Calamity! Sam has become what we’ve dreaded most: a finicky eater. I can’t really blame her, since cream of wheat and steamed vegetables would probably wear thin on me as well. But while I would have the cunning to pretend to pack a healthy lunch and then go out to eat at Chipotle (without Ger’s ever finding out, I might add), Sam simply shrieks “Doooh!” and sweeps her food to the carpet. Fruit, yogurt, cheese, and other sweets she’ll still gobble up, but most other stuff is out of the question. Thing is, she seems a lot more interested in what we’re eating, and will beg like the family pet until we give her little bites.
Brilliant tactician that she is, Geralyn decided to try fixing Sam a plate of whatever we’re having so that Sam doesn’t feel left out. This has worked moderately well, as Sam will gleefully shove the food around the plate with her spoon and occasionally pop some into her maw. However, I have a feeling it’s all going to fall apart on Thursday, which is salt water taffy night at our house.
Sam continues to enjoy the park, where she plays with her soccer ball and makes gang signs. There was one particular series of pictures that really cracked me up, though. In college the zenith of our alcoholic abusive ways was always Oktoberfest. We’d all go down to the Tulsa Fairgrounds, buy beer in big plastic pitchers, and drink ourselves stupid. Years later, we still keep one of those plastic Oktoberfest pitchers out on the front porch and use it to water the plants (with water, not beer). One day this week Ger happened to photograph Sam stumbling around with the pitcher. This cracked me up, because when arranged in a certain way the pictures pretty much chronicle a typical evening at Oktoberfest:
7:00 P.M.: “Wooo! Oktoberfest! I need a refill, but first I’m gonna do the Duck Dance! Na na na na na na na, na na na na na na na, na na na na na na na –Nah! Nah! Nah! Nah!” |
9:46 P.M.: “Cudding meh off? Wha you mean cudding me off? Fine, wer goin home!” |
10:14 P.M.: “Hang on, guys. I’m gonna ralph in these bushes.” |
12:02 A.M.: “Hokay. Thats enuf guys. I’m goin home now. G’night. Na na na na na na…” |
Someday, a therapist will be very interested in all this.
When she’s not drunk, Sam is an absolute blast to play with. She’s totally mobile now, and will bring you things that she wants you to play with –books, puppets, toys, fist fulls of cat hair, anything. She also seems to like a bit of the roughhousing, as I can pin her down and tickle her belly or give her zerberts under the arm, which makes her totally crack up and laugh until she gets the hiccups.
You look at pictures now, yes?
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You may notice how in one picture Sam is pulling on her own shirt. She does this a lot, and in fact last night she grabbed one of her shirts from the laundry basket and clutched it for most of the night. Up until this point she hasn’t really developed a “security something” like a blanket or a stuffed animal, but I suspect she will soon. I just hope it’s not made of cashmere or anything.
Oh my dear brother, you must have overindulged at Oktoberfest because it is the Chicken Dance, not the Duck Dance!
Very cute photos. She is turning into quite the active toddler. Maybe you should try sneaking her to Chipolte with you. 🙂
Ah, the eternal chicken vs duck dance. It’s obviously the duck dance because chickens don’t dance.
I must say I have always called it the Duck Dance. Maybe it’s a St. Louis thing, but usually in that final step where you “flap your wings” is usually accompanied by a Quack, Quack, quack quack!”
After careful consultation with several of my friends who seem to have spent a fair amount of time at drunken festivals and unfortunate weddings, they agree it is the Chicken Dance. Maybe the St. Louis “Duck” dance is a regional thing.
Oh and please stop with the red herring argument over the fact chickens don’t dance. They dance just as much as ducks do. 🙂
http://www.whydidthechickencrosstheroad.com/the-chicken-dance.htm
I believe this describes the dance we did at Oktoberfest.
“Oh and please stop with the red herring argument over the fact chickens don’t dance. They dance just as much as ducks do. :)”
Okay, if you can show me a dancing chicken, I’ll believe you. But obviously, ducks dance since we did the duck dance. There’s tons of meta analytic evidence for this.
Otherwise, way to kill a joke.
Did you not look at the link provided? There is a chicken dancing on it. Obviously chickens dance because everyone else at the TULSA Oktoberfest did the Chicken Dance by that logic.
Didn’t you see the 🙂 at the end of my comment?
I guess this is a deeply personal and philosophical issue, the dance is in the mind of the dancer. 🙂
I shall be the tie breaker and point out that you are both correct. See this link for the history of the “Der Ententanz” literally translatesto “The Duck Dance:
http://www.dantzariak.net/dantzaldizkaria/mar02_questions.htm
Just to clarify…please check the following website. Tulsa does have a claim to fame. Well…other than Oral and the Praying Hands.
http://www.tulsaoktoberfest.org/history/chickenhistory.htm
You just blew my mind.
Take it from someone who is much, much older (and wiser? when it comes to chickens and ducks) it is definitely the “duck dance”.