Allison Elizabeth Gertler Blog

…and I don’t mean emotionally. Basically, instead of having to do repeated security updates, Nat is relocating the blog to a service. Let them do the work.

The blog is now at http://allisongirl.wordpress.com/

We’ve copied all of the existing blog posts and links over. The one thing we can’t move over is the subscribe-by-email feature. But worry not, if you don’t have blog-reading software (an “RSS reader” - built into many browsers these days) and don’t have a MyYahoo or iGoogle or other homepage that lets you integrate “RSS feeds”, you can still follow Allison by email. You’ll just need to sign up with a blog-to-email service like http://www.feedmyinbox.com/ or http://www.rssfwd.com/ (however, when you get those emails, you won’t be able to respond to them as you did in the past. Sorry.)

Here is Allison’s video application to become a member of the Evil League of Evil. (For those of you not in the know - the E L of E is a central part of the comedic musical Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-Long Blog; successful applications - which this is not likely to be - will end up on the upcoming DVD release.)

When Allison gets things wrong, the way she gets things wrong quite often depict a level of complexity to her thought processes which isn’t apparent when she gets things right.

My favorite example of this comes from early this year, when Allison asked one of us to bring up her favorite website, “PBSkids-dot-com… no, dot-org!” Suddenly, it was clear that she wasn’t just echoing the phrase “peebeesskidsdawtorg”, but had actually recognized the pattern to these things, that there’s the “dot” and the part after the “dot”, which could include “com” and “org”.

Today, when I went to pick her up from the school playground, she pointed at the brand name (STEP 2) on a playhouse. “What’s the 2 for?” she asked. I explained it might make a bit more sense if she read the word above it. She looked at it, thought, moved her lips a bit, and then said “September?” To me, that suggests a lot going on.

(Meanwhile: two days ago, she read most of Hop on Pop out loud.)

The next-door neighbor put a Halloween sign in her window, “Boo to You”.

Allison just saw it for the first time, and read the whole thing out loud.

It’s still more than a month before her fourth birthday.

Allison:(shouting to her mother, who stepped out to take care of the garbage) Mom, what do you want from life?
(pause)
Allison: A wallet?

Mommy to Daddy: “Our money market savings are FDIC insured.”

Allison to no one in particular: “Yay! Money Market Savings! Money Market Savings! Everyone draw a picture of Money Market Savings!“

“I’m going to mail people some Muppet things so that they know that they love Muppets!”

Allison maneuvers a non-obvious piece of her jigsaw puzzle directly into the correct place.

Daddy: “Very good! How did you know that piece goes there?”

Allison: “I took a puzzle class.”

“I want to go visit Snoopy.”

“You want to go visit Snoopy?” Daddy echoes, figuring she’s talking about heading back to Santa Rosa to vist the Schulz Museum, where she posed with statues of the dog she refers to as “my friend Snoop!”

“I want to ride on his water splash ride.”

Ah, she’s been seeing the ads for Knott’s Berry Farm, a semi-local amusement park. “Well, I don’t know about that. Some rides, you have to be a certain size to go on. I don’t know if you’re big enough for the water splash ride.”

“But I know how to squeal and screech!”

Allison is now telling us that her head is not shaped like a beach ball, but rather (she insists) like a meatball.

But she rejects the name “meatballhead”.

More information as this develops. Contributors will get her new name text-messaged to them before it’s announced to the general press.

First, you gotta understand about the “head” thing. Once, when Allison was in a crying fit and resisting distraction from the non-problem of the moment, I sat down beside her and said something like “I’m sorry you feel that way, but whatever you do, don’t call me bananahead.”

She looked at me very sincerely, and said that she wouldn’t call me bananahead.

I said “Good. And don’t call me breadhead.”

And she amazingly seriously said that she wouldn’t call me breadhead. And we repeated this for applehead and cheesehead. And ’round about peanutbutterhead, she showed signs of brightening up and getting a demonic look in her eyes, then she pointed at me and said “peanutbutterhead!” And I, naturally aghast, said that that was the worst possible thing she could call me… except for yogurthead. So that appellation was quickly applied to me, and there was a continuing back and forth of mock revulsion and the invocation of something even worse, and an ever brightening Allison. So now, I’ll occasionally demand that she not call me some sort of foodstuffhead, and that request is promptly ignored (yes, yes, I’m training her in playful disobedience.) And from time to time I’ll refer to her head in similar manner.

And that is why I called her “flatbreadhead.” Which caused her to defend herself.

“Don’t call me any kind of head! I do have a head” (she says, running her hand around her hair) “but it’s shaped like a beach ball!”

