Postcards of Grief

Mourning is a process.

Comments on breast cancer by proxy, written by a woman coping with the loss of her mother.

Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Not quite a decoder ring

Hannah says...

And means...

Papa Paternal grandfather
Papa Bill Maternal grandfather
Papa Mama Maternal grandmother
Bob Bob The penguin my benevolent parents bought for me at the zoo in Seattle, and the first thing I named
Bock Darling brother
Emmy Aunt Emilin or Aunt Brooke
Daddy Father, mother, or nearby man
Mommy Father, mother, or nearby woman
Hopie Mother
Maggie Any of a variety of nearby cats
Horsie I want to put myself in harm's way right now.
Monster I want to watch Monsters, Inc. for the fifth time in a 24-hour period.
In a minute I picked up a delightful means of procrastination from my father.
No minutes! You're a fool to think you can put me off.
Wakeupwakeupwakeup! My father taught me that sleeping people appreciate it when I scream in their faces.
Ucky I found this cat hair in my mouth. Would you do me a favor and dispose of it?
Ucky FYI, I just wiped a booger on the sofa.
Ucky What prompted you to feed this to me?
Ham (pron. "HAHM") A disgusting substance that my mother believes I should eat, and so she applies it to grilled cheese.
Hurts I need a kiss.
Nack What does a girl need to do to get something to eat around here?
Help me Do my bidding.


At 9:43 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Adorable! I love the kiddie parlance and still sometimes call things by the names Jimmy used when he was little.


At 12:44 PM, Blogger She said...

Mine is 18 years old, and any time I hear it rain and storm, I still remember him running to me during a storm and saying, in a scary voice, "Dunder, Momma! Dunder!" I am assuming he meant "Mother dear, it appears to be storming and I fear that with the thunder will come the lightning and we should all repair to a safe place." Or something.


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