I’ve mentioned this fact before: when she was two, almost three, Frances would ask me to read to her at bedtime whatever I happened to be reading for myself at that time.
Thinking she might fall asleep faster if I read the Aeneid by Virgil — because I, myself, would — I started the epic poem. To my utter surprise, she enjoyed it. My plan really wasn’t working.
So, then, I thought about T.S. Eliot and started reading The Waste Land. I moved on from there to The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. In doing so, I began a nightly routine that lasted for several years.
It has been a long time since I last read Prufrock to her, but she clearly still remembers it as, the other day, she quipped, “Where’s the proof-rock? Get it, Mum?” She giggled and giggled.
She has a wonderful sense of humour that, I think, won’t be appreciated by everyone. I doubt that the children in her class have heard of T.S. Eliot yet.
Frances has a very dry sense of humour that appears at really funny times.
For example, every weekend, she and I have a sleepover: we usually camp out in a fort in the living room, watch a movie and eat popcorn.
Recently, my bed was the site of the sleepover, and I found myself often teetering on the edge about to fall off because she kept moving closer and pushing me. I even fell over once.
When I mentioned this to Frances, she simply said, “Well, they say if you love something, you should let it go.”
So, she was letting me go over the edge?
Someone in the Pink Cup Family recently left the back door open despite my reminders that flies would get into our home. Well, flies got into our home for a week or so, which caused Frances to remark:
“It’s not every day you see a housefly in its natural habitat — a house! Hahaha!”
I’ve read that people with Aspergers/high functioning autism spectrum disorder lack a sense of humour — I must beg to differ.
Frances has a great sense of humour: It just may not involve subjects to which her peers can easily relate since it usually reflects her other intense interest: documentaries (nature, architecture, and restricted growth syndromes — I’ll have to discuss that one later).
I came across this little gem in Frances’s school journal:
“Thurs. Oct. 8, 2015.
When I am bored, I annoy my sister. I do: ‘Knock, knock. Do you want to build a snowman?’ It really annoys my sister.”
Yes, she knocks on Pink Cup Sister’s bedroom door and sings the Do You Want to Build A Snowman? song from the movie Frozen just as the character, Anna, does.
She does it over and over again, and we have to remind her of the “it was funny the first time” rule.
Thankfully, she hasn’t done it in quite some time.
(Nota bene: There was remarkable improvement in her spelling from October to June.)
Frances speaking with Siri:
“Do time machines really exist? What is a table? What song am I singing?”
Frances made a cute list of things she wanted to do before Christmas during Christmas vacation — number five was my favourite: Capture an elf. She said she might believe in Santa if she could capture an elf.
It takes on new meaning in our home.
For example, while listening to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, at the “as they shouted out with glee” part, Frances asked:
“Is ‘glee’ a company that sells telephones?”
While listening to We Wish You A Merry Christmas, at the “we won’t go until we get some” part, Frances said:
“That really gets me. After about ten minutes, would you call the police?”
She is six years old in this panel.
(Her parents were, and are still, married.)