I’d like to thank my lovely and obliging daughter, Chloe, for providing me with content for my blog entry this evening. It’s good to have someone who can fill in for me every once in a while.

(1) Q: Why do four-legged animals dance badly?
A: Because they have two left feet.

(2) Q: What time is it when an elephant sits on your fence?
A: It’s time to get a new fence!

(3) Q: What do you get when you cross a mountain lion and a parrot?
A: I don’t know, but you better listen when it talks!

(4) Q: What did the duck say when she finished shopping?
A: Just put it on my bill.

(5) Q: What do you call an elephant in a telephone box?
A: Stuck.

(6) Q: What did the snail say when he hitched a ride on the turtle’s back?
A: Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

(7) Q: What’s a slug?
A: A snail with a housing problem.

Sophie and I went on a bug adventure earlier. We took a walk around the block to try to find bugs. Unfortunately, according to Sophie, ants don’t qualify as bugs. There were lots of ants, but not so many other critters.

We did see a butterfly, but it scampered away fairly quickly. And we saw a gnat, too. But that was about it. There were lots of little birds, but Sophie wasn’t particularly interested in those today.

After a few minutes, Sophie turned her attention toward the trees. “Mommy, is this the jungle?” she inquired. Sophie is obsessed with the jungle. Wherever we go, if there’s a tree, she sees a jungle. Now, while we have a lot of trees where we live, we obviously don’t live in a jungle. There are arguably forests nearby, sort of. But we were simply strolling along a nearby street, and she was focusing on a relatively young tree planted curbside. Not a jungle. Not a forest. I tried explaining that in order to see the jungle we’d need to take the plane and go far, far away. She doesn’t get the concept.

But she’s a kid and if she thinks she’s living in the jungle, who am I to disabuse her of that fallacy?

Chloe is still taking piano lessons and still seems to enjoy it, although she’s not as gung-ho about practicing as she was in the beginning (no surprise there).

As you can see from the photo, however, we still haven’t invested in her future as a concert pianist. She’s using the tiny play keyboard that my mom bought for her a couple of years ago, and it sits on the coffee table in the living room. She kneels to play. We haven’t even provided her with kneepads to protect her legs from rug burn.

What does this say about us as parents? That’s easy. It says that we have no faith that Chloe’s interest is going to last more than a few months. We know that as soon as we invest in a real electric keyboard (we’ve given up on the idea of an authentic piano), she’ll find a new hobby. And I know this because that’s how I was when I was a kid. Voice lessons, soccer, piano, Girl Scouts, tennis, swimming (I’m sure I’ve forgotten a bunch of activities) – I tried almost anything at least once – with a mixed record of longevity.

At some point, however, we’re going to need to bite the bullet and go keyboard shopping. But we haven’t yet determined what the threshold date is going to be – we keep pushing it back. In the meantime we’re spending a lot of money on lessons, and she can play the “Can-Can” while on her knees. Pretty impressive, no?

I got home a bit late tonight and my head is spinning. I have no particular stories to tell – except that Sophie lost her two new favorite barrettes – pink and purple butterfly clips that she received as a gift the other day from the kids’ hair salon.

Yep, after months and months of neglect, we finally got her hair cut. Except it doesn’t look that much different than it did before she sat down in the Barbie car. I love her curly hair. But it’s out of control. The locks are a little bit shorter than they used to be, and there are fewer stray corkscrews hanging at her neck. Otherwise, her hair is pretty much the same.

When I called the house earlier to let everyone know I was going to be late, Chloe answered the phone. This is how our conversation went:

“Hi, Chloe.”
“Hi, Mommy. Guess what, Mommy?” Chloe asks, sounding like she might have something bad to tell me.
“What?” I inquire, thinking to myself that she’s getting ready to confess a minor crime.
“Your warranty is expiring.”
“What are you talking about, sweetheart?”
“Some man called and said that your warranty is expiring. What’s a warranty, Mom?”

I wish she would stop answering the phone!