Postcards, Potpourri, and Ponchos from Turkey

Sigourney has a multitude of questions in her repertoire. We are familiar with, “Whatsat?”, “What you do-een?”, and “Where Sis-tah go?”

But falling into place with her second birthday (October 15), Sigourney has lived up to the toddler code of conduct and introduced to us and the world around us that age-old toddler interrogative.

“We need to go this way,” I told her this morning as I hustled her out of the pediatrics clinic where we had discussed her ongoing coughing issues and gained from the proceedings an appointment to see a pulmonologist and four Scooby Doo stickers.

“Why?”

“Because this is the way out,” I explained patiently.

“Why?”

“Because we are leaving now. We are done with the doctor.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s time to go to school now.”

“Oh. Ride dat?”

“No, you cannot ride in the wheelchair.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not for you. It’s for people who can’t walk.”

“Why?”

“Okay, here we are at the door. Come on, come on. Now we need to hold hands.”

“Why?”

“Because we are going outside and we are going to walk across the street to our car.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s time to go to school now.”

“Why?”

The thing is, I don’t mind answering the mysteries of the universe questions, but I don’t feel like she is really listening to the answers. It’s just filler for her toddler mind while she thinks about which pocket she put her Scooby Doo stickers in, who that one guy is over there, or when I will pause long enough for her to ask WHY again.

Tonight, after a long morning of WHYs and a long afternoon at work of HOWs, I came home to a package addressed to me.

The truth is, I already knew it would be waiting, because I had received the following email from my beloved (who shall remain unnamed):

Did you order something from Ankara, Turkey???

To which I replied:

Yes, I did. My poncho.

Laughter ensued in the form of chatspeak abbreviations. For some reason, receiving a lovely garment from a romantic faraway land makes a person guffaw? I can’t imagine why.

When I arrived home, I tore into that foreign packaging (very similar to domestic packaging, disappointingly) and unveiled:

I’m knitting a hat. Or a legwarmer. Or a fur coat. It’s hard to tell. So far I’ve done more unraveling than stitching.

This poncho is going to change my life. I can wear it while I’m knitting. I can wear it while Drawing Something. I can wear it to work? Can I? Say I can.

“Oh, Mom, you look beautiful,” Erma said, and in the same breath, “When can *I* wear your boncho?”

Sigourney just stared. Long moments of blissful silence. Then she summed up everything in one word:

“Why?”

Poncho + Scrunchie = Mad Success