Home To Bears

Terrible Twos Day

Jan 28, 2012

I’m disassembling the Monster’s crib. It has been home to bears, bunnies, dolls, unfolded laundry, and, lately, a guitar and a mandolin, but never the Monster.

This is not precisely true. When she was very, very little and unable to climb out, I would sometimes put her in there so I could go in the bathroom to pee and listen to her scream. Also, I would, from time to time, put her in there and play the guitar and sing to her, while she stood, clinging to the bars, and chewed on the top rail. I would also try to put her in the crib on those rare occasions that she fell asleep when I had enough energy to think of getting something else done, but about half the time she would wake up screaming the moment I let go of her, and the other half she would wake up screaming half an hour later. As a person who does not care overmuch for screaming, I generally preferred to let her snooze next to me, or on me, although this limited my activities.

This is where ‘normally’ you would get a quaint little picture of a crib full of teddy bears, bunnies, guitars and what-not, but frankly the rough sketch was boring, and I don’t have time to come up with something better because I have been making Daffodil a crown out of craft-foam. Although it as yet unpainted and looks like something out of a bad science-fiction movie, she says it is “good for playing Queen of the Nile.” This gives me a twinge and makes me feel I have short-changed her education, but then I think, “Perhaps I didn’t hear that right and she means ‘Queen of Denial’.” She has no way of knowing this was my favorite joke when Discordia, in her Terrible Twos, restricted her vocabulary to a single word (Me: “Are you the Queen of Denial?” Discordia: “NO!” Me: “Ahahahaha!” It never got old.)

Anyway, no picture. How’s that for denial?

Advertisements

Monster Papa

Monster Papa Head

Perhaps some of you clever and discerning readers have noticed that I have changed my Display Name here on WordPress. I got to noticing that some of the quite clever blogs I was reading were authored by people with quite clever display names, and it seemed to me that I could actually remember some of them, as opposed to David Smith, or, as it might be, David Johnson, or John Davidson, or- well, you get the idea. I thought to myself, “Ah, perhaps there’s a method to this cleverness. I should get myself a quite clever display name.” But, I asked myself, what should it be? And, of course, I couldn’t think of anything. And then I recalled that, back in those dim days at the beginning of recorded history, before the Monster stopped wanting to be a monster, we’d have conversations like this:

The Monster: “Am I a monster?”

Me: “Yes.”

The Monster: “Are you my Papa?”

Me: “Yes.”

The Monster: “Are you a monster?”

Me: “Yes, and I’m going to eat you!”

The Monster: “AIEEEEEEEE!!!!!! Ahahahahaha!”

And there would be lots of tickling, and the Monster running around shrieking, “Monster Papa! Monster Papa!” After awhile she just decided to go with “Monster Papa” as a regular thing. So, I thought, that’s not quite clever, or even clever, but perhaps it fits and people will remember it along with the name of the blog. And there you have it. Of course, she hasn’t called me that for quite awhile, but on the other hand, just the other day she said to me, “You know, Papa, I don’t mind if you call me Monster, as long as you know I’m a little girl.”  So, who knows?

Now, as you can see from my self-portrait at the top of this post, I’m much too good-looking to actually be a monster, but whether that makes it more or less clever, I don’t know. Below find six more ways to tell I am not a monster:

Six reasons 2

I Am Not A Monster!

NotaMonsterPeople ask me from time to time why Daffodil has so many aliases. In the beginning, it was because I would call her something until she figured out what it meant and squawked. More recently, she has been choosing her own noms de guerre. To reduce confusion with The Public, however, I usually only report those that stick around for awhile.

February 15, 2013

The Monster has informed me several times this week that, “I am not a monster!” While this may or may not be true, I take it as an indication that she no longer cares to be referred to in this way. I will therefore in future refer to her as ‘the Pooka,’ since this is what I call her all the time anyway, and she hasn’t googled it yet.

Thus began the Pooka EraOf course, earlier that day, my post was:

The Monster (stepping on my foot): “I’m gonna step on your toe!”
After a pause to bounce up and down: “Toe-MAY-toe!!”

One may judge for themselves what, exactly, ‘s in a name.

Terrible Twos Day Two

Terrible Twos DayJanuary 3, 2012

The Monster continues to be highly distressed by the shortage of pandas.

