Lullaby and Goodnight

Putting Isabella to bed last night. (In case you forgot, she’s five.)

Iz: Daddy, will you sleep with me? Please, please please.
Me: No, but, I’ll snuggle for a few minutes.
(I climb into bed.)

Iz: Could you scratch my back and sing Rockabye Baby?
Me: Sure… Rockabye Baby on the Tree Top…
(When I finish…)

Iz: Would you scratch my tummy, and sing Twinkle Twinkle?
Me: Ok. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star…

Iz: Scratch this leg. You Are My Sunshine.

Other leg. When You Wish Upon a Star.
This arm. Old MacDonald (animals A-M).
That arm. Old MacDonald (animals N-Z).
Head. Baby Mine.
Rub my toes. Row, Row, Row Your Boat.
Rub my fingers. Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes.

I don’t know if she ran out of body parts first, or lullabies. But, she finally nestled under my shoulder and put her head on my chest. When I woke up about three hours later, I realized that she had lulled me to sleep as much as I lulled her.

She got her way. She’s sneaky.

The Face of Someone Who Always Gets Her Way

Survival of the Fittest

Julianna (the seven-year-old): Daddy, did the first person come from a fish?
Me: Oh, Wow! Great question… Um, Complicated question.
J: ’cause I saw on the Science Channel that he did.
Me: Hmmm. Well, have you ever heard of “evolution?”
J: No.
Me: Crap.

Me (continuing): Ok, sometimes plants and animals change very gradually over many, many years… I’m losing you here, right?
J: Yeah… Well, but, could you explain it so a kid could understand…
Me: How old are you again?
J: Seven.

At this point, I consider the easy way out: It was God. (But, that’s a can of worms.) Instead, I opt for the easiest way out…

Me: You’ll have to ask your teacher, Sweety. (Before you judge, bear in mind we were cruising down the freeway at 65 miles per hour. Not a great place for the discussion of Darwinian theory.)

Isabella (she’s five): Daddy, my name has four Sea-A-Peas… IZ-A-BEL-LA.

Me: Very good, Honey. Only I think you mean “syllables.”

Iz: Haha! “Syllables!” That’s not even a word.

Me: Oh, and “Sea-A-Peas” is? Which one are you? Merriam or Webster?

Iz: (Blink.) I’m IZ-A-BEL-LA. Like I just said… You make no sense.

Gender Identity Confusion

Isabella (the five-year-old): Daddy, Goldie (the goldfish) is a girl, right?
Me: What makes you think that?
Iz: Well, because her name is Goldie. And that’s a girl’s name.
Me: So that makes her a girl?
Iz: Yes, well… Why would we give her a girl’s name if she was a boy?
Me: Um… I’m not sure how to tell you this, but…

(Moments later.)

Iz: Blink.
(Then running to the playroom…)

Iz: Julianna!! Julianna!! Daddy says Goldie is a BOY!

Julianna flies into the room.

J: Daddy, that’s silly! She’s got to be a girl!
Me: Really? Why is that?
J: Well… Why would we give her a girl’s name if she was a boy?
Me: Um… I’m not sure how to tell you this, but…

Going Extinct

Julianna (the seven-year-old): Daddy, besides dinosaurs, what other animals are extinct?
Me: Well, the Dodo Bird. And, the Woolly Mammoth.
J: What else?
Isabella (the five-year-old helps out): And, the skunk!


J: No, I said EX-tinct. Not STINKED.
I: Oh… I don’t know what that word means. I’m only five. (pause.) But skunks DO stink! Hahaha!

Real 3D

Nothing can possibly be more exciting to a kid than 3D Movie Glasses!

At home, the other day:

Julianna (she’s 7): Oh my goodness! That chair is in 3D! And, the table is in 3D! And, the sofa is in 3D! Isabella! Isabella! It’s almost like I can reach out and touch you!

Isabella (she’s 5): Well, I’m standing right next to you.

Julianna: Yeah, but Isabella! (Pausing for maximum effect) You’re in 3D!

Ever the pragmatist:

Isabella: I’m not a movie or a TV show. I’m just a person. And people can’t be in 3D.

They’re both sort of right, I suppose. And, yet so wrong.

101 Dalmatians

Watching the Glenn Close live-action version of “101 Dalmatians” tonight…

Julianna (7-years-old): Dada, the boy and girl dogs who have all the babies are married, right?
Me: Yes, I suppose so. In a dog-kind-of-way.
J: Yeah, because they kiss each other using their tongues.
Me: Well, Honey, that’s what dogs do.

Chiming in…
Isabella (the helpful 5-year-old): Yeah… And he keeps putting his paw on her butt. Hahahahahaha!

