

“Footie. I dropped her. She wasn’t in her spaceship, so she’s prob-lee really awful hurt. Get her , Mom. I can’t reach her! Pick her up an see if she’s ok, quick!”

“I can’t see her right now. I’m driving.”

“Mom! She’s right here! On plannit Earf!”

“Mom can’t see right now.”

“Are you calling me Mom?”

“No, I was talking about myself.”

“Who are you talkin’ to?”

“You.”

“Are you talkin’ to yourself ‘gain Mom? You know Footie can’t unnerstan’ you. She speaks alien-ish.”

We pull into our driveway and I lean my head on the steering wheel. “I don’t know anymore. I’m so confused I have no idea who I am talking to.”

“It’s ok Mom. Jes don’t worry ’bout it. Maybe you need a nap.”

I get out of the car, rescue Footie from deep space and hand her back to Jacqui. Jacqui once again grins from ear to ear and the air is filled with joyful bleeble-eeping. I laugh in spite of myself. Even Kyle thinks it’s funny. One quarter very well spent!

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“EAT YOUR BANANAS”.

I don’t know how many times I said that particular phrase today. Jacqui seems to have a love/hate relationship with bananas at the moment. They are one of a very short list of foods that she usually eats exceptionally well. She prefers them cut into neat, round slices and makes a huge deal of demanding them at every meal. However, all of the sudden, she’s not particularly interested in eating them. They are fun to smoosh… Or to stack like blocks… They make excellent finger puppets… But eat them? Why? Especially when there are so many other brilliant uses for them.

We got through the Breakfast Banana Battle. It raged from 8:12 am to 10:57 am this morning. I put lunch off because breakfast had gone so long. We sat down to eat lunch shortly after 1:30 pm. At about 3:15 pm, Kyle was taking a nap and Jacqui still had a pile of banana slices on her plate. She had tried sneaking one to the cat, but when I heard the cat hacking under the dining room chair, her partner in crime was banished to the garage. I once more looked at Jacqui over the top of my grocery list: “Eat your bananas.”

She scowled and skewered one with a straw and then squashed another with a sticky fingertip. That was it. I was fed up. “Jacqui, I’m going downstairs to start a load of clothes. You have eight slices left. Five of them better be gone when I come back upstairs, or you will lose a ‘Good Job Stone.’ Get moving.”

A plaintive wail started up as I headed downstairs. I started up the washer and took a few minutes to pre-treat some stains, hoping the extra time would allow her to make some progress. I was downstairs for maybe five minutes. I started up the stairs asking, “Did you get five of them eaten?” Nothing.

I get to the landing and a kitchen chair is next to the door and the high chain lock is unlocked. I peek outside and don’t see anything. “Jacqui, you know you are not allowed to touch the door locks…” I round the corner to the dining room. No Jacqui. I peek under the table - nope. Now I am getting irritated. “Jacqui, get back in here right NOW. No playing until the bananas are gone.” Nothing.

I walked down the hall to her room. The light was off and she wasn’t there. I peeked in Kyle’s room. He was still sleeping, so she definitely wasn’t in there. Our room? Nope. Lights are off and no one in our bathroom or the hall bathroom.

Now I’m starting to get a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach… Don’t panic, I tell myself - she’s probably just downstairs and you didn’t hear her when you were in the laundry room. I run down the stairs. She’s not in the family room, not in the computer room, not in the downstairs bathroom, the laundry room, or the garage.

I run back up the stairs and out on the lawn yelling her name and listening for an answer. Nothing. It hits me. She’s gone. My knees start to turn to jello as I scramble back into the house. I start screaming her name, begging her to answer. Nothing.

I force myself to focus and do a thorough check before calling 911. I walk through the living room calling her, looking under and behind furniture. I check the kitchen and under the desk. I look under the table again and canvas the backyard. I go room by room, calling as I go, checking toy boxes, closets, bathtubs, showers, growing more alarmed as I search. No Jacqui. No answer. I come to the conclusion that she is either completely missing, badly hurt, or deliberately hiding. I went to check the front yard again as I made the call.

“911, What is the address of the emergency?”

