“Dock, dock, dock, no dock, no dock, dock, no dock,” 2 year-old Sophie spit out in her tiny, squeaky voice, pointing at various things in the living room, dining room, and myself. I was the last ‘no dock.’ I was always ‘no dock’ and have never figured out what the fuck that means.
“Is ‘no dock’ good? I pleaded, hoping this time she would finally cave and give me some useful info. Anything at all.
She shrugged and picked up her magic wand to continue her divination of the entire world into one category or the other. I tested her frequently, and once something was a ‘dock’ or a ‘no dock’, it was in there forever. So it wasn’t just some random 2 year-old game of rampant insanity. She had a system. It wasn’t good or bad. Not big or small. Not any multitude of opposites that she was winnowing, no wheat and no chaff. Just dock and no dock, and important enough to her that she spent months of her young life putting everything of note into one category or another. Made me insane. I had to figure it out.
Edible/inedible? Living or dead? Light or dark? No? What are you doing you insane little elf!? We’re trapped with each other all day, girl, you gotta work with me here if you want me to take anything you say seriously at all. No? You suck. Here’s your mac and cheese. Yes, I know, it’s Dock. And I’m still No Dock. I know. What about the dog? Dock. OK that makes sense. I’ll draw that Ven diagram out it’ll all make sense one day with enough data. Television, still No Dock. Got it. Blue’s Clues’ inflatable chair, No Dock. Cinderella, Dock. Makes sense it that way things that make absolutely no sense make everything else look reasonable.
Like 3 year-old Lilah in bed. When she tries to quiet down, get rid of the detritus of the day. Just time for more insanity. Often in song.
“As sly as a sock…as neat as a tuwd…” Still giggling at her new favorite tune.
“Girl you have been singing that song all day. I like it but it still makes no sense.”
“I like to make no sense. I like to imaaaaginne..” She said and stared intently at her Insectosaurus stuffed animal. You got that right baby girl. You are good at the non-making of sense.
“Daddy put some good Insecto dreams in my head.”
Crap. What messed up dreams would I be responsible for inserting into her crazy cranium tonight. I tried to imaaaaagine what she and the 30 story giant moth from Monsters vs. Aliens could do with our 3 foot Lilah that was fun. Most importantly, keep away her nightmares that send her to our door at 3 a.m. I’m tired of being tired.
“You and Insecto having cotton candy at the fair.” Smooch. “You and Insecto surfing.” Smooch. “You and Insecto flying kites.” Smooch.
“Daddy he can’t hold onto da kite stwing. His awms at too faw apawt.”
That’s the impossibility in this scenario? “What does that have to do wi…OK, OK, he holds you, and you hold the string.”
One sweet smile of acceptance, and she flopped over on her pillow. The bullshit walked! Good night tiny merchant of senseless insanity!
I wonder if Insecto was Dock or No Dock. Or Lilah, for that matter. I never found out. Sophie never told me. Never wanted to, and then one day she just forgot about all of it.
Pretty sure they’re both No Dock.