I’m not sure where this came from- I blame TV- but with the New Year the Monster developed a terrible longing for pandas. She searches around the house for one, and looks heartbroken when she can’t find one.

The Monster saw the half-moon in the afternoon sky.

The Monster: “Moon?”

Me: “Yes, that’s the moon.”

The Monster: “Wake up, Moon! Wake up!”

January 4, 2012

The Monster has a fever. Panda fever. She has a temp of 101.3 and keeps asking, “Where’s panda? Where’s panda?”

Where Panda

Waking Up Is Hard To Do

Terrible Twos Day

Since this horrifically cutesy and clever title has occurred to me, I am now committed to presenting material from the Monster’s second year on Tuesdays, until I run out of old posts or happen to forget.

December 7, 2011

The Monster is two years old today. A day that will live in infamy…

This may seem unkind, but the Monster had just discovered Sleep, as opposed to momentary fits of unconsciousness, the week before, and from never letting me sleep at all had gone to dropping, without warning, into a corpse-like slumber at whatever moment made it hardest for me to get whatever I had planned to do, with her in tow, done. Some of you will say that a sleeping baby is good baby, and in theory I agree, but the Monster was more like a gently ticking bit of unexploded ordnance, apt to go off if people in the next county breathed too loudly. And by ‘go off’ I mean make enough noise to shatter windows and bring down buildings within a ten mile radius. This is not the kind of risk that a man of delicate sensibilities takes lightly, so simply dragging her about by the heel was not on the board. Instead, the man of delicate sensibilities and refined judgment takes the opportunity to try to catch up on two year’s lost sleep when he has the chance, much to the annoyance of people who think he ought to be Getting Things Done. Below find Artist’s Impression of the Monster waking unexpectedly.

Waking up

December 14, 2011

The Monster’s erratic sleep ‘schedule’ is taking its toll on me. If only I could synchronize it with my own erratic sleep schedule.

We see from this that in fact I did not catch up on much sleep. But at least I didn’t get anything done either. I was, however, able to penetrate to the heart of the mystery of her strange behavior:

December 17, 2011

The Monster appears to be the product of millions of years of evolution on a moon of a gas-giant planet in a binary star system. There is no other way to explain the complex periodicity of her sleep/wake cycle.

I am happy to report that now, having evolved into Daffodil, her sleep cycle is comparatively normal- for a twenty-something hipster who prefers to get their seven hours after the clubs have closed.

Welcome to Monsters And Daffodils

Monsters And Daffodils

Welcome to Monsters And Daffodils. I hope you won’t be too disappointed when you discover, as you are just about to, that there is only one Monster, and only one Daffodil, and that they are one and the same person, the Artist Formerly Known as The Pooka, or sometimes Mirazilla, and even Rocket Girl, though the latter not to the general public. The person in question being my youngest daughter, and we having been thrown together by Fate for most of the waking and, to the extent they existed, non-waking hours of her young life, I have been her Boswell as much as time and incipient Alzheimer’s permits. Her friends and admirers on Facebook have been encouraging me to share her doings with a wider audience, and this blog is the first step in that direction. They are also demanding a book, and so this blog will chronicle the progress of that endeavor as well.

As has already been indicated, Daffodil (her current cognomen) has gone through a lot of changes, and my style and approach to recording this has been evolving as well, so as I include items from the past, don’t be surprised if their presentation is quite different than more recent offerings. I am, too, in the process of developing these purely textual snippets into an illustrated format, so some changes to the original presentation may take place for that reason. Rest assured, however, that every utterance and action is recorded verbatim, because, well, you can’t make this shit up. However hyperbolic my prose may occasionally be, what is described is Truth.

As for the blog’s name, just moments ago I was set on calling it Daffodil Soup, soup being a metaphor for tasty mixtures of various elements, but a quick Google search informed me that daffodil soup is poisonous (which only encouraged me) and that there are restaurants by that name (which disturbed me) and that there is already a blog by that name, which seems to be the work of a foodie. This last item put me off the name. “Daffodil Melange” is just too highbrow, and “Daffodil Potpourri” is too twee, so we have Monsters And Daffodils because nobody else seems to have put those together, and I don’t have all day here. We must get this show on the road.