Very long time. Very long time. Quick update; few minutes until dinner (and I don’t want to miss that, do I?) I have been watching The Hobbit with a profound and rather curious obsession with the dwarves. Also, after watching the trailer for The Desolation of Smaug I have noticed that another obsession has come up: the elves of Mirkwood.
Now, I understand that actors such as Orlando Bloom and Aidan Turner are being fawned over; right now a lot of crazed fangirls (I never said I wasn’t one! I just don’t like all the squealing!) are so impressed by elven arrows, dark-haired dwarves, etc. but for me I prefer King Thranduil and his party-moose-elk. If I could have anything in the world, Lord of the Rings-wise, I’d say the party-moose-elk. And for a great reason too! Who wouldn’t want one, right?
Back to Kylin and Bean. One thing I admire about babies is that they can ask a cranky Elvenking for a moose, note that it’s his favourite moose, and get it without so much a bat of an eye.
That is, if they said please and did puppy face eyes. That one always works.
In Which The Tree is Decorated, Resulting in Disaster and Calamity
If I had my senses, I’d tell Fritz to leave MY story and MY novel alone, not to mention it’s not HIS story but KYLIN’S story.
Considering the hot sauce (on my midnight snack), I haven’t my senses today.
I said no, definitely not, why should I? But he insisted, and after that terrible tea incident, I felt a little bad for him, so here he is.
Did they miss me?
No. Of course not.
But we need to continue the story. I’d hate to tell you, Fritz, due to your ever-growing big head, but here it is: you have begun to attract many fans. Many of which said you should come back.
AHA! I knew it!
No need to get smug. We need to continue the telling of this story.
Friday was when his Pappa and Mamma slept in. Kylin woke up at his usual six-forty, and Fritz fluttered towards him. They spoke a few words (“I’m hungry” and “After all the cookies yesterday?”) and then they decided to wake me up.
Fritz convinced me to go make some cocoa for all of us and a milk bottle for Kylin. In the end, I had to agree, because he was pulling my tail so hard.
A chameleon’s tail is strong, but sensitive. I gave him a slap with it.
He, of course, flew away just in time and my tail nearly knocked me senseless.
We started squabbling, and Kylin mewled for milk, and his Mamma woke up. She made French toast, scrambled eggs, cheese slices, and mushed yams (for Kylin). As Pappa woke up a bit later (who can sleep while an owl and a chameleon are fighting over the last piece of toast, right?), she found the last batch of gingerbread cookies and we started making frosting.
Kylin had none, true to the punishment of no cookies, and sat sulking and chewed on his pillow.
We made pink, blue, green, orange, yellow, mauve, and indigo coloured frosting. There were many selections of sprinkles and such, but most of us decided to eat the gingerbread plain.
Most impudent of you to say so. Why eat gingerbread in the first place if one doesn’t add any confounded sprinkles? Especially the rainbow ones?
I like sprinkles, Fritz. I’m just on a diet right now (starting today). After the pastry eating contest last month, I’m not sure if I’ll touch sprinkles or frosting ever again.
And just as well. I get all of it!
Fritz chose an oval- shaped cookie and used different colours to make a clever imitation owl.
Why, thank you, chameleon! I was not sure if you were capable of being polite. But here we are!
I hear your sarcasm, Fritz.
Back to my cookie.
I ate it, of course. Couldn’t help myself.
More’s the pity. It was a beautiful masterpiece.
Agreed. It tasted terrible, though. You didn’t put enough sprinkles on it.
Well, Kylin’s Pappa and Mamma went into the study to write Christmas cards. Christmas cards are painful, you should know. You think you’ve written to everyone possible, then you realize there’s half a dozen more, and by the time you’re done, you’re too tired to do anything else.
Fritz and I peeped in our stockings (and were boxed in the head by a helper) but didn’t see anything. For the hundredth time, Kylin went to ask his Mother what we should do.
It is terrible to be interrupted while writing cards. Christina gave us a box of Christmas ornaments, gave me and Fritz the look that said “You better not get into any trouble”, ushered us out, and closed the door.
What could we do but to hang them?
The helpers brought out a few stepping-stools as Kylin was puzzling over how to put an ornament on a tree.
“Do you put glue on it to make it sticky?” he asked Fritz.
“You hang it by the hook,” he replied crisply, and demonstrated. The ornament hung perfectly balanced, then slipped right off the branch and conked his head. He fainted.
I did not.
Then you had a rest, did you?
Insanity! I was merely… dancing!
Dancing, indeed. He did faint. We all saw him. Fritz wobbled in a semicircle and collapsed right on top of the helper holding the stepping stool, who knocked over the stepping stool, which fell over and landed on top of Kylin and made him scream.
