Celeste's Kindergarten class boasts a large bug cage which houses a female praying mantis. This is the second praying mantis this year. The first one was mercifully set free by the kindergartners last month.
I was relieved to learn that that first praying mantis had been set free. This particular bug had a killer appetite. An appetite which I blissfully knew nothing about until the day I saw a moth - a deceased moth - lying upon the cage.
"Look closer!" The kids urged me. I squinted my eyes and pretended to get up close. Five feet away was good enough for me. "It's half eaten." Celeste said matter-of-factly. "The moth must have flown in and landed on the cage for a break. The mantis ate as much of it as she could through the screen." Mrs. Margo explained. Nice.
The day I saw an empty cage did not come fast enough for me. The cage was empty for about 3 weeks. Imagine my dismay when last week, I saw a new resident of Kindy Cages Bug Hotel. A big, bright green praying mantis. One of the kids had caught a praying mantis and brought it to school. Apparently the earnest students of Mrs. Margo's class could not get enough real life entomology.
On Monday, I entered the classroom to pick up Celeste. She was waiting for me excitedly. "Look Mom! The praying mantis layed an egg sac! Come see!"
I did NOT want to come see, but being a good mom and swallowing my inexplicable nausea, I went to see the egg sac. I'll spare the sticky details.
Tuesday, Mrs. Margo sent home a note to the kids' parents asking them to catch and save crickets for the mama praying mantis to eat. Yesterday, I went in the classroom and Celeste's best friend Amber had brought in a jar of crickets. As I was signing Celeste in, Mrs. Margo held up the jar for everyone to admire. It had a sponge with fresh water, some lettuce and best of all, tiny crickets. Because, Mrs. Margo explained, the mama praying mantis could not handle eating the big crickets and....
I didn't want to hear any more. Choking back my breakfast, I ran into the pre-K classroom - Emme's bug free haven. "I'm not usually squeamish, but I just can't handle that praying mantis, her egg sac and her eating preferences." I explained to Emme's teachers.
They understood perfectly and let me catch my breath. What am I going to do when Emme's in Kindergarten?
Here's another disturbing thought: What am I going to do when those eggs hatch?
Friday, November 30, 2007
Something Fishy About This
This morning, Brooke woke up all smiles. I picked her up out of her crib and took her into her sisters' bedroom as is my usual habit. Celeste woke up immediately and welcomed the baby with open arms. As I was preparing for the morning, I could hear Celeste playing with Brooke. Then I heard Emme wake up.
"Toona!" Emme exclaimed with delight upon seeing her baby sister.
This must have bothered Celeste.
"Emme!" Celeste said (I imagine with a frown on her face). "Don't call Brooke 'Toona'. It reminds me of, ahhh, well, of TUNA!"
In my heart I felt an affectionate tug of gratitude toward my sensible oldest daughter.
"Toona!" Emme exclaimed with delight upon seeing her baby sister.
This must have bothered Celeste.
"Emme!" Celeste said (I imagine with a frown on her face). "Don't call Brooke 'Toona'. It reminds me of, ahhh, well, of TUNA!"
In my heart I felt an affectionate tug of gratitude toward my sensible oldest daughter.
Brooke's Official First Word
Yesterday, or the other day, 8 month old Brooke was fussing a little. I thought that maybe she needed a snack. Holding her in my arms, I went to the cupboard and pulled out a big box of cereal. I held it up to her and said, "Would you like some Cheerios? Brooke sized up the box carefully, then turned her small face up at me, and said, "Okay".
Friday, November 16, 2007
To No One There
I feel much better today.
I've been reading up on my symptoms, and I definitely had/have the flu. I read that it takes much longer to get over the flu than a cold. I also read that there is nothing you can do about it. The body aches that I have are my immune system kicking the flu's butt. My immune system is finally winning, but not without a final "how do you do" that is kicking MY butt. I am sad to see my sexy, hoarse voice go bye-bye, but it means that I'm almost perfectly well now. So one more day of rest and I'll be able to be myself once again.
I've been reading up on my symptoms, and I definitely had/have the flu. I read that it takes much longer to get over the flu than a cold. I also read that there is nothing you can do about it. The body aches that I have are my immune system kicking the flu's butt. My immune system is finally winning, but not without a final "how do you do" that is kicking MY butt. I am sad to see my sexy, hoarse voice go bye-bye, but it means that I'm almost perfectly well now. So one more day of rest and I'll be able to be myself once again.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
i AM i said
It's not always laughs in the world through the eyes of Monica.
