fairy
learning to be
Wednesday, June 29, 2005

the successful scholar

Sage's good job

Yesterday, after less than two weeks at school, Sage got her first official commendation! You can't see it too well in the picture, but it's a hand stamp that says "Good Job".

Yes, she's really getting a good education. You can tell her by her choice of reading material. (She picked up the latest Newsweek and just started leafing through it on her own--not that she can actually read it, haha!)

Sage reads Newsweek
Wednesday, June 08, 2005

monkey shines

Sage at Our Home

The other day, Sage was suffering some pain in her right leg (She's better now, don't worry), so we called for a manghihilot--or masseuse--from the base of our building to come up and take a look at her.

Naturally, I wanted to prepare Sage for what was going to happen beforehand, so as the masseuse was coming up in the elevator, I explained to Sage, "Sweetie, a manghihilot is coming over to see if she can make your leg feel better."

"Is the monkey a doctor, Mommy?" Sage asked, quite seriously.

"What?" I asked, confused. "What monkey?"

Obviously feeling that she was once again being asked to explain the obvious, Sage clarified patiently: "The monkey-hilot. Is it a doctor?"
Monday, June 06, 2005

our home

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Sage just loves the furniture store. In fact, our weekly trips to the mall for dinner would not be complete if she cannot visit Our Home and traipse across the aisles, trying out the couches and sofas and beds.

Nikki and I love the place too, for its mostly affordable selections - but wish we had an Ikea right here.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005

two anecdotes

1.
We took Sage to see Madagascar, her first movie in an actual theater. Halfway through the film, she turned around in her seat, frowned at some children talking loudly behind us, and hissed, "Ssh!"

Then she turned to me, shaking her head gravely, and bellowed self-righteously, "MOMMY, THOSE KIDS ARE SO NOISY!"

2.
Sage was playing at home with her four-year-old cousin Cassandra, the two of them kicking around an inflatable Mickey Mouse toy with untrammeled glee. "Poor Mickey," I remarked, watching them. "Why are you guys doing that to him?"

"Mommy," my bloodthirsty daughter explained, with long-suffering patience, "we're just killing him."

Oh.