1.26.2013

Where are you taking your golden plunder?

On Wednesday night - Juliette's last night of being a four-year-old! - we read some poems from a new library book. I was struck by both the playfulness of the rhymes and the sweetness of the illustrations. Before we said goodnight, I snapped an Instagram photo of a Margaret Wise Brown poem about bumblebees.



A bit later I get an iMessage from Marie. "I have completely and totally chuckled myself."

It is probably time for a definition. Yes, you know the word chuckle, but do you know the this particular Willis Sister usage?

chuckle, [chuhk-uhl]; reflexive verb. To cause one's self to descend into a fit of hysterical laughter. Often accompanied by shortness of breath and stomach pain, and the unfortunate experience of no one else finding the joke remotely funny. (ex. I have completely and totally chuckled myself.)

I didn't know the precipitating event that caused Marie to chuckle herself, and said as much. "Check Instagram."

This is what I found:


Where are you going with your golden plunger, Marie? Because I think I'll be going in the other direction. 

I don't know if it was the plunger of just the thought of Marie laughing herself silly in Ohio, but I thought this was the funniest thing ever, of all time, and proceeded to laugh myself silly in Illinois.

Unsurprisingly, when I posted that photo on Facebook, no one else seemed to think it was all that humorous. Except perhaps for one friend who just thinks Willis Sister antics are charming. Even our husbands were like, "um, okay... whatever you say."

And here I am, adding "plunger" and "gold spray paint" to my shopping list. 

So, fast forward to the next morning, when Juliette is opening her birthday presents. Guess what the birthday girl received from Grandma and Grandpa Willis?

You guessed it. Her very own copy of this 5-star collection of children's verse. 

Here's a Little Poem, Collected by Jane Yolen and Andrew Fusek, illustrated by Polly Dunbar

It's an altogether marvelous book, and yet I will never be able to read the bumblebee poem without remembering the night Marie chuckled herself, and laughing hysterically.

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