Good Texts Come in Threes

In "A Dozen Things to Do with All Your Extra Energy," I described my niece's texts, missives best heard when run through the polite bot voice in the car. The voice-to-text wristwatch her parents bought her to communicate with family was well worth the investment--but the payoff might be a little different from what they expected. My sister has been sending me highlights.

While playing at the park:

NIECE: OK, there's that big the biggest slide. There's somebody at the [bottom] just screaming and as you go down, he just kills your ears I know who's doing that.

It's completely ruining my experience.

___________________________________________________________________________

Deciding on her Friday night agenda:

SISTER: . . . come home now you can see a movie.

Totally up to you.

NIECE: I'd rather go to the park with my friends and enjoy quality time and make memories [than] watch a movie.

So can I go the the park the one up at [local] school?

SISTER: . . .that Mom told you you could take two little kids to the park.

After sunset?

NIECE: I'll get my knife.

________________________________________________________________________________________

While playing near the canyon:

NIECE: My hands are covered in mud [and] my hair to my feet are drenched, but man am I having a good time.

My throat is hoarse from screaming.

SISTER: That's awesome! Where are you?

NIECE: The canyon with the boys [we're] literally dragging tree trunks up from the woods and put making using them for a [fort].

SISTER: Nice!

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Sitting on the back patio, engrossed in my computer when my sister shared that last text, I realized that I had up until then been tuning out some unusual cries from the direction of the canyon. I'm not sure the neighbors signed up for this level of activity around their houses--maybe it's ruining their experience. However, she does seem to be popular with the local adults. The other day, I introduced myself to one of them and identified where I was staying. "Oh, [Niece]." She said. "I like [Niece]." If I'm remembering right, she added something like, "She's on fire."

By the way, she doesn't really own a knife--not that kind of knife. She likes the idea of being fiercely armed, I'm sure, but probably needs to wait a few years before she's allowed to have a weapon.

I happened to notice the fort under construction at the end of one of my walks, so I pulled out my phone and took a picture. It seemed hardly worth all the screaming and mud, but I'll post it later, and you can be the judge.