Transcript
As Lucia and I walked down the street this afternoon, her pushing her toy stroller, me trying by any means necessary to get her to keep walking, it occurred to me that if there were an audio version of my day, with no visual evidence that I was talking to a child, I would sound completely insane. Here’s a brief transcript of our walk:
Lucia, Lucia, that’s the street. Keep walking straight. Fast! Fast! Fast! Keep going! No. Dirty. Garbage. Yucky yucky yucky. That’s an A. That’s a B. Yes, see the ant? An ant. Can you say “ant”? Let’s go fast! Fast! Fast! Fast! Out of the way of the stroller. Move over, Lucia. Lucia, he’s waving at you. Can you say hello? Can you wave? Bye-bye! Garbage. Dirty. Yucky yucky yucky. Yes, that’s wa-wa. No touching. It’s a sidewalk puddle. We look at sidewalk wa-wa. Okay, let’s go! Fast! Fast! Fast! Whoooo, you’re so fast! Look, a little dog. He’s coming to say hello! He gave you a kiss. Bye-bye, puppy! Let’s walk back home. Let’s see if any cats are in front of our apartment. No, we have to go home to see cats. No cats here. We’ll only see cats if we walk back home. Don’t you want to see cats?
My only comfort is that when I pass other parents with toddlers, the snippets of conversation I overhear don’t differ too dramatically from that. I hope, in my daily tedium and exhaustion, I don’t inadvertently turn my novel into a Shining-esque masterwork:
Cats. Cats. Cats. Meow. Meow! Fast! Fast! Fast! It’s raining. We have to go home. We’ll see cats at home. Let’s have a snack. Cheese! Cats. Cats. Cats. Meow. Meow! Fast! Fast! Fast! It’s raining. We have to go home. We’ll see cats at home. Let’s have a snack. Cheese! Cats. Cats. Cats. Meow. Meow! Fast! Fast! Fast! It’s raining. We have to go home. We’ll see cats at home. Let’s have a snack. Cheese! Cats. Cats. Cats. Meow. Meow! Fast! Fast! Fast! It’s raining. We have to go home. We’ll see cats at home. Let’s have a snack. Cheese! Cats. Cats. Cats. Meow. Meow! Fast! Fast! Fast! It’s raining. We have to go home. We’ll see cats at home. Let’s have a snack. Cheese!
Lucia, Lucia, that’s the street. Keep walking straight. Fast! Fast! Fast! Keep going! No. Dirty. Garbage. Yucky yucky yucky. That’s an A. That’s a B. Yes, see the ant? An ant. Can you say “ant”? Let’s go fast! Fast! Fast! Fast! Out of the way of the stroller. Move over, Lucia. Lucia, he’s waving at you. Can you say hello? Can you wave? Bye-bye! Garbage. Dirty. Yucky yucky yucky. Yes, that’s wa-wa. No touching. It’s a sidewalk puddle. We look at sidewalk wa-wa. Okay, let’s go! Fast! Fast! Fast! Whoooo, you’re so fast! Look, a little dog. He’s coming to say hello! He gave you a kiss. Bye-bye, puppy! Let’s walk back home. Let’s see if any cats are in front of our apartment. No, we have to go home to see cats. No cats here. We’ll only see cats if we walk back home. Don’t you want to see cats?
My only comfort is that when I pass other parents with toddlers, the snippets of conversation I overhear don’t differ too dramatically from that. I hope, in my daily tedium and exhaustion, I don’t inadvertently turn my novel into a Shining-esque masterwork:
Cats. Cats. Cats. Meow. Meow! Fast! Fast! Fast! It’s raining. We have to go home. We’ll see cats at home. Let’s have a snack. Cheese! Cats. Cats. Cats. Meow. Meow! Fast! Fast! Fast! It’s raining. We have to go home. We’ll see cats at home. Let’s have a snack. Cheese! Cats. Cats. Cats. Meow. Meow! Fast! Fast! Fast! It’s raining. We have to go home. We’ll see cats at home. Let’s have a snack. Cheese! Cats. Cats. Cats. Meow. Meow! Fast! Fast! Fast! It’s raining. We have to go home. We’ll see cats at home. Let’s have a snack. Cheese! Cats. Cats. Cats. Meow. Meow! Fast! Fast! Fast! It’s raining. We have to go home. We’ll see cats at home. Let’s have a snack. Cheese!
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