The goat

She doesn't actually pick her pajamas anymore. She used to. She used to need, at a minimum, three sets laid out perfectly on the floor like three flattened people, and, while she walked, she would say, "Which one? Which one should I choose?" The question was really to nobody in particular, more of a stream of consciousness.

But those days are gone. Now I lay two pair on the floor, and ask her which one she would like.

She then bounds up from her red bean bag chair and dashes to the castle to find the goat. Today, he was just inside the gate that was over the tiny moat. She then snatches him from where ever he is and runs over to the pajamas. Then, she says, "Daddy, which one the goat want to wear?"

My reply is always, "I don't know, Tahlia; which one do you think he wants to wear?"

The goat then parades over the two pajamas and finally "chooses" one. This is where the difficult part occurs because the goat is a Weeble. The goat must lie down in the neck hole of the pajamas as if he is sleeping. I don't know why the goat is a he. It could be that when we received him as a gift, he came with a name and that name denoted him as male, but I don't remember. I don't really understand the need to name toys. Are children today unable to name their own toys? We never really pay attention to the names that the toys come with because we're lazy and likely to forget them. No. It isn't likely that we'll forget them. We will forget them and therefore don't look at them anymore. Furthermore, the names that Tahlia has been coming up with are far more interesting. We are past everything being named what it is. Tahlia has a dog. The dog's name is Doggie. She has a lion, aptly named Lion. She has a cat, and you have probably already concluded that the cat's name is Cat. Well it isn't. For some reason, the cat's name is Rona. But the sheep's name is Sheep, and the snowman's name is Snowman. Yes. We have a snowman. It is one of those two foot tall Christmas ornaments that more likely than not came from The Christmas Tree Shop. Tahlia recently found it in the basement and has been dragging it around everywhere with her. It still is clutching one of the wooden skis that it came with and its nose is still clearly a carrot, which, incidentally, has created a spike in the amount of raw carrots that Tahlia wants us to cut up for her. I don't say eat, because she doesn't eat them, but she likes them handy. But, for the most part, things earn new names now, as if they came from some middle Eastern country.

"Daddy," She'll say after making a shape out of some PlayDough. "Look."

"Tahlia, that is beautiful," I say, admiring the brownish blob with clear finger holes that she is holding. "What is it?"

"It's a fish." She states as if I'm an imbecile.

"Oh," I say foolishly. "What is it's name?"

"Falavia."

She is certain the fishes name is Falavia. I ask her several times, and with each pronunciation of Falavia, Falavia becomes more Falavia than Falavia ever was before. Her eyes brighten with every statement, and, even when Mommy comes in to admire Tahlia's handiwork, Tahlia states the fishes name. "Falavia."

How much more interesting is that than a zebra whose name is Galvin. Don't get me wrong; I don't have anything against the name Galvin. I think Galvin is a great name for a handsome boy, or even a girl if the parents really like the name. Nothing wrong with the name Galvin. But why is a zebra's name Galvin? Why not Strippy or Blackandwhitehorselikeanimal? Or even Falalalalaleea? I'm not saying that is one of the names that Tahlia might give to something, but it could be, and it is far better than Galvin, at least for a zebra.

I'm pretty sure that the reason why toys are given names is because the people who are doing the marketing always asked their parents, "What is its name?" when ever they were given a toy and their parents, not realizing the power of asking questions back to the child, would give the toy a name, thus robbing their child of the joy of naming things. And now, these once children, have the chance to name the heck out of more toys than they ever thought imaginable. I know that somewhere, there is a toy-naming-person who is sitting holding this little "Galvin" saying, "I love you Galvin! Yes I do! And Galvin is so much of a better name than what my mother would have named you. No. No Zebby or Zeb or Bra for you. I don't care that my mother would have loved those names. You are Galvin!!" He then holds this little toy, and cries a little.

Ok, so maybe it is because Mommy and I don't feel like taking the time to name the animals. Maybe it is because we know that if we give the animal a name, we will be responsible for the rest of our lives for remembering the given name and we know, with how tired we are now, that we will never, ever remember the name, and that is most likely why we say to Tahlia, with a haggard look in our eyes, "I don't know Tahlia, what is its name?"

But the goat is Goat, and Goat is a Weeble who must fall down. Yes. I know that Weebles "wobble but they don't fall down." But this Weeble must wobble AND fall down. If he doesn't, there is a minor meltdown going to occur. So, I carefully slip Goat under the "picked" p.j.'s. I push his head down to the floor, carefully. Carefully. Carefully. I pull the pajama neck up to Goat's neck and pause. "Stay down," I whisper. Today, he does. I slide him, and the pajama top over to the dresser so that Goat doesn't sleep for the rest of the night in the middle of the room.

The remaining pair of p.j.'s are for Tahlia.

Of course, this all wouldn't occur if Lion didn't call on the phone to tell us what to do.