Bankit

Lousy Smarch Weather

Lousy Smarch Weather

Note to self: buy snowshoes.

Spring, she has not sprung just yet. I’m sure our relatives and friends in the northern U.S. are faced with similar frustrations at the moment. The longer days and the date on the calendar have you itching to get out the seed catalog or the baseball mitt or the spring coat, but the conditions outside still call for two pairs of socks on your feet and a bag of kitty litter in the trunk of the car. “Man makes plans while God laughs,” someone told me once.

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It’s Go Bag Time

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Bean’s never been That Kid yet on a flight, but we always like to take steps to ensure maximum compliance. At the top of the post is a picture of the goody bag I’ve assembled to amuse her while we cross the Atlantic tomorrow.

At the bottom is a picture of the only item she’ll actually care about.

Fingers crossed for happy trails….

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Actress In A Leading Role

The Internets tell me the Oscars are coming up. I have seen exactly one of the films with a nomination this year. One. Fortunately, the drama at home is of the highest quality. In fact, if you drop by at about 7:50 PM, you should catch a veritable tour-de-force of improvisational acting.

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"Yes, I know, I'm so fabulous."


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INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

               MUMMY finishes putting away toys and switches off the
               television. KIDLET looks up, alarmed, from the coloring book
               in which she has been dreamily scribbling.

                                   KIDLET
                             (aghast)
                         Wall-E!

                                   MUMMY
                         No Wall-E. Time for bed.

                                   KIDLET
                         Oh, no!

                                   MUMMY
                         Oh, yes.

               Kidlet scrambles down from the table and runs into a far
               corner of the room.

                                   KIDLET
                             (desperately)
                         I want juice, please!

                                   MUMMY
                             (advancing)
                         You have juice here.

                                   KIDLET
                         Want food! See the fishy!

                                   MUMMY
                             (picking up a blanket)
                         Time for bed, dear.

                                   KIDLET
                         Change the nappy?

               Mummy checks for biohazards. 

                                   MUMMY
                         Nothing there.

               She picks up Kidlet.

                                   KIDLET
                         Oh, dear! Go see the ducks? Please?
                         Please?!

               INT. STAIRWAY - NIGHT

               Mummy carries a wriggling, WAILING Kidlet up.

               INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT

               Kidlet YOWLS. Mummy pastes a toothbrush and sticks it in
               Kidlet's hand.

               A moment's silence as Kidlet sucks the paste off: yum!

               Mummy SIGHS.

               INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT

               Mummy fishes pajamas out of a dresser. Kidlet begins
               desperately pulling toy food from a toy stove.

                                   KIDLET
                         Make the food! Apple in a bow-el.
                         Spoon in a bow-el. 
                             (holding up toy banana)
                         Bananama!

               Undeterred, Mummy comes at Kidlet with the pajama shirt.

                                   KIDLET (CONT'D)
                         No!

               Kidlet goes limp in the middle of the floor.

               Mummy pulls off Kidlet's shoes and tights.

               She shakes Kidlet out of her shirt. Kidlet flops back onto
               the hardwood, not protesting when her head connects: BONK.

               Mummy wrestles Kidlet's noodle limbs into the pajamas.

                                   MUMMY
                         Bedtime, sweetie.

               Kidlet suddenly retracts into a fetal position.

                                   KIDLET
                         Nooooooooo! Noooooooooooo!

               Mummy lifts the tiny, raging nautilus into the crib and tucks
               blankets around her.

                                   MUMMY
                         Good night, cupcake. I love you.

                                   KIDLET
                             (suddenly sunny)
                         Goot night! Sleep a tight! Ha ha!

               Mummy SIGHS. She turns on the night light and goes out.

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Beanus van Pelt

The lamentations and wailing in this house are at a fever pitch. I’m pretty sure you could hear it from Cofton Park, a miserable wail carried to you on the fresh October breezes:

“Baaaaaankit, ohhhh my bankit, oh dear!”

Charles Schulz actually invented the phrase "Security Blanket". FACT.

Inside the house, Bean squats in front of the washing machine, moaning and groaning. Her racket actually manages to pierce through the sound of the machine’s 1200-rpm spin cycle. When not in total despair, she gets angry, beating the machine with a stick and a stuffed fish. You see, we are washing her blanket, and she will not rest until she can cuddle it again.

Like most toddlers, the Bean has latched on to a security object, in this case a cream-colored blanket that is fuzzy on one side, satiny on the other, and has a Pooh Bear in the center. Also like most toddlers, the Bean struggles with consonant clusters, so “blanket” is known as “Bankit” around here.

Bankit was given to us by longtime family friend Josie, who baby-sat my brother and I back when we were Bean-sized. It has been Bean’s favorite for a good year now, and only recently has become an object of anxiety as well as adoration.

She can’t go to bed without it. If she’s dozy in front of the television and too lazy to get up herself, she will shout “BANKIT! UNGH!”, and the nearest member of staff has to toss it to her. It is a cape and a peek-a-boo screen, a magic carpet and a tent.

It’s also a chew toy. Bean chomps furiously on Bankit in her rages like an Angevin king who’s having a spat with a Pope. As a result, it frequently stinks of sour milk and “Weektabeex”. So into the washer Bankit goes.