Lost In Translation

So, Kiki is learning to speak, which is kind of great for us since we now have a clue what she wants rather than guesswork.  She is also learning Japanese from my wife.  Which is also kind of great.  The only problem is that I, alas, do not know Japanese.  Thus, when we were reading a book together (okay, I was reading the book and Kiki was chiming in at times) and came across a picture of a monkey, Kiki broke in with "Saru."  Naturally, being an ignorant gaijin, I corrected her with "Monkey" (also accepting baboon, primate, and capuchin), only to be informed by my wife that I was a jerk and an idiot, and Kiki was right.  So, basically, my daughter, at 17 months, is smarter than I am.  Awesome.  So now I'm afraid to correct her, since I now assume she is just speaking Japanese.  So now we'll read a book and whenever she chimes in with, well, anything really, I just tell her she's right, brilliant, and wonderful.  So, basically my wife is teaching her Japanese and I am teaching her gibberish.  And that is why it takes a village to raise a child, because the father is just fucking everything up.  

Seriousness

Last night I was riding on the bike trail, enjoying my evening, when I came around a corner to see a man on the ground.  From what I could gather as I slowed down, he had hit a speed bump in the road and just toppled over off his bike.  


As I came up to him I saw that he did not appear to be bleeding or injured but I did slow to ask if he was okay.  He did not answer, preferring to grumble to himself and slam his water bottle to the ground.  About then another cyclist came along and passed the fallen rider, leaving about 5 feet of clearance and slowing considerably.  


This, apparently, was the most absurd behavior to our fallen comrade (let's call him "Bert").  Bert proceeded to yell at the passing rider (who we'll dub "Nicodemus") "Nice fucking job, don't fucking slow for a fucking injured person, just fucking ride on asshole!"  


Now, I was a bit confused, for I had, at this point, stopped to offer exactly that assistance Bert seemed so desperate for, but he had ignored me to this point.  Maybe he didn't want my help, but it did seem somewhat rude.  When the understandably befuddled Nicodemus stopped to see what, exactly, all the fuss was about Bert continued to berate him "Fucking asshole fucking riding right by you fucking fucker" (Bert wasn't exactly showing the breadth of his vocabulary).  


To this, Nicodemus succinctly and appropriately responded, in an admirably calm tone, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"  


At this point, I figured these two had it all handled and I rode on my merry way, listening to their continued exchange as I rode on.  However, on the rest of my ride I was puzzled as to why Bert was so disproportionately angry.  I mean, when I'm injured I don't usually react with blind and misplaced rage.  Usually.  And frankly, he didn't appear injured at all.  That's when I realized, he may have not cut or broken anything physical, but he shattered his fragile ego.  


See, when you're a cyclist your sense of self becomes tragically distorted.  Suddenly you think you're cool and hip because you shave your legs, you have multi-colored matching lycra outfits, and your arms are as slender as a 12 year old girl's.  This delusion can become quite strong, until it all comes crashing down around you when you fall off your bike, especially when done at slow speed.  Suddenly, as you lay on the ground, you realize with stunning clarity how you actually appear to the rest of the (non-cycling) world:

No wonder Bert was so upset.  

Parking

So, deciding that Kiki cannot be raised indoors for her entire life, we ventured forth today to the park. We figured between the rose gardens, the playground, and the wide open spaces she would be endlessly entertained. She did enjoy herself, but not exactly in the manner we expected. 


Once again illustrating how little I understand of my darling daughter's thought process, she spent 90% of the time pointing out dogs and babies. Well, more accurately, "dohs" and "bebes." Almost nonstop and at increasing volume and with ever more intensity, lest we miss one. We would walk through the rose garden with Kiki saying "doh doh doh Doh Doh DOH DOH DOH" and pointing at every dog, squirrel, and bird. Sometimes she would switch it up by yelling "bebe BeBe BEBE" and pointing at any baby, child, short adult or even seated giant. We finally decided the rose garden wasn't cutting it so we ventured over to the playground. Unfortunately, once there she had no interest in the swings or slides but she did enjoy picking up random sticks and flailing them about.  Just look how much fun she's having:

Okay, fine, so she doesn't look like the happiest child in the park.  We were even worried that she just isn't that into the outdoors, but we later realized she was just sad she didn't have any "doh's" to whip into shape.  

Happy Birthday America!

Hoping you have a wonderful and pyrotechnic filled fourth (and for those with small children may the fireworks be far enough away for uninterrupted sleep).  Summer is here, so make sure to get outside and enjoy yourself, even if that just means repeatedly opening and closing a sliding glass door...