Sometimes it's all I can do to hang on. Not always, because generally I'm a happy person. Sometimes, like last night, however, I lose it.
See, I yelled at my girls. I was being a good mommy all day. Driving, preparing meals, taking care of baby, fulfilling my boutique orders, going to the post office, the market, sewing some more, playing with the baby, playing with the girls and making sure they did their homework, making dinner and on and on.
I wanted a break. Just a tiny one. I wanted to watch my recorded episode of Destilando Amor which is more than just a Spanish lesson anymore. It's a half hour escape. The baby was fine, practicing her crawling, but Celeste wanted a snack and I snapped.
"Please! Leave me alone! I'm desperate!" I cried after giving her bag of Bats N Jacks pretzels left over from Halloween. Celeste recoiled at my outburst. I immediately felt horrible, but I was still desperate.
Celeste, crying miserably ran upstairs to Emme and instructed her to remind me not to yell at them. We have a pact, the girls and I. When I am at my wit's end and starting to lose it, they are to remind me to calm down by saying "Mommy, you're getting frustrated." That's the pact that I broke yesterday because when Celeste's emissary came to give her message, I shouted her out of the tv room. "All I want is a few minutes! Go back to where you came from!"
They left me alone. I apologized later and they forgave me, but I still feel bad. That pact is not just for them. It's for me. It's to remind myself that these are gentle humans. Real people, not just kids, who deserve not to be yelled at ever. Small beings whose biggest goal in the world right now is to please me and Daddy and make us proud of them.
***
This morning, I went to the supermarket. I volunteered to make chile verde for Bruce's company potluck to celebrate the coming holidays. I carried Brooke in her little frontpack and pushed the cart around slowly because she enjoys this kind of outing.
I found myself looking for small things to please my older girls. A dollar set of ice cube trays which makes fruit shaped ice. A package of cherry Kool-Aid and some potatoes so that they could cut them up and make homemade stamps. I realized that I was doing these things to appease my conscience, but I didn't care. It made me feel better.
I shopped around picking out things for the potluck here and there. I went into the vegetable section. It was time to pick out the ingredients for the salsa part of the chile verde. I talked to Brooke as I examined the peppers. "Now what would Grandma pick to make the salsa?" I asked her.
Floods of memories overcame me. Green peppers, tomatoes, yellow peppers, jalapenos roasting on Grandma's stove. The blackened skin of the fragrant vegetables curling and flaking away... Holding the hot peppers under running water so as not to burn the fingers with the powerful oils...don't rub your eyes...Grandma singing under her breath so softly all you could hear was sss....ss....sss....
I was hit so hard with these memories I nearly buckled at the knees. I was holding a green pepper in my hand - a perfect green pepper. I focused on it so I wouldn't fall apart. I took some deep breaths and finished up my shopping. I wanted to cry so badly, but who can cry with a beautiful baby strapped to the front of them? I am an eye magnet with Brooke. It's amazing how many people turn and smile when we are out together. Babies make people happy.
I just finished up roasting my peppers. The pork is braising on the stove. I forgot to remember to wash my hands after handling the peppers. I am crying torrents and writing. I should be working. I rub my eyes and feel the stinging oils of the jalapenos. I miss Grandma, I miss my mom, I miss Bruce, I miss the girls, I miss Brooke who is napping right now.
I need a break. Now I know what "Calgon Take Me Away!" really means.
Sometimes it's all I can do to hang on. Not always, because generally I'm a happy person. Sometimes, like last night, however, I lose it.
See, I yelled at my girls. I was being a good mommy all day. Driving, preparing meals, taking care of baby, fulfilling my boutique orders, going to the post office, the market, sewing some more, playing with the baby, playing with the girls and making sure they did their homework, making dinner and on and on.
I wanted a break. Just a tiny one. I wanted to watch my recorded episode of Destilando Amor which is more than just a Spanish lesson anymore. It's a half hour escape. The baby was fine, practicing her crawling, but Celeste wanted a snack and I snapped.
"Please! Leave me alone! I'm desperate!" I cried after giving her bag of Bats N Jacks pretzels left over from Halloween. Celeste recoiled at my outburst. I immediately felt horrible, but I was still desperate.
