Writing With Abandon

“Can I borrow Phoebe’s bed?” V asks me, walking into our room as I finish folding the clothes from the drying rack.

“Sure!” I say. I think she’s just going to pick it up, but she hesitates and lays down in it. “Do you fit in it?”

I walk around the bed to see that she’s curled up. “You do!”

V laughs. She notices Phoebe’s puppy blanket by her head, and claims, “I need this,” then grabs it and brings it into the living room, announcing that it is a boat. She lays it flat on the floor. Pauses. Folds it in half and lays it down again. Phoebe climbs on, filling the boat in full.

“Actually, this is part of the boat. I need another blanket!”

She runs off into her room. P is sitting on the couch, watching the imaginary play unfold.

“Whose boat is this?” He asks as she comes back out with a large blue fleece-y blanket.

“Phoebe’s boat!” She replies without hesitation. “Phoebe’s famous boat!”

“So Phoebe’s the captain. That makes you first mate!”

The blue blanket is a bit too big for her and she’s trying to fold it. “Can I get a little help please?”

I step forward from the doorway and grab the other two ends of the blanket, helping her lay it down. Then I sit on the couch with P.

“She would love a Nugget,” I say, imagining the forts that would grace our living room.

“I used to have a futon growing up that folded into a chair,” P says. “It wasn’t a very comfortable chair though.” P pulls open Amazon. We start to browse play furniture.

I look back up a couple minutes later and V has decked out her boat to the max: Phoebe’s bed and blanket at one end, her pillow and duvet next to it, and then both ottomans on the other side. Her new book lamp lays next to the sleeping area.

“Who wants to play with me?”

We both stand up and head over to take a seat on the ottomans.

I love this girl’s brain.

For the next half hour we are on Phoebe’s Famous Boat, Disney songs playing in the background on Spotify (water-themed, of course: The Little Mermaid, Moana, Finding Nemo). I give V the Swiffer duster handle as a fishing rod and grab a blender cup to bail out any water. V scrounges through Phoebe’s toys for the ones she’ll “fish” for, designating the dolphin, the stegosaurus, and the crocodile as pets. We can eat the red squid, which keeps inking all over our faces, and the piece of candy she finds floating around, but the rest are off limits. Phoebe can’t seem to keep it straight though, and manages to make off with Dolly the dolphin whenever we’re not looking, chewing on her floppy fins.

We have a moment for bedtime and are given floating sandals from V so that we can visit the islands for more materials. P almost falls overboard but V saves him.

Then we get a bit hungry and I check the time. Not too long before Ana picks me up for book club.

There’s a hole in the boat, so I use the opportunity to suggest we leave the boat for repairs while we make a pit stop at the closest island and go to the Juice Palace.

V’s eyes light up. She loves juice.

At first she thinks it’s part of the imaginary play.

“This is a real juice palace,” P explains. Once she understands, we leave the boat at the dock and head off the four of us.

The drive is short, and soon enough we’re parking at the juice palace, aka. Palacio de Jugos, with its aggressively red and yellow striped awnings. V wants to hold Phoebe’s leash, but decides against it after Phoebe doesn’t quit pulling.

As I’m the Spanish speaker in this crew, I lead the pack to the different ordering counters.

First stop, juice. Guava for V, soursop for me, and mango for P. Plus two actual mangos. $7.

Next up, tostones. I pick up 10 giant, smashed tostones for book club, and a side order of sweet plantains for V. $7.

Third, fried rice for P. I order a ration rather than a plate because I know they’re going to pack it in. They do. The server perfectly crafts a mound of fried rice to fit inside the clamshell. $7.

Finally, we go for the tequeños. You have to order them at the juice counter, so I’m back there again. Four tequeños and one chicken empanada, please.

“Solo tenemos dos de queso,” the woman tells me.

“¿De qué son los otros?” I ask.

“De guayaba y queso.”

I turn to V: “Do you like guava and cheese tequeños?”

V nods vigorously. The woman and I laugh.

She goes off to grab the guava and cheese tequeños and hands me the bag, before sliding the card reader over for payment. $7.

I take the other bags from P so he can wrangle Phoebe, and we start marching out of the juice palace and back to the car.

V has already finished half of her guava juice.

We pile in, ready to enjoy our loot before climbing back aboard Phoebe’s boat.