Mimi's Party Dress

So, the other day, Saturday, I think, (too many commas--I will improperly start a new sentence). My four-year-old daughter Mimi (if you read this blog, you know Mimi) went with me to the bike store to buy a new intertube for my bicycle. On the way home she started asking how to spell a lot of her friends' and cousins' names. I told her and she apperently wrote them down.

We were conversing during that ride. She would say stuff like, "blah, blah, blah."

In reply I would say with fieghned interest, "Yep! Sure Honey. Hmm. Sounds good."

In my defense I don't care about the ramblings of most four-year-olds. Even those that I genuinely love.

Later that day Mimi asked if she could drop something off at her friend Schmireland's house, our next door neighbor. That kind of thing happens regularly, so I allowed it. She came right home after the drop off and started working on creating musical instruments out of paper. She made a drum and a "kitar," which I assume is a guitar-like instrument. Then she started filling little plastic bags up with stuff.

When I asked her what she was up to, she again said, "blah, blah, blah," or something like that.

Later, at about six-thirty the doorbell rang. It was Schmireland. Behind her, Schmaris and Schmayden, other neighbors.

"Hmm," I thought, "what are all of these people doing here?"

It turns out that what they were doing here was showing up for the party that Mimi had invited them to.

It turns out all of the blah blahs that I had been so enthusiastically responding to were Mimi's asking of my permission and telling me all about the party she was going to have that night.

So we had a party.