Emma Gets Away

Hello, Emmafans.  Me again.  I know, I know.  You’re wondering whether Mommy is EVER going to actually write her own blog.  (One word for you Mommy: RESPONSIBILITY.  But I disgress . . .)  As you can see, I’m guest posting.  Again.

I mentioned in my last blog entry that I desperately needed a vacation.  Well, America, you’ll be happy to know: I got one.  My Bubbe rented a big house for me, my family, my aunties and uncles and my four big girl cousins.  It was a few hours and one car nap away from here.  We stayed there for a week. People: It. Was. Heaven.  Every time I turned around, there was someone to shower me with affection.  And teach me a new hand gesture.  But don’t get too excited: I’m not talking about the really good kind that you get to use when someone cuts you off in traffic.  (Yes, Mommy, I can see from the back seat.)  I’ll be honest, America.  That part was a bit disappointing.

Anyhoo, here’s what I DID learn from my aunties and cousins . . . How to do a first bump.  (Thanks, Leah.)  Double high five.  (Woot woot, Sophie.) Peace sign.  (Right back at ya, Ella.)  Elbow kiss.  (Kiss, kiss, Aunt Deborah.) Thumbs up.  (Which finger do I use again?)  How to put my sunglasses on my head.  And the phrase, “Super cool!”  (You are too, Aunt Bea!)

Finally some positive female role models.  (No offense, Mommy.)

My big brother Jacob learned a lot too.  For example, cousin Maya taught him that unicorns are real.  First, Jacob told her that they were just pretend.  But Maya said: NO.  REAL.  So Jacob asked Mommy.  And Mommy said that Jacob was right.  Unicorns are just pretend.  Sure Mommy’s SOMETIMES a reliable source.  But let’s be honest, America.  Who would YOU trust?  A nine-year-old cousin who has NEVER STEERED YOU WRONG.  Or the woman who told you that the very expensive, hot pink sunglasses you wanted didn’t come in your size?  (Mommy, you’re not fooling anyone.)  At first Jacob believed Mommy, but a few minutes later he wised up.  He told Mommy and Daddy that he changed his mind.  UNICORNS.  ARE.  REAL.  Mommy and Daddy were not convinced.

Mommy: No, Jacob, they are pretend.


Mommy: How do you know?

Jacob: Because Maya has SEEN them.  They are her friends.

Mommy: Jacob, I think Maya was just kidding you.

Daddy: Have YOU ever seen a unicorn?

Jacob: Noooooo.   But that’s just because they blend in.

For some reason, this made Mommy laugh so hard that her eyes started to leak.  And then she had to throw herself on the bed and cover her face. Mostly because the laughing and the leaking made Jacob MAD.  And she was trying to hide.  (Really, Mommy?  Hiding from a five-year-old?) Anyway, I don’t blame Jacob for being mad.  Mommy was very undignified.  PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, WOMAN.  (The unicorns might be watching.)

I’ll be honest with you, America, sometimes Mommy can be insufferable.

Eventually Mommy, Daddy and Jacob agreed to disagree.  And we all moved on.

Unicorns, if you’re out there, just know that The Emma believes.  Unless you’re pretend.  In which case, I’ll be honest.  That horn isn’t doing you any favors.  (FORGET about getting sunglasses to stay on your head with that thing.)

Anyway, when we weren’t discussing unicorns we were doing other fun things.  Like playing peek-a-boo.  Running through the living room shrieking. Giving all the forks in the house to Uncle Noah.  (DO I HAVE TO JUSTIFY EVERYTHING?  He clearly needed forks.)  High-fiving Uncle Scott with my foot.  (People, he ASKED for my foot.  He’s still learning.  Don’t judge.) Painting my face with sunblock.   Putting on my bathing suit and then refusing to go in the pool.  And testing the acoustics in the house at 5:30am.  (It’s harder to evaluate the sound quality later in the day with all that background noise from the other “awake” people.)*   There was just one activity that I wasn’t crazy about.  It involved a crazed herd of Emma-Eating Monsters.  Mommy called them “Pygmy goats”.  (Whatever, Mommy.)  Here’s what happened . . .

On our second-to-last day of vacation, Mommy and Daddy took me and Jacob to a farm.  To pick berries.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I am all for selecting my own food.  In fact, I frequently make very specific food requests. (THAT ARE ALMOST UNIVERSALLY IGNORED.)  But for some reason, I was told to pick the blueberries I wanted on the bush and then just put them in a bucket.  Excuse me but, IF I CAN’T EAT THEM RIGHT AWAY, WHY WOULD I WANT TO PICK THEM? It’s like Mommy and Daddy don’t even know what they’re for.

Putting berries in bucket. Why, why, WHY?!?

Anyway, the people who own this farm figured that any suckers who would spend an hour in the hot sun picking berries AND PUTTING THEM IN A BUCKET would also be thrilled to feed their livestock.  Really, farmers?  Are you THAT lazy?  (Feed.  Your.  Own.  Damn.  Goats.)

I am ashamed to say that my big brother Jacob fell for this scam.

So Daddy put some nice shiny quarters into a machine.  And it spit out things that even I wouldn’t eat.  As soon as this happened a FIERCE HERD of (teensy) goat-like creatures came running.  RIGHT.  UP.  TO. THE. FENCE.  CLEARLY, they wanted to EAT ME.  America: It. Was. Horrifying.  So, I did what any self-respecting two-year-old does when she is about to be eaten by a bunch of Pygmy goats who are MOMENTARILY distracted by some pellet-like appetizers in her brother’s hand.  I SHRIEKED.  (A few times.)  And Mommy carried me away. Meanwhile, Daddy and Jacob kept right on feeding the goats.

What is wrong with them?

Jacob Feeding Emma-Eating Monsters (aka, Pygmy Goats)

Jacob Feeding Emma-Eating Monsters (aka, Pygmy Goats)

We’re back from vacation now and I’ll be honest.  I’m a changed person. Pondering all sorts of existential questions.  For example, if The Emma shrieks at 5:30 in the morning and there aren’t any relatives around to wake up, does it really matter?  What is it all about?  And why aren’t the uncles in MY living room strumming on their ukuleles?  Just cuz the vacation is over DOESN’T MEAN I DON’T STILL REQUIRE LIVE MUSIC.  And, NO, Mommy, this DOES NOT mean I want you to sing.  America, she’s starting to sing . . .

I may need another vacation.  Soon.

*Overall the acoustics weren’t bad. But my Bubbe seemed a little disappointed that she couldn’t hear me from her bedroom on the ground floor. Sorry, Bubbe.  Maybe next year.

One thought on “Emma Gets Away

  1. Pingback: Emma v. The Horse | Fumbling Toward Naptime

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