Tuesday, October 04, 2005


The Verbalist has spent the morning constructing something, what I am not quite sure. I think he is constructing a cityscape to demolish with his new Batmobile. He has tied a blanket around his neck for a "cape" and is mostly just jumping around spouting laser gun sound effects and booming sounds. This is a welcome change from the primary imaginary game he was playing yesterday which was pirate. Not that pirate is bad, but if his sister is not wanting to play poking her endlessly with a plastic sword is not going to get the response he wants.

I was folding laundry and he grabbed a hanger and now was a hook handed pirate. The Muralist was standing at the kitchen counter coloring in her color book and the Verbalist decided that she looked too peaceful.

"Avast Pirate Girl!" shouted the Verbalist and brandished both "hook" and sword. "Walk the Plank!"

"No!" responds the Muralist emphatically.

"Plank!" Poke poke. "Plank!" Poke poke.

"No!" says the Muralist a little more forcefully. With the air of a gambler playing a trump card she adds, "Go to your room!"

Unfazed by the order, which did not carry parental authority behind it, he resumed poking. I admonish them both to not fight and tell the Verbalist he is about to get into trouble. "Stop poking her, she doesn't want to play." For a few minutes he contents himself with feints and thrusts in the air, but the air doesn't exactly give him the response he is looking for.

"Arrrggggggghhhhhh!" cries the Verbalist in his best Pirate Voice and twirling, pokes his sister in the ribs once more. Quick as a flash his sister turns and beans him with a make shift weapon.

"Owwwwwww." wails the Verbalist. After a quick check for injury, a chastened Verbalist is sent to his room. "Pirates are not sent to thier rooms," he legalizes.

"No," reply I, "They are marooooooooooooned."

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