Not Her First Word, But Just as Important

The second and third acts of my day were performed in a mood yesterday. Not sure what found its way through my cellar door, but it certainly soured my attitude.

Kris and Cam were out at the soccer field having a run when I returned from NYC to a darkened Emerson Street. I opened the door to a quiet house. Kinda ghostly, actually. The window ac unit enhanced the effect with its one, continuous exhale. The cool air turned my living room into a crypt.

Craving some warmth, I whipped up some vittles. Short grain brown rice with a pot of frijoles negros mixed in. Eat just enough, it'll give you jump. Eat too much, it'll do the opposite. Since the rice takes 'bout an hour to cook, I check the list o World Cup games saved by my friend, Senor Tivo.

I settle on Trinidad and Tobago vs. Paraguay. Apparently, England vs. Sweden, my preferred choice, was not part of Senor Tivo's work schedule. No matter. I like to see desperate teams play anyway.

K and C return soon after I get comfy and the house starts thumpin. Sour mood returns. Kris senses it and hits the shower. I don't blame her. Cam and I hit the couch to watch le beautiful game. I have my water. She has her milk.

After she empties the sippy cup, she knows bed time is approaching. I pick her up and, like usual, she fights it. "No bed." When she sees that has no effect, she creates other diversions to avoid the inevitable. "Puppy book." She wants me to read to her. "Walk." She wants me to put her down. "Milk." She wants more milk. "Wayer." Her second choice, water, after not getting more milk.

She's getting more desperate as we head upstairs. "Memo." She wants to watch Finding Nemo. Then she points downstairs into the living room where we had been watching the World Cup.

"Soccer."

I freeze mid-step. Kris, hair still dripping, looks at me wide-eyed. Did we just hear that? Yes we did. In perfect English.

And that sour mood of mine evaporated.

GM