This past Saturday Z and I took a little trip to the south si-eede to the Sunset Valley Farmer's Market and oh, it was so nice. We came home after about an hour with plastic baggies full of fresh fruit (blackberries and plums) and little tomatoes. The tomatoes are so plump and juicy that Z has almost eaten all of them--she's popping them in her mouth like candy. The plums were only purchased after tasting one, they too were too sweet and smackalicious to ignore: skin tasty and sour, flesh dark maroon and dripping. We got a whole bunch for only $2.50. The tomatoes were only $3.00; and the blackberries were $4.00 a container. Unfortunately, we should have also tasted the blackberries, because they're really too sour to enjoy. I smothered a bunch with yogurt this morning and they went down fine, but otherwise they really pucker the lips. Live and learn.

It was all so lovely, I think we'll make the farmer's market a regular activity. I just wish they had one further north.

About two weeks ago, my dad was in town and bought Z a life-size mylar Dora Balloon who's been hanging around the house ever since. Of course, as balloons do, she's been slowly leaking air (er, I mean, Helium), and though she used to soar to the top of the 20-foot ceiling in our dining room, she now just floats at about Zoey eye level. Which means, her feet touch the floor, but her head still has enough helium to keep her upright. This is weird, kids. I mean, I turn around and think, oh! Who's that? It's like we have a silent, skinny, giant-headed ghost hanging out in the house. She'll slowly float upstairs, or hang out by the window, looking like a little person. Don't let the picture (and your regular knowledge of normal balloon behavior) fool you--Zoey is not holding Dora down.

Last week, when she was still in the 7-8 foot float range (I'm talking about Dora), Zoey developed a cute little game. I was finishing up my shower, when I heard her say outside the bathroom door, "Dora, ya wanna fly?" Then, (crinkle crinkle), "Okay, FLY!" Silence.



Then I hear this strange sound, ka-thunk ka-thunk ka-thunk, "Mommy look (giggle guffaw)! Dora's flying!"

I wander into our bedroom and find Dora, flying. Kind of. Instead of describing it to you, I will use the animated gif format:

Z's current favorite song

"Spiderman Theme Song" performed by the Ramones. We have to listen to it over and over and over again. "Only one more time," I say, one more time, and she always agrees, and then says, "Only one more time," as a way of asking to hear it again.

I finally tell her that we have to listen to all the songs on this particular compilation CD and Spiderman will come on again in time. Which she's eventually cool with, but then a few songs later, she'll ask for Spiderman again.

Or the Jackson 5's "ABC" will come on and we'll have the following conversation:

"That's a girl, right?"

"No, that's a boy singing."

"No it's a girl."

"No it's not a girl."

"yes it is"

"No, it's not. It's a really young boy singing, so it just sounds like a girl."

"What's his name?"

"Michael Jackson."

"Michael's a boy's name."

"Yes. He's singing."

"But which one's the girl?"

"None of them are girls. It's a band of brothers."

This actually goes on for quite some time, until I decide to just give in to her headstrong insistence that there is, somewhere, a girl singing in this song. I give in because she starts to whine and pout, apparently seriously disappointed that there is not a girl singing this song. And I acknowledge and accept the fact that to a 4-year-old, facts are pliable, bendable to their will. Why not? Soon enough they will find out otherwise--I'm in no hurry and neither is she.

She did, at one point, ask further about this Michael Jackson character. Aaawkwaard! I told her he'd grown up and moved to Dubai, and became a very, very strange man. She didn't seem to care. But you know, that song really rocks. A lot of his songs are great, catchy songs, and it's easy to see why a kid would gravitate toward them. I would have no problem with her loving to dance to, say, "Off the Wall," or any one of the Jackson 5 collections. But geez, what do you do about the inevitable questions?