I can’t remember those scenes, and I don’t know where they would get such ideas… Um…

Oh, yeah….

Next Up: Sounds Like My Honeymoon

It occurs to me that I have never made a “That’s What She Said” joke here at the Fun Time. I’ve been doing that bit forever.

As I start typing, Lynn asks me what I’m posting about this time. She rolls her eyes. She never liked the juvenile gag.

“Make sure you say that you’ve been doing it to me for years. And, I’m sick of it.”

Nah… Too easy.

Ground Control to Major Tom

Overheard… Seven-year-old Julianna and Mommy:

J: Mommy, when I grow up, can I be a astronaut?
Mom: “An” astronaut. And yes, certainly. But you’ll have to study really hard in your Science and Math Classes.
J (excitedly): And, when I become an astronaut I will welcome you aboard my spaceship!
Mom: That’s great, Sweety!
J (rethinking): Well, but… By then, you’ll be old. Like, VERY old… You’ll almost be dead! So, maybe it would be better if you stayed on earth.

Me (to Mommy): Technically, I suppose, she’s right. But, still. Ow.

Judy, Judy, Judy

I just got flirted at.

When I say flirted “at,” I mean that it is different than being flirted “with.” You see, with “with,” it implies both people are actively engaged in the flirtation (like in a Cary Grant or Hugh Grant movie. Ulysses S. Grant… Not so much.) With “at,” it means only one person is doing the flirting. The other one might as well be a wall.

Hello, my name is Sheetrock.

At the commissary (i.e. lunch room) at the Disney Studios the other day, I arrived just before the mid-day crush. Instead of taking the more appropriate “loser who eats with no friends” 2-person table, I rather insensitively sit at a “Yay! My Co-Workers Actually Like Me!” 4-person table. The Happiest Lunch Room on Earth…. Whatever.

The place fills up quickly.

Just as I begin to dig into my savory Philly Cheese Steak sub, a lovely young woman approaches.

She: Would you mind if I sat here. All the other tables are full.
Me: No. Please, go right ahead.

I look around to see that most, but not all, of the tables are taken. I pay no never mind.

We begin a very polite conversation (it is Disney, after all. I’m expected, but not necessarily “required” to do so.) She tells me her name is Judy, and she is graduating with a degree in merchandising (or something like that) from some college in the mid-west. She’s visiting with her Disney-employed aunt for Spring Break here in Burbank.

I smile. I pepper her with a couple of questions and am generally (and genuinely) interested in our discussion, but I really need to get through my Philly Cheese so I can get back to the office.

Then she asks with a smile, as she pushes her elbows forward on the table:

“So what do you do here at the ‘world famous’ Walt Disney Studio lot?”

Word to the wise… Please don’t ever ask me about what I do. Because, I’ll start talking, and I have no clue as to when to shut the hell up. And, the more interested you appear to be, the more I’ll ramble and ramble. That’s just the Performer in me. (In the end, though, I will not have enlightened you one little bit.)

Judy, with her green eyes and knee-high boots and dangly ear rings seemed completely enthralled. In fact, she seemed overly interested. Especially for a non-musician.

I waxed philosophical on the meaning of Music, and the importance of the Arts in our everyday lives and in our schools. She was just drinking it up, laughing a girlie laugh at all of my (many) punchlines.

The more I talked, the more intense her eyes got.

I thought: Damn, I know what I’m talking about! And, I have an audience!

Suddenly, I realize that I have finished off the Philly, chomped on my last fry, and chugged the rest of my Diet Coke.

I said, “Well, it has been great talking to you. But, I have to get back.”
She said, “Oh, thank you. It was great. Totally my pleasure.”

I stood up. She stood up. We shook hands. Then…She squeezed my shoulder and patted and rubbed my back.

That’s a bit out of the norm for first-time meeters. Even in Hollywood.

On the walk back to the office, I passed the Seven Dwarfs (yes, there is a building with Snow White’s buddies forming the columns that support the roof.)

And I pondered: That seemed unusual. Hmmm…..

Holy crap! She was flirting with me! That’s why she kept stroking her hair.

Now, for most of my professional life, I have worked very closely with women. (Mostly because I am also undervalued and underpaid.) Many of my best friends are my wife’s women friends. And, even going back to high school: I always seemed to do better with my dates’ mothers than I did with the girls I was going out with. (But, not in some sort of icky ‘Cougar Town’ way. Ewww.)

While I have enjoyed the witty banter, double entendres and occasional wickedly inappropriately comments with the women I have come in contact with over the years, the Truth is: I have been off the market since 1987. So, the idea of actually flirting with a complete stranger is pretty low on my radar.

So, to all the Judys in the world. I had a wonderful lunch with you. Now, move along.