Some days I don’t read or blog or write.
I know! Imagine that! Some days I actually leave my house and this is a big deal because I put the “in” in “introvert”. My room is a glorious place and contains a) books, b) laptop, and c) cello. What more do I need?
But on Thursdays I hit the town with my friends, party wildly, wreck havoc, and do all sorts of irresponsible things.
(You may also notice I don’t blog on Thursdays and this is why.)
First, I pick up my two evil partners in crime.
They’re devious (and on the short side), and they can be a bad influence. But hey! I don’t have a lot of friends, so I take what I can get. Meet Xave (3yrs) and E.B. (1.5 yrs).
Please don’t judge their career choice: they both wish to be Minions. Mine, hopefully.
I inform them I’m not going out with them if they’re a) wearing pyjamas or b) naked. They get dressed. They grab their snacks. And we drive in “Cait’s car” downtown. (It’s not my car, it’s my parents’. But I suggested if we call it “Cait’s Car” it might magically become mine. So far…no luck.)
We’re still very cool and hip.
Next, we go where all the troublemakers go: the library.
Where did you think I would take them?! If I’m leaving my wonderful house (where ARCs are delivered to my door, I might add) it’s going to be the library.
Plus, this gives me excuse to reread all the picture books. When was the last time you read Dr. Seuss? You’re missing out. The Cat in the Hat is a hilarious story about stranger danger fail. Where The Wild Things Are includes cannibalism.
My particular favourite is a Winnie the Pooh alphabet book, designed for babies. It includes: X is for “Expedition” and Z is for “buzz”. YOU WANT TO RUN THAT BY ME AGAIN?!!
I may or may not have said, “This book is complete rubbish” out loud and had two small voices parrot, “Dis book is compwete rubbish”.
I’m teaching them to review critically. They are the future’s book bloggers.
Xave and I pick books out (lots of Elmer the Patchwork Elephant, Spot, and Charlie and Lola) and E.B. eats.
I’m not sure if you’re allowed to eat in the library. But they can’t help it! They’re both still partially illiterate!
I just realised, too, that our favourite authors are British.
We convicts are very loyal to our roots.
At 10:30am we head downstairs to Story Time, which is both the best and worst part of our day.
Let me put it simply: we hate/love story time.
Reasons We Hate it:
– Lots of noisy and partially illiterate children
– Who drool and throw tantrums and are messy (we’re never like that)
– Who eyeball us while we’re still eating snacks
– We have to stop what we’re doing upstairs, which is very difficult. We don’t like to change games.
– They sing songs at Story Time. Oh my GOSH, what is this?! Singing? Dancing? SPONTANEOUS HAPPINESS? We hates it, precious.
Reasons We Love it:
– There is a lady who reads stories we haven’t heard before, and it’s quite fun to listen to her.
– She remembers our names. (This is mostly because every third person in our city is named “Xavier” and “Eva”. We’re not special.
– Is it just me or is Row Row Row Your Boat got a a dang catchy tune? HOLD MY CRACKERS, we need to dance.
– We actually love dancing and doing the actions. Just no one make eye contact with us. That would ruin it.
– There’s a craft to do after the story! HOW WOULD AUNTY CAIT LOOK IF SHE HAD GLITTER ALL OVER HER?
SPOILER: Aunty Cait’s looks are not improved with copious amounts of glitter. But it’s pretty funny to watch her trying to get it off. Until it’s not.
Me: Look my hands are all glittery.
Xave: You wanna wash dat, Cait?
Me: Maybe I’m a magical fairy? It could happen.
Xave: Go wash dat now, Cait.
Cleanliness is next to Godliness, after all.
And I am not magical.
Did we mention the craft is awesome fun?
It is. Look at our awesome crown. You can bow any time about…now.
The only downside of our outing is: I’m assumed to be their parent.
Apparently, if you hang out with your buddies, and your buddies happen to be under 4 years old, and you go to a place where parents commonly take their children (even if the sign says: preschoolers and their carers…NOT PARENTS. Carers) — you are assumed to be the parent.
Peoples, I do not look like their parent. I don’t look like them. I don’t even look 20 years old!
If I dare enter society at any other day, say to go shopping at second hand stores for books, I’m asked why I’m not in school. Thus ensues awkward conversation:
Random Nosey Person: Why aren’t you in school?
Me: Because, um, I graduated?
Random Nosey Person: Wow, you mean, you graduated Year 12?
Me: Yes. That is the definition of “graduated”.
Random Nosey Person: Oh, you must be out of school early this year then!
Me: Ah, no. I graduated FOUR YEARS AGO BECAUSE I AM 20 YEARS OLD. NOW GO AWAY.
Humans. I do not understand them. Sometimes they just need to stop.
To solve my problems, I need to own this shirt:
And my niece and nephew need these…(but as tee-shirts, since they’re no longer babies).
I am an incredible introvert, but I’m also a fabulous aunt.
Just being modest.
Because of me, though, Xave and E.B. have cultured senses of humour and a great appreciation for books.
Me: You’re cute.
Xave: Yes I am.
Me: You’re adorable.
Xave: Yes I am.
Me: You’re a genius.
Xave: Yes I am. Yes I am all of it.
Cait is sometime called Aunty Fabulous, and she won’t lie: it’s very true. She gives epic piggy-back-rides. She reads Fox in Socks even when her tongue’s numb. She will watch long renditions of Love is an Open Door (complete with actions) and plays cool music while she’s driving (like Mary Poppins and Let It Go…marvellous mix). She has a secret stash of chocolate in her room. She also has an iPod. The niece and nephew luuuurve the iPod.