Celeste, crying miserably ran upstairs to Emme and instructed her to remind me not to yell at them. We have a pact, the girls and I. When I am at my wit's end and starting to lose it, they are to remind me to calm down by saying "Mommy, you're getting frustrated." That's the pact that I broke yesterday because when Celeste's emissary came to give her message, I shouted her out of the tv room. "All I want is a few minutes! Go back to where you came from!"
They left me alone. I apologized later and they forgave me, but I still feel bad. That pact is not just for them. It's for me. It's to remind myself that these are gentle humans. Real people, not just kids, who deserve not to be yelled at ever. Small beings whose biggest goal in the world right now is to please me and Daddy and make us proud of them.
***
This morning, I went to the supermarket. I volunteered to make chile verde for Bruce's company potluck to celebrate the coming holidays. I carried Brooke in her little frontpack and pushed the cart around slowly because she enjoys this kind of outing.
I found myself looking for small things to please my older girls. A dollar set of ice cube trays which makes fruit shaped ice. A package of cherry Kool-Aid and some potatoes so that they could cut them up and make homemade stamps. I realized that I was doing these things to appease my conscience, but I didn't care. It made me feel better.
I shopped around picking out things for the potluck here and there. I went into the vegetable section. It was time to pick out the ingredients for the salsa part of the chile verde. I talked to Brooke as I examined the peppers. "Now what would Grandma pick to make the salsa?" I asked her.
Floods of memories overcame me. Green peppers, tomatoes, yellow peppers, jalapenos roasting on Grandma's stove. The blackened skin of the fragrant vegetables curling and flaking away... Holding the hot peppers under running water so as not to burn the fingers with the powerful oils...don't rub your eyes...Grandma singing under her breath so softly all you could hear was sss....ss....sss....
I was hit so hard with these memories I nearly buckled at the knees. I was holding a green pepper in my hand - a perfect green pepper. I focused on it so I wouldn't fall apart. I took some deep breaths and finished up my shopping. I wanted to cry so badly, but who can cry with a beautiful baby strapped to the front of them? I am an eye magnet with Brooke. It's amazing how many people turn and smile when we are out together. Babies make people happy.
I just finished up roasting my peppers. The pork is braising on the stove. I forgot to remember to wash my hands after handling the peppers. I am crying torrents and writing. I should be working. I rub my eyes and feel the stinging oils of the jalapenos. I miss Grandma, I miss my mom, I miss Bruce, I miss the girls, I miss Brooke who is napping right now.
I need a break. Now I know what "Calgon Take Me Away!" really means.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Cotton Candy and The Plumber
Yesterday morning, Bruce and I decided that the kitchen sink was clogged when we saw that all the coffee grounds I had dumped down the garbage disposal refused to be garbage disposed of and rebelled by overflowing clear brown buckets of water.
It was early, and we had just enjoyed breakfast. Adding the breakfast dishes to all the water cups from the night before, we began a nice pile of dirty tableware to accompany the lake of diluted coffee shimmering in my sink.
We knew we needed to call the plumber, but we were on our way to Chuck E. Cheese's. The one in Fullerton. The one that took us an hour and a half on the 5 freeway to get to, so that we could enjoy 3 hours of pizza, cake, frolicking children, rats, hens and other creatures.
When we got home, the girls begged their Daddy to let them eat their party bag contents - one of which was a large tub of cotton candy. One tub for each girl. Daddy, being the wholesome, organic, anti fast food nation kind of guy that he is, did not acquiesce to their requests. I quietly put the buckets of cotton candy aside and planned on throwing the addictive sugar away when the girls weren't looking.
The next morning, which was this morning, Bruce called from work and told me that the plumber would be arriving at the house in one hour. It was 9am. Hello? Today is Veteran's Day and I had slept in. I had one hour to shower and feed the girls and what? wash yesterday's breakfast and dinner dishes in the bathtub? NFW.
The girls woke up at the sound of the ringing phone and ran to me clamoring for breakfast. "Mom, please make us breakfast!" They said. "We are hungry for breakfast!"
Since that is one of my jobs as a sahm, I obliged them. I made them oatmeal and english muffins. I was happy with myself having given them a nutricious breakfast. I'm sure Bruce would have preferred me to feed them acidofilus laced with wheat germ accompanied with Ezekial bread toast and organic peaches shipped in from Georgia, but I do what I can with what I've got.
