Whisks, Violins, Rabbit Muffins, and Wishing I had a Tail…

I couldn’t help but shake my head in wonder tonight as two-year-old Henry took the whisk from out of the kitchen drawer, stuck it between his legs, and started to ride it around the kitchen making clip-clop noises with his tongue. “Look a’ me, Abelle” he said and continued to gallop and clip-clop. When he says “Abelle”, it sounds like Apple.
George was making a grilled cheese sandwich for Abelle while this went on, and he flipped the spatula in the air and caught it. This amazed the kids, so he did it again. This time it landed on the floor with a great clatter, delighting Henry, who then threw his own whisk up in the air. It flew over his head and down the hallway. (I was just glad it hadn’t landed back on his head, like the big heavy rock he threw in the air today.)
The whisk then became a violin. Henry placed the handle under his chin, picked up one of Annabelle’s playing cards, and used it for the bow. He strummed it across the “strings” of the whisk, while making a humming ‘violin’ noise. I said, “What are you playing Henry?” and he said, “Vi’lin,”: and kept singing softly to himself.
And the last transformation of the whisk, the most obvious I suppose, was a weapon designed to clobber Annabelle over the head. She dodged the blow (her reflexes get quicker and quicker every day), but he managed to swoop the whisk through her hair. He was overjoyed at this and the chase began, both of them giggling and laughing and running in circles around the house before getting distracted and putting on George’s shoes. The looked like giant boats on Henry’s tiny feet. This impaired his chasing and I found the whisk later under the dining room table.
We’re trying to teach Henry to give high fives instead of hitting things. Sometimes he just feels compelled to clobber something–usually Annabelle.
She has taken to calling him Mark Benry for some unknown reason.
The other day I told her we needed to cut her bangs because she looked like a ragamuffin. She said, “a rafmuffin?” I said “a ragamuffin.” She said “a rabbit muffin?” I said “a ragamuffin!” We went back and forth for a while.
She then told me this story: “Someone ate a duck in my family when they were 15. But I had a little duck and I wouldn’t let anyone eat it. I kept it in a cage, and fed it, and took care of it, and let it out in the water.” I have no idea where she got this story from, except it seems similar to the story of Ping, the little chinese duck.
It never ceases to amaze me the things they pick up when you think they’re not paying attention. Like me explaining to Annabelle that when humans are very tiny in their mommy’s tummies, they have tails (I’ve been wishing I had a big fluffy tail lately), and a few days later, we were at the ER again after pulling a tick off Henry, and we were talking about being in the hospital when Henry was born, and Henry said, “I had a tail in Mommy’s tummy!” He then proceeded to shake his invisible tail. He’s incredible, when he’s not squirting himself in the face with kitchen cleaner(thank goodness it was non-toxic).