Monday, November 22, 2010


I looooooove my children's fingers and toes. Since they were babies. Could not get enough.  I'd nibble and suck and pretend to chew and swallow them, and they'd giggle and squeal and fill me with joy from deep down in my belly.

But they're not babies anymore, and haven't been for 7 years now.  And one would think that crazy obsessive behaviors like that would begin to dwindle at some point. Eventually.  But no. Not yet.

And last night, as Saia was reading poems and nursery rhymes to us, she came across one about Jack Frost, who, apparently, also has a particular penchant for children's fingers and toes.

Jack Frost
By C.E. Pike
Look out! Look out!
Jack Frost is about!
He’s after our fingers and toes;
And all through the night,
The gay little sprite
Is working where nobody knows.

He’ll climb each tree,
So nimble is he,
His silvery powder he’ll shake.
To windows he’ll creep
And while we’re asleep
Such wonderful pictures he’ll make.

Across the grass
He’ll merrily pass,
And change all its greenness to white.
Then home he will go
And laugh ho, ho ho!
What fun I have had in the night.

And right on cue, the two of them look at each, mouths agape. They turn towards me, half smiling, half faux-terrified, pointing and squealing, "Mama's Jack Frost!  Mama's Jack Frost! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" [lots of running around the house and screaming with hands waving above their heads ensued]

And no, I'm not really sure what to do with that.  Except, as an aside, to perhaps consider stopping the digit-gnoshing before they hit their teens.  Maybe.

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