I added the breakfast dishes to my growing pile as the girls asked me for cotton candy. It was 9:15am. "You can't have cotton candy for breakfast." I said wisely. "Oh yes we can." Says Celeste. "Daddy said we could. Besides it's not for breakfast, we already had breakfast, remember?"
Yes, I remembered. It was no problem to remember because they had just finished their oatmeal and toast 4 minutes before. "So Daddy said you could have cotton candy after breakfast?" I didn't believe these guys for a second. "Yes, Mommy. He said we could have our cotton candy after breakfast today!" Celeste insisted.
I was not to be fooled by these two. "So if I call Daddy on the phone right now, he is going to say, 'Yes, the girls can have cotton candy.'"
"Yes. Go ahead and call him." Emme says firmly. Celeste hesitated and I moved in for the kill. I picked up the phone and threatened, "I am going to dial the phone right now..."
Celeste hung her head and shook it. Emme reasoned, "Why don't you call Daddy tomorrow?"
"So you want to eat cotton candy tomorrow?" I asked her.
"No. We want to eat it today. Why do you have to call Daddy?"
"To see if he really said you could have the candy today."
I dialed the phone and Bruce answered.
I asked him. "Did you say that the girls could have cotton candy after breakfast?"
I knew what the answer was going to be.
Silence.
"Yes", he said, "I did."
I was nonplussed. This is the guy who frowns when I serve the girls mini Krusteaz pancakes before school. This is the guy who banned me from McDonalds. The one who will never let me buy Ralph's meat.
I gave the girls their treat when the doorbell rang. It was the plumber a half hour early. I was in my Victoria's secret nightshirt but the baby was in my arms covering my braless chest so I let him in.
He swept aside the toys and dirty dishes that blocked his way. He fixed our problems while the girls supervised, munching handfuls of cotton candy.
I paid the hunky 20-something handyman and thanked him. he looked me squarely in the eye and said "No. Thank you."
I like to believe he was thanking me for that little dose of reality.
It was early, and we had just enjoyed breakfast. Adding the breakfast dishes to all the water cups from the night before, we began a nice pile of dirty tableware to accompany the lake of diluted coffee shimmering in my sink.
We knew we needed to call the plumber, but we were on our way to Chuck E. Cheese's. The one in Fullerton. The one that took us an hour and a half on the 5 freeway to get to, so that we could enjoy 3 hours of pizza, cake, frolicking children, rats, hens and other creatures.
When we got home, the girls begged their Daddy to let them eat their party bag contents - one of which was a large tub of cotton candy. One tub for each girl. Daddy, being the wholesome, organic, anti fast food nation kind of guy that he is, did not acquiesce to their requests. I quietly put the buckets of cotton candy aside and planned on throwing the addictive sugar away when the girls weren't looking.
The next morning, which was this morning, Bruce called from work and told me that the plumber would be arriving at the house in one hour. It was 9am. Hello? Today is Veteran's Day and I had slept in. I had one hour to shower and feed the girls and what? wash yesterday's breakfast and dinner dishes in the bathtub? NFW.
The girls woke up at the sound of the ringing phone and ran to me clamoring for breakfast. "Mom, please make us breakfast!" They said. "We are hungry for breakfast!"
Since that is one of my jobs as a sahm, I obliged them. I made them oatmeal and english muffins. I was happy with myself having given them a nutricious breakfast. I'm sure Bruce would have preferred me to feed them acidofilus laced with wheat germ accompanied with Ezekial bread toast and organic peaches shipped in from Georgia, but I do what I can with what I've got.
I added the breakfast dishes to my growing pile as the girls asked me for cotton candy. It was 9:15am. "You can't have cotton candy for breakfast." I said wisely. "Oh yes we can." Says Celeste. "Daddy said we could. Besides it's not for breakfast, we already had breakfast, remember?"
Yes, I remembered. It was no problem to remember because they had just finished their oatmeal and toast 4 minutes before. "So Daddy said you could have cotton candy after breakfast?" I didn't believe these guys for a second. "Yes, Mommy. He said we could have our cotton candy after breakfast today!" Celeste insisted.
I was not to be fooled by these two. "So if I call Daddy on the phone right now, he is going to say, 'Yes, the girls can have cotton candy.'"
"Yes. Go ahead and call him." Emme says firmly. Celeste hesitated and I moved in for the kill. I picked up the phone and threatened, "I am going to dial the phone right now..."
