Monday, April 1, 2013

Just another night at the Naked Show

A few nights ago during Kysa's "Naked Show," she gave me a vocabulary lesson. Yes, "Naked Show" is a real and nightly performance at our house. Sometimes it's musical theater, sometimes standup comedy, sometimes dramatic modern dance, sometimes it's chasing the dog through the house.

The Naked Show is always after Wynray has gone to bed, and she always demands an audience, a very quiet and attentive audience. Don't think we're checking our email or asking each other quietly if we've taken out the recycling. We get shushed, called out, and we get the death scowl if we make a false move. This nightly event has evolved since bringing Wynray home, and I think it's her way of asking us to literally see her. All of her. And it's a marvel to behold.

Anyway, the other night, there was an over exerted leap and the emission of a sound from her rear. We're very tuned to sounds that might mean potty, so I asked if she needed to go...

Kysa: No, mommy I don't need to go potty. SHHHHSHH!!!

Me: But you tooted.

Kysa: That wasn't a toot that was a fark.

Me: A what?

Kysa: A fark, Mom. A toot you hear up close. That was a fark because you heard it from far away. Now SHHHHH!!!!

Me: ohhhh...ok. Got it.

The self accompanied (naked) modern dance performance involving a barstool, physio ball, and tupperware lids continued with no accidents and I found myself so proud of her for coming up with a variation to the word "fart." I HATE the word fart, just like I HATE the word "panty." Just typing the words gives me the heebie jeebies. Ewww. 

What I should have clued into was her willingness to change the variation of the consonant T to K, and that she might be willing to alter the vowel sound as well.  You see where I'm going with this...

So last night's "Naked Show" also included a "fark." I think the gaseous emissions are byproducts of performing modern dance right after dinner. And we're vegetarians. Somehow Fredrik wasn't around to witness the toot vs fark exchange the night before, so this time he was the one who got schooled.

Setting the scene: Musical theater, the Lion King/Hakuna Matata (naked, of course!)

Fredrik: Kysa, you tooted, do you need to go potty?

Kysa: No, Papa....that was a fuck

Fredrik: A WHAT??

Me: Kysa, I believe you called it a "fark"...remember, yesterday you said a toot was a sound you could hear up close but a fark...

Kysa: No, it was a fuck. (Louder) FUUUUCK!! FUUUUCK!! (giggle) FUUUUCK!!!

Fredrik and I made helpless eye contact and communicated telepathically...."don't make a big deal or she'll own that word." 

Kysa: (beginning to chant and dance) Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Say it Papa! Say FUCK! Papa, say FUCK!!

I look at Fredrik and he's pursing his lips, tears in his eyes, shoulders heaving. I abandon him and go into the bathroom adjacent to the kitchen to compose myself. Also, I don't want to wet my pants. 

I'm thinking if half of her audience disappears, she might alter the direction of her performance art. WRONG. It's as if she sensed her poor dad's weakness as he wilted into a puddle of miserable giggles. Like some demented superhero and her nemesis, her power grew stronger and stronger as he grew weaker and weaker. 

Kysa: (running and leaping through the kitchen) FUCK! FUCK! PAAAAAAPAAAAA!!!! SAY FUUUUCKKK!!! PAAAAAPAAAA SAY FUUUUUCK!!.
She was like a cheerleader from hell working herself into a delirious tizzy. 

I knew I needed to save Fredrik. I peeked outside the door. He was cowering with his head bowed on his forearm, his whole body shaking. I watched in fascination as my child, who usually dances like a fairy, was stomping her feet, clapping her hands, rooting into the earth, whirling and whirling with wild eyes..."fuckfuckfuckfuck"

From behind the door, I heaved my last laughs, breathed in deeply (completely unsure of how I was going to intervene) and stepped into the demon's line of sight. 
Kysa: (she spotted me right away) Mom say FUCK!! Mom say FUCK!! FUCK FUCK!!

I mentally noted her attention to rhythm change, needing something to be proud of in that moment.

Me: (In a soft voice) Kysa, I think the word you mean to say is fart. 

Kysa: (The lilt in her voice returning to a sing song brightness) Oh fart! Yeah!

Fredrik and I brace for a reprise theme and variation performance....

Kysa: (Sweetly) Mom, can I have some almond milk?

Me: (with a sigh) Sure.

That's my girl.

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