That’s my daughter. Beachballhead.

Daddy got a new video camera as a delayed birthday gift (delayed gift; despite the efforts, I’ve proven unable to delay birthdays). This is the first video recorded on it — Allison spinning a story. (Folks receiving the blog via email may need to click through to the blog website to see the video.)

• Me: Are you going to be a daddy when you grow up?
• Allison: Yes! I’m going to have the same glasses and the same hair!

“In college, I’ll be six years old. In college, you have to be six years old!”

Sunday brought another first for Allison: her first baseball game. The Cardinals were in town, and Lara’s alma mater Washington University In St. Louis was having a lunch-then-the-game event. Lunch was at the Los Angeles Police Academy, which you would think would have a lovely rock garden area for such things, but does.

We reckoned that we’d probably get half a game. Between the rather slow nature of baseball (and her lack of understanding the game) and the looming clouds, we figured on something unpleasant by inning 5. We brought along umbrellas just in case, but the first place we tried to get in made us check them… and then when we discovered that we were in the wrong place, we picked them up, went up to where we were supposed to be, and found they wouldn’t even check them there, so we had to throw them away.

The game looked to be an interesting one on several fronts. The Cards had shut down the Dodgers 4-zip the night before, and the home team was debuting a new pitcher just up from the minors, Clayton Kershaw. And as it turned out, Allison was up and interested throughout the whole thing, even if little of that interest was directed at the game. She liked the chanting and the cheering, going along with chants of “Boo LaRue!” and “Lets Go Dodgers!” (despite being in the midst of a batch of Cardinal fans) and even “Lets Go Lakers!” (despite being at a baseball game.) And she liked snacking on peanuts (we’d had Cracker Jack at the lunch… ever wonder how much of the annual sales of Cracker Jack are derived from its inclusion in the song “Take Me Out to the Ball Game”?) The game stayed close, the fans grew more intense (except for those who were leaving while the score was tied - really, why did they come?) And Allison, fueled on lemonade, grew almost problematically hyperhappy by the time the game ended when, with 2 outs and a full count at the bottom of the 10th, a Dodger doubled and drove in a game-winning RBI.

And it seems like timing was just about right, because Allison had burned through her energy. The trip back to the car involved lots of crying and wailing over our not having our umbrellas any more. She fell asleep on the drive back.

Allison playing with two coffee cans that have been turned into stilts:

“Two of the coffee cans look the same, but can you find which of the cans is not the same?”

We are watching a show in which Curious George rides a rocket. “My trip to the moon was just a dream,” says Allison repeating it several times until she could be understood through early morning mumblemouth.

I’m excited, because she almost never talks about her dreams. “That sounds like a great dream. What did you do on your trip to the moon?”

“I got a comic book… one that I already really had in my room.”

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Speaking of which, she will be getting some comic books today, and maybe you should, too. Today is Free Comic Book Day. Most comic book stores will give you at least one free comic book (sometimes a bunch!) just for stopping in.

Allison is riding her tricycle on a basically-unused street end, with Daddy watching carefully over her. She terms, and zooms as fast as she can go (admittedly, not that fast), with a bit of a downhill, and goes bonk into the high curb, almost throwing her from her conveyance.

“Did you just go bonk into the curb?” asks Daddy.

“Yes!” responds Allison.

“Why?” asks Daddy.

“Because it’s my job!

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When Daddy picked up Allison from preschool today, her teacher Miss Tammy pointed out a long but shallow scratch on the wee lass’s cheek.

“It was a bit of a fight. Allison had a toy, and the other girl wanted the toy, and Allison didn’t want to give her the toy…” Miss Tammy explained. “But she wasn’t too bad, and we cleaned it and put some ice on it. And she was very brave and calm through it all.”

“I’ll maintain proper decorum,” explained Daddy, “and not ask whether the other girl got a black eye.”

Miss Tammy laughed. “I’ll give you this — she fought back, and she gave better than she got.”

And Daddy felt a bit of guilty but genuine pride…

wsabjjkhdssffwbdhnbdhsjsjshdjshaqsnswhhwtggg

dhdhggrgggeheygffsdfddsas

–Written by Daddy, dictated to Allison

Once upon a time there was a peenoligis song. And for a long time a day go, jeanie tawn, lynt a wand.

–Written by Allison, dictated to Daddy

The cat who runs the mouse: Once upon a time there was a chainewer mouse. (A chainewer mouse is squeaks along with a cat.) Then the cat came home and long time. And momistoss. (Momistoss means you’re naughty.)

–Written by Allison, dictated to Mommy