Celeste hung her head and shook it. Emme reasoned, "Why don't you call Daddy tomorrow?"
"So you want to eat cotton candy tomorrow?" I asked her.
"No. We want to eat it today. Why do you have to call Daddy?"
"To see if he really said you could have the candy today."
I dialed the phone and Bruce answered.
I asked him. "Did you say that the girls could have cotton candy after breakfast?"
I knew what the answer was going to be.
Silence.
"Yes", he said, "I did."
I was nonplussed. This is the guy who frowns when I serve the girls mini Krusteaz pancakes before school. This is the guy who banned me from McDonalds. The one who will never let me buy Ralph's meat.
I gave the girls their treat when the doorbell rang. It was the plumber a half hour early. I was in my Victoria's secret nightshirt but the baby was in my arms covering my braless chest so I let him in.
He swept aside the toys and dirty dishes that blocked his way. He fixed our problems while the girls supervised, munching handfuls of cotton candy.
I paid the hunky 20-something handyman and thanked him. he looked me squarely in the eye and said "No. Thank you."
I like to believe he was thanking me for that little dose of reality.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Hurry Up and Wait
I've had the flu this past week.
Vanessa and I had made plans quite a while back to attend a craft show. The show was to run from 11am to 7pm. We were to be at the Pomona County Fairgrounds to set up by 9:00am. I live in Northridge, and it takes me 45 minutes to get to Whittier where Vanessa lives.
Furthermore, I needed my mom to help with Brooke, so we invited her along. I needed to factor in the time it takes to go to Mom's house so that I could pick her up and take her along with me to meet at V's house. It takes 20 minutes to get to the Pomona County Fairground from Vanessa's house.
and
I'm bad at math. Numbers make me dizzy whether I have the flu or not.
The day before the craft show, Mom calls:
Mom - "What time are you coming to pick me up tomorrow?"
Me - "Oh, around 6am."
Mom - "What? Do you mean you will be rolling into my driveway at 6am? SIX."
Me - "Yep. That's the plan."
Mom (doubtfully, and rightly so) - "Okay. See you tomorrow."
Next day
It's 7am and I call my mom to tell her I am leaving my house.
Me: "Hi Mom! I'm leaving now."
Mom: "Uh, Okay. I'll see you when you get here. Bye." She sounds a little strange.
I get into my car (with Brooke) and my mobile phone rings. It's Mom.
Mom: "Hi. Don't pick me up at my house. I'll meet you at Vanessa's. She's having an anxiety attack. Don't you know it takes TWENTY minutes to get from her house to the Fairgrounds?"
Me. "It's only 7:05. That gives us two hours. I'll be there in 40 minutes."
Mom: "Well, Vanessa is fit to be tied. Get OVER HERE."
I arrive at Vanessa's house at 7:45am. I call from inside my car. "Hello!" Vanessa answers the phone cheerily. "I'm here. Ready to go." I say drily.
"Come on in for a spell," Vanessa says warmly and hangs up.
The front door opens and my mom walks out smiling. She helps me with my bags and with Brooke. My brother walks out of the house and greets me with a hug. "Come on in! I have breakfast for you!" He says affectionately.
I feel like I am at a surprise birthday party for myself.
I walk in the door and Sabrina runs to give me yet another hug. Chloe twinkles a hello. Oscar gallantly pulls out a chair and places two warm and tasty breakfast burritos in front of me.
Vanessa swirls into the kitchen in a cloud of trendy sparkles. She is sporting a new haircut and some edgy specs. "Good Morning!" She tells me with a freshly brushed smile. She sweeps up my bags and marches outside to pack them into her van.
"Hurry up and eat those Burritos!" Oscar says sotto voce as he shoves a coffee mug into my hand. "Vanessa is having a conniption fit."
Confused and fuzzy brained from the flu I am trying to get over, I mumble something about hey she's lucky I'm even here. Oscar and Sabrina tense up at my insurgent comment. Vanessa comes back into the house and everyone is all smiles once again.
"I'll just put Brooke into the car while you eat." Vanessa says helpfully. Now I am trapped. She knows I won't sit for a spell with my baby in the mini van. I gobble down my burrito, gulp down my coffee and join my daughter. Mom gets in too. It is 8:00am.
We are on our merry way toward the fairgrounds when Vanessa says in a most polite tone:
"Thank you for coming with me to the craft fair. I know you don't feel good. I really appreciate it."
