Dear Ferret Folks-

Recently I had my little nephew RJ (3) and my niece Vivian (4) come to
our house for their very first sleep-over with Uncle Dann and Auntie
Alex, as they call us. (Generally I write about my *other* three year
old nephew, Alexander, who I see more of, but I have plenty of three
year olds in my life.) This brother and sister are a marvelous pair,
and I have great affection for them.

Vivian is everything I was not as a little girl. Imagine a tiny blonde
elf-like creature (OK, I was once tiny and blonde, but the similarity
ends there) who lives every moment of every day in the firm belief that
she is both a princess and a ballerina. She does not walk from place to
place, she dances, she twirls, or she falls down. She is not quite of
this world, and when she is troubled, she retreats into herself very
deeply, and does not come out for a long time. Her doctors are thinking
perhaps she suffers from a variety of autism called Aspbergers, we just
don't know yet. But her smiles are worth gold, and she is free with
them when the mood takes her. Her laugh makes me laugh.

Now RJ is simply confused. Vivian is his primary playmate and role
model. He does not think that he is a princess, but he dresses like
one. He adores dressing up in his sister's tall conical pink hats with
attached diaphanous princess veils, long, flowing princess gowns, shiny
plastic high-heeled princess shoes studded with fake gems, and tights.
He also generally has something like a toy hammer or a plastic
screwdriver in his hand. He klunks around in the princess shoes like a
cowboy, whom he also likes to emulate when the mood takes him. It's
hard to do in shiny pink plastic princess shoes studded with fake gems,
but he tries, manfully. He wears Superman underpants, and is a big boy.
In tights.

RJ and Vivian are fascinated by all of our critters; the Noble Allis
Chompers (who surprisingly haaaates children!), Sterling the Silver
cat, the fifty-five gallon tank full of goldfish, the ferrets, and of
course France, who also hates children. (And everybody else. She does
not discriminate.) Bedtime was at 8:30, but I sweetened the pill by
making the last chore of the night critter feeding time, once pajamas
were already on and teeth brushed. Uncle Danny loafed on the sofa
looking profoundly relieved that 8:30 was so near, (he had worked a
*very* long day that day) as I and my small charges went from place to
place around the house feeding and watering. Earlier, the little ones
had taken a good look at the BITE MARK on Uncle Danny's nose that Puma
had made a few days ago. They know that Ping is nice, Puma is not. Puma
bites. They are not allowed to play with Puma. She is an adult-only
ferret. Ping, however, is a good sport. He lets little kids carry him
around riiiiight up until he escapes and hides beneath the furniture.
Good luck getting ahold of him then.

I tucked the little guys into our guest bed with the matching black
glow-in-the-dark star, comet, and galaxy bedding (hush, Rebecca! It's
a Star Trek thing, you wouldn't understand) and hugs and kisses were
given. The penguin and hippo toys were tucked into the covers beside
the pillows.(My toys, not theirs. I'm 41, I have accumulated a lot
of toys over the years.) All was silent from the guest room by 8:50.
Ah......Sweet silence. Time to pick up all the things they did not pick
up when they picked up. Barbie hair on the carpet.(Imagine THAT going
through a ferret!) Sequins from princess costumes.(Ditto!) Stray
Leggos.(Ditto!) Time for a cup of herb tea. Heck, time for bed. Morning
comes early, and according to plan so would their mother. Little did I
anticipate the horror that was to come in the black of night.....

Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 5476]