“Mama, I want to play Timber,” Violet says, scooting over next to me so one hot, soft, plump little sausage of a leg bumps up against mine.
Phil already fell asleep on the other side of her, while I was reading from Little House in the Big Woods. He snores gently. Sometimes we joke about putting a little feather on his breath-stream so it’ll go up and down like in a cartoon. Weee-bee-bee-bee-bee! Weee-bee-bee-bee-bee!
“You want to play Timber do you?” I say, putting down the book and turning over on my side with one arm held up in the air.
Violet turns into a lumberjack and she chops at my arm gently with the side of her hand. “Chop! Chop!”
“Grrrr! Chzzzkk!” I make cracking noises out of the side of my mouth. “Timberrrrrrrr!” And the tall tree falls; Violet has to catch it before it falls onto her belly.
“Oof!” she says, catching the tree at the last second. “Got ya, tree!” Then she pushes the tree back up and the game starts again. “Chop chop!” “Timberrrrrrr!” “Got ya, tree!”
After a while the tree gets bored with being chopped down, so it keeps flopping over when Vi tries to put it back up. Then it flops over to the other side, and Violet has to tug it back. She laughs like a little seal: “Ar ar ar ar ar!”
“Play Spider now,” she requests. The tree hand obligingly turns into a wiggling spider that hangs in the air over her while I croon “Spiiiiiider! Spiiiiider! It’s gonna tickle you!”
I don’t actually tickle her, because she hates being tickled. But just the threat of being gotten by the tickly spider makes her emit a paroxysm of paralyzing giggles back in her throat, like bubbles escaping from a soda.
“No, spider! Bad spider!” she tells it sternly, swatting at the bad spider. “Stay away, bad spider!” The spider moves away. “No, wait, come back, bad spider!” she calls again, almost snorting, she’s laughing so hard. “I hit you, spider!”
The spider doesn’t like being hit, so he transforms into a little walking man who walks busily up and down the bed on his two finger-feet.
“Two man!” Violet shrieks. “Where’s the other man?” My other hand walks up behind the first man, and taps him on the shoulder. They walk together for a while, until they get to Violet’s elbow.
“Don’t walk on me, Two Man! Walk on Mama.” She pats them. “No, wait. Dance together.” The two little men do a passionate tango, then a waltz. Then they spin and twirl.
“They’re breakdancing, Violet!”
“What’s what, Mama?” Oh dear. That makes me feel old. Bedtime!