We were frantic not to disturb his parents.
No. We didn’t want to get into any trouble.
Ha! So you admit it!
Babies do not appreciate the art of being under a stepping stool. They also do not like having a mouthful of helper and choking on his flailing arms. Besides, I know I would be punished severely.
That’s not even half of it!
We shushed him (Fritz), put him back in his crib (the helpers), rang a helpful tune (the bell), and proceeded in decorating the tree. He fell asleep in a matter of minutes.
Unfortunately for all of us, we had no idea where the tinsel went. How is a star placed on the top of a tree when the persons decorating are only one eighth of the tree tall? Why did the wooden ornaments hurt so much when dropped on one’s head? And who had nibbled all the golden edges of the ribbon clean off?
In our desperation, we made a mess. The tree was terribly decorated. Fritz had broken off a talon (again), the helpers were snoring in unison, the bell was rusting from all the rain, and I was stuck in the bristly parts of the tree.
The only thing that made matters worse was that someone was constantly ringing the bell.
“Stop it!” we yelled. “Kylin’s Mamma and Pappa are trying to write cards!”
“I know that!” it (the poor bell) sobbed. “But someone’s ringing me! Open the door, quick!!”
The study door burst open and Christina walked out.
“What’s going on?” she said.
Her eyes darted from the still screaming bell, Fritz’s bandage-wrapped body (two helpers before falling asleep were bandaging Fritz’s talon but went overboard and bandaged his body from feathers to toes and made him look like a mummy), about fifteen helpers snoozing comfortably on top of Kylin, Kylin crying, me being scissored by a thousand fir needles, and the sloppy tree.
I did not look like a mummy.
Yes, you did.
Oh, that’s all right. You couldn’t see yourself. I understand.
Anyway, most of us could see that Christina was trying very, very hard not to smile. She opened the front door (the bell sighed with relief) and in ran Bean, with Aunty Helen running right behind him.
“Oh, hello,” said Aunty Helen. “Bean was ringing the bell.”
Kylin stopped crying, and bared his teeth.
“Eee,” said the helpers (who woke up at the sight of the two boys showing their pearly whites).
Kylin’s Pappa appeared over his Mamma’s shoulder, holding an overflowing pen in his mouth and inky hands.
“Did you get bored?” he grinned, and looked at the tree.
“I see. You three, and you tiny fifteen, are brewing a conspiracy to become the world’s best artists! (Ho, good progress…) Though to be sure, I can’t figure for the life of me what that is for.”
He pointed at the tree (or rather, he pointed at me).
“Do ornaments have long tails and big eyes?” he said, and Fritz snorted, if owls can snort.
The ever so helpful Bean carefully lifted me out of the tree, and I have to say that when I saw myself in the mirror, I was quite a sight.
No. You looked like a hedgehog.
(Here we go again. Fritz and his hedgehogs.)
I was once again soaked in soapy water (a chameleon can only take such horrors at a time) and dried off gleefully by Bean (who found much joy in making me screech). Kylin crawled mildly into his crib and promptly fell asleep (to be honest, I’m not sure how he sleeps so quickly).
Aunty Helen, Christina, and Kylin’s Pappa went into the study to discuss Christmas cards, and Fritz waddled over to us.
I helped him wrap a handkerchief around his wounded toe—
Yes. Talon. The hanky was patterned with blue and green.
Anyway, it was ten before we knew it, and time for tea. I did an impressive acrobat routine, flinging myself from the lamp to the door-knob to the floor to the ceiling to the counter and to the kettle right in time to hear the water boil.
In Fritz’s excitement (he loves tea as much as I do), he knocked over a neat row of tea mugs (and cracked my favourite). The noise made Kylin wake up, which he wasn’t too concerned about. A baby, I suppose, can tell that it time to Eat some Provisions.
Bean and Kylin had their milk bottles (taken from the fridge and heated on the stove), and everyone else had their Earl Grey steaming from the pot. Fritz had his own little thimble (he prefers exotic teas, so this time it was chai). I sat by the window (with my own tea, three tablespoons milk and one of honey) and glared at the rain.
Fritz fetched some peppermint meringue cookies (my artwork, of course) and we devoured those, too. So much for a diet.
– – –
Next chapter expected next week! Until then…
(still waiting to watch The Desolation of Smaug; at the same time listening to Ed Sheeran’s I See Fire and practicing dwarven and elven tongues with Nathan– not that it works. Gimli has a stubborn Scottish accent we simply cannot perfect. Besides, I think if you can mimic Gollum you can mimic anything. However my mimicking sounds suspiciously like Yoda with a sore throat.)