About two weeks ago, I took my Wii to my parents’ house because Gerry
& Co. were coming down for the weekend and I thought we might all
enjoy playing it.
As a result, I witnessed several entertaining things. I created a
Lane mii on the Wiifit so he could play some of the games. With
Wiifit, you get measured, weighed and thoroughly judged by the
Japanese creators. None of us knew Lane’s actual height, so we
guessed. After all of his information had been entered, the Lane mii
finally appeared.
He was fat.
We obviously entered his height as too short. I felt a little bit
guilty, because I don’t want my very trim and athletic nephew to
develop a complex, but I also found the hilarity in it. His chunky
little blond mii with the spiky hair was so cute.
When designing his face, I had to talk him out of adding facial hair
and a mole.
We all had a good laugh later, watching Dad play guitar hero. I can’t
remember what song he was playing – something from his hippie days.
It was hilarious, of course. He was surprisingly good at it, too.
On Sunday, I brought Ashton, Michelle’s 10-year-old daughter, home
with me from church. I call her my tattoo, or my Little Ninja. She
calls me Aunt Sarah and wraps herself around my neck, cutting off my
air, from time to time.
Me, Ashton and Emma all bowled together on the Wii. Emma is a bowling
genius. She is also a trash-talker. She would step up to bowl and,
totally serious, would say, "This is how it’s done." Then she’d bowl
a strike and sashay back to the couch. Ashton would get up to bowl
and always bowled fairly well, but when she would finish Emma would
say, "That’s NOT how it’s done," with this incredibly sassy look on
her face. Ashton would look at me and roll her eyes.
Later that same day, I took the two of them to the park at the lake
and then down along the shore to throw rocks. Emma’s throwing skills
do not quite match her bowling skills yet, as I narrowly avoided a
concussion. Or maybe her aim is spot-on and she’s an evil genius,
intent on braining her aunt.
Ashton evidently loves rocks, as she filled her pockets with them and
insisted I help her collect them. We walked along the bluffs, and
although I sternly told them both to stay away from the edge, I
decided we needed to move far, far away after Emma marched right up
to the edge and started throwing rocks like a maniac.
That’s when I had my heart attack. I had turned my back on the bluff
to help Emma up the hill. We were struggling because it was steep,
and I was behind Emma, pushing her up by her butt. After much
giggling and huffing, I turned around and Ashton was gone.
"Ashton!" I called for her.
The only answer was the gulls crying, "You’ve drowned your friend’s
child."
"Ashton!" I yelled, with urgency in my voice.
The waves replied "The rocks in her pockets made her sink!"
"ASHTON!" I screamed with ferocity as my heart began to fail.
"Sarah!"
The Little Ninja popped up over the hill, a good mile away from where
she had just been (ninjas are stealthy like that).
It was too late. My heart sputtered and died. I still managed to grab
the Little Ninja and my little Em-Bone (Emma) and thank sweet baby
Jesus that they were both OK.
We went home and ate popcorn and drank hot chocolate.
I found a rock in my car later. I’m adding it to Little Ninja’s
birthday present.
& Co. were coming down for the weekend and I thought we might all
enjoy playing it.
As a result, I witnessed several entertaining things. I created a
Lane mii on the Wiifit so he could play some of the games. With
Wiifit, you get measured, weighed and thoroughly judged by the
Japanese creators. None of us knew Lane’s actual height, so we
guessed. After all of his information had been entered, the Lane mii
finally appeared.
He was fat.
We obviously entered his height as too short. I felt a little bit
guilty, because I don’t want my very trim and athletic nephew to
develop a complex, but I also found the hilarity in it. His chunky
little blond mii with the spiky hair was so cute.
When designing his face, I had to talk him out of adding facial hair
and a mole.
We all had a good laugh later, watching Dad play guitar hero. I can’t
remember what song he was playing – something from his hippie days.
It was hilarious, of course. He was surprisingly good at it, too.
On Sunday, I brought Ashton, Michelle’s 10-year-old daughter, home
with me from church. I call her my tattoo, or my Little Ninja. She
calls me Aunt Sarah and wraps herself around my neck, cutting off my
air, from time to time.
Me, Ashton and Emma all bowled together on the Wii. Emma is a bowling
genius. She is also a trash-talker. She would step up to bowl and,
totally serious, would say, "This is how it’s done." Then she’d bowl
a strike and sashay back to the couch. Ashton would get up to bowl
and always bowled fairly well, but when she would finish Emma would
say, "That’s NOT how it’s done," with this incredibly sassy look on
her face. Ashton would look at me and roll her eyes.
Later that same day, I took the two of them to the park at the lake
and then down along the shore to throw rocks. Emma’s throwing skills
do not quite match her bowling skills yet, as I narrowly avoided a
concussion. Or maybe her aim is spot-on and she’s an evil genius,
intent on braining her aunt.
Ashton evidently loves rocks, as she filled her pockets with them and
insisted I help her collect them. We walked along the bluffs, and
although I sternly told them both to stay away from the edge, I
decided we needed to move far, far away after Emma marched right up
to the edge and started throwing rocks like a maniac.
That’s when I had my heart attack. I had turned my back on the bluff
to help Emma up the hill. We were struggling because it was steep,
and I was behind Emma, pushing her up by her butt. After much
giggling and huffing, I turned around and Ashton was gone.
"Ashton!" I called for her.
The only answer was the gulls crying, "You’ve drowned your friend’s
child."
"Ashton!" I yelled, with urgency in my voice.
The waves replied "The rocks in her pockets made her sink!"
"ASHTON!" I screamed with ferocity as my heart began to fail.
"Sarah!"
The Little Ninja popped up over the hill, a good mile away from where
she had just been (ninjas are stealthy like that).
It was too late. My heart sputtered and died. I still managed to grab
the Little Ninja and my little Em-Bone (Emma) and thank sweet baby
Jesus that they were both OK.
We went home and ate popcorn and drank hot chocolate.
I found a rock in my car later. I’m adding it to Little Ninja’s
birthday present.
Feral Swamp Creature 