Classy Chaos

Three days into our Outer Banks vacation, we sit together for a family dinner after a day at the beach.

She has a captive audience of her parents, grandparents and siblings. Everyone listening to her descriptive fable. The silence around the table only encourages her more. She weaves a story in her limited toddler vocabulary. Her eyes open wide when stressing each point. She uses her hands to punctuate each sentence. We tilt our heads and giggle out loud at her story.

"Da baby shark bite me. Bite my toe." Where Fifi? "Right here on da toe! In da pool the baby shark bite my toe." What did the shark say? "Da shark says ROOOOAAAR and bite my toe in da waa-waa." What did you say to the shark? "Me say AWWWWWW come here baby shark. I a dolphin." What happened then? "I say no baby shark, no bit my toe. I a dolphin."

She lays her toe upon the dinner table in the rented beach bungalow and one-by-one asks each family member to acknowledge the tiny scratch that adorns her plump toddler toe. An old wound from a Cleveland tricycle accident, twice scarred over.

Do you like baby sharks, Fifi? "No."  You don't like baby sharks?  What do you like? "I like da baby worms."


It might not make any sense at all. At all. (And we might be encouraging a liar) but the giggles out loud are priceless and the perfect medicine for a set of grandparents whom have had a most unfortunate year. This fable forever etched in all of our memories is what family vacations are made of.

No one even notices there were traces of beach sand in the spaghetti.