So Ellie . . .

Ellie is our girl of funny words.  The one who twists things just the slightest degree so that they’re nearly the way they should be but are different enough to be funny.  To stick.

Of course now that I’m putting pen to paper (as it were . . . ) I can’t think of any of her colloquialisms.   But they have entered our daily lexicon and don’t seem to be slowing at all. Perhaps it’s a sign of something more serious . . .

Two nights ago we were rocking out to Queen.  With longer days, my palate desires Freddy Mercury over the heavier, heartier fare I’ve been immersed in all winter.  Ellie was ecstatic and boogied for all she was worth, sans pants.  It was a real live pants off dance off.

“Mama!” she yelled over the volume, “Do you know what is my favorite song?”  Her eyes questioned while she shimmied and shaked.  I asked her to tell me.  “I Want to Ride My Bicycle!  And this one! ‘Everyone Pass the Dust’!”

I roared with laughter.  I cried and clutched my side.  She joined in, singing all the louder, sure it was my pleasure talking. I’d never tell her otherwise.  Hair tossing, top of our voice we sang it together:

“Everyone on! Everyone on! Everyone pass the dust!”

I’m telling you, she’s got something there.  Freddie would love it, too. And for me?  Well, it will never be the same.