I hate the sound of those words. I had hoped to never hear them again. Upon hearing them, I suddenly felt physically ill, but I answered anyway. As I began answering questions I checked up and down the street and saw no sign of Jacqui.

I went back inside for another circuit through the house as I answered questions: She’s four… Last saw her about ten minutes ago… Yes, I checked the entire house… I’m checking again now…

As I come up the stairs, I catch a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye - over by the table. Was that the cat? I start walking to the table and little brown head pops up looking very guilty. She had been curled up on the seat of the chair, tucked under the table top so that I couldn’t see her. “Jacqui!” I reach the table and crush her to me in a fierce hug and she squirms, looking thoroughly confused, but I don’t care.

I tell the operator that I found my daughter and she sounds almost as relieved as I do. I hang up and crumple to the floor in a fit of violent tears while hugging Jacqui tight. “Wat’s da matter, Mommy?” Jacqui asks me with frightened tears in her eyes. “Why are you crying so funny?”

I can’t even answer and just keep right on crying. “Mom! Wat’s da matter?” I start coughing and wheezing. What a time for an asthma attack. I head for the bedroom and my inhaler with an alarmed little four-year-old tight on my heels. “Mom! Why are you coughing and breaving so loud like dat? Say somefing! Mom!”

I get a couple of doses from my inhaler and I finally get a decent lung-full of air. “I’m OK, Honey. You just really scared me when I couldn’t find you. I thought you were lost. Sometimes Mommy can’t breathe very well when she gets really scared.”

Jacqui climbed into my lap and started patting me on the back. “You’re OK, Sweetie. Jes breave. You be OK. Dis is wat happens wen you run aroun’ da house screamin’ like a looney tick.”

A looney tick. Well, takes one to know one I guess. After a long conversation about door locks, hiding, coming when you’re called and eating your bananas when you are told, it was time for dinner… And more bananas. She ate them all without a fuss.

I’ve peeked in on her three times already tonight… Just to remind myself that she’s there - safe and sound. I’m so very, very grateful that our little ‘looney tick’ is upstairs sleeping safely in her own little bed tonight.

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*No eating marshmallows with your toes. It’s not a very good idea.

*Watch out for bumbly bees. Dey’ll stink ya - Peeeeewwww!!

*You havta wash your hands after you go potty. It’s da Ten Ammandments!

*Kermit crabs have very ‘crusty-shins’!

*(After reminding her to ask to be excused from the table…) Okay (sigh…). May I be a goose please? Honk, Honk!

*(When I was pregnant…) Mommy have a baby inner tummy. Mommy eat a baby.

*(To another pregnant lady…) You eat a baby too?

*What’s at da China Forest? (referring to a local amusement park called The Enchanted Forest) I dunno… China people, maybe?

*(In response to a baby crying at the doctor’s office…) Sumbuddy give dat baby a sammich!

*(At a rest stop…) Look Mommy! I making snow angels on da floor!

*(At rest stop number two…) Look Mommy! Magic Toelets!! Dey already have potty in ‘em! (I replied that they were not most emphatically NOT magic toilets. She in turn asked, “Who do dat den?” I responded, “Moral degenerates, sweetie.” )

*(At rest stop number three…) Wow! Mommy - Look! More gen rats do dat too?

*(To one of her physicians…) You’re funny, doctor. Not funny ‘ha, ha’. Funny weird.

*(To another one of her physician’s who asked her if they weren’t friends…) You need to go be someone else’s friend right now. Mommy, he’s a nice doctor, but he’s a very ouchy kind of friend, isn’t he?

*(To another physician who told her to ‘wait right there’…) No. I havta be someplace else right now! (When asked where?…) I dunno. Anyplace else!

* It’s not very easy to eat peanut butter with a straw!

* No eat boogers Mommy, dey taste yucky. (I replied, “EEEWwww! Don’t even say that.” To which she responded, “Ok. I sing it den. Booooogers taste yuuuky!!…. Booogers taste yuuuky!!….)

*Awwwwww! My balloon needs a rest. It’s to tired ta fly!

*(After explaining where baby cows get their milk from…) Why don’t dey just get it outta da frigidator?

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