Water Fowl

I’m not convinced you can say you have truly lived, till you’ve played a few rounds of Duck-Duck-Goose with Em and Elle.

It began while I was on the phone with a friend, discussing details of some graphic design work she’s roped me into I cheerily volunteered for.

Em’s at my side. “Can we play Duck-Duck-Goose, Mom?”

I hold up my palm. Wait.

So of course, the rest of the phone call is interrupted at twenty second intervals by:

“Now, Mom?”

“Can we play now?”

“How ‘bout now?”

About thirty-six interruptions later I hang up the phone, and Em’s eyes brighten in my most favorite of ways. “I want to be the ducker!” he calls.

Our Duck-Duck-Goose skills could use a bit of polishing, but we’re getting the hang of it. We can usually convince at least one person to sit down, and even Elle has mastered the fine art of smacking someone’s head with the accompanying, “Dut” or “Doose.” And then of course, most of the game is spent with everyone running around in personal orbits, eventually plopping down when the moment seems right. It’s a jolly good bunch of fun.

And since we’re discussing how cute my kids are (you didn’t know we were discussing this, but I’m sneaky like that), Elle is the cutest walker-down-the-haller I’ve ever laid eyes on. She does it differently each time, sometimes with a good dose of arm-swing, sometimes humming and up on her tippy-toes, sometimes in that half-squatting sumo-wrestler walk. We’ve got a whole lot of hall in our house, so the cuteness goes on for a while. My advice to all the mom-to-be’s: Get a good length of hall. It’s sure to do wonders for your kid’s cuteness quotient.