"That's right." I say. "You owe me. And I will make you pay." I really do not plan on making her pay, but I like how it sounds.
We arrive at the fairgrounds at 8:30am. By 9:00, we are set up and ready to sell. The show is set to start at 11:00.
We sit there looking at eachother like the fish in Finding Nemo's final scene: Now What?
My mom holds Brooke and scolds, "Hey, did you forget to put socks on this kid?" Vanessa cannot help but chime in, "Monica! Her feet are like iceblocks!"
I am happy. I get to spend the next 10 hours with these ladies who happen to be two of my most favorite women in the world.
I couldn't think of a better way to spend my free time.
Vanessa and I had made plans quite a while back to attend a craft show. The show was to run from 11am to 7pm. We were to be at the Pomona County Fairgrounds to set up by 9:00am. I live in Northridge, and it takes me 45 minutes to get to Whittier where Vanessa lives.
Furthermore, I needed my mom to help with Brooke, so we invited her along. I needed to factor in the time it takes to go to Mom's house so that I could pick her up and take her along with me to meet at V's house. It takes 20 minutes to get to the Pomona County Fairground from Vanessa's house.
and
I'm bad at math. Numbers make me dizzy whether I have the flu or not.
The day before the craft show, Mom calls:
Mom - "What time are you coming to pick me up tomorrow?"
Me - "Oh, around 6am."
Mom - "What? Do you mean you will be rolling into my driveway at 6am? SIX."
Me - "Yep. That's the plan."
Mom (doubtfully, and rightly so) - "Okay. See you tomorrow."
Next day
It's 7am and I call my mom to tell her I am leaving my house.
Me: "Hi Mom! I'm leaving now."
Mom: "Uh, Okay. I'll see you when you get here. Bye." She sounds a little strange.
I get into my car (with Brooke) and my mobile phone rings. It's Mom.
Mom: "Hi. Don't pick me up at my house. I'll meet you at Vanessa's. She's having an anxiety attack. Don't you know it takes TWENTY minutes to get from her house to the Fairgrounds?"
Me. "It's only 7:05. That gives us two hours. I'll be there in 40 minutes."
Mom: "Well, Vanessa is fit to be tied. Get OVER HERE."
I arrive at Vanessa's house at 7:45am. I call from inside my car. "Hello!" Vanessa answers the phone cheerily. "I'm here. Ready to go." I say drily.
"Come on in for a spell," Vanessa says warmly and hangs up.
The front door opens and my mom walks out smiling. She helps me with my bags and with Brooke. My brother walks out of the house and greets me with a hug. "Come on in! I have breakfast for you!" He says affectionately.
I feel like I am at a surprise birthday party for myself.
I walk in the door and Sabrina runs to give me yet another hug. Chloe twinkles a hello. Oscar gallantly pulls out a chair and places two warm and tasty breakfast burritos in front of me.
Vanessa swirls into the kitchen in a cloud of trendy sparkles. She is sporting a new haircut and some edgy specs. "Good Morning!" She tells me with a freshly brushed smile. She sweeps up my bags and marches outside to pack them into her van.
"Hurry up and eat those Burritos!" Oscar says sotto voce as he shoves a coffee mug into my hand. "Vanessa is having a conniption fit."
Confused and fuzzy brained from the flu I am trying to get over, I mumble something about hey she's lucky I'm even here. Oscar and Sabrina tense up at my insurgent comment. Vanessa comes back into the house and everyone is all smiles once again.
"I'll just put Brooke into the car while you eat." Vanessa says helpfully. Now I am trapped. She knows I won't sit for a spell with my baby in the mini van. I gobble down my burrito, gulp down my coffee and join my daughter. Mom gets in too. It is 8:00am.
We are on our merry way toward the fairgrounds when Vanessa says in a most polite tone:
"Thank you for coming with me to the craft fair. I know you don't feel good. I really appreciate it."
"That's right." I say. "You owe me. And I will make you pay." I really do not plan on making her pay, but I like how it sounds.
We arrive at the fairgrounds at 8:30am. By 9:00, we are set up and ready to sell. The show is set to start at 11:00.
We sit there looking at eachother like the fish in Finding Nemo's final scene: Now What?
My mom holds Brooke and scolds, "Hey, did you forget to put socks on this kid?" Vanessa cannot help but chime in, "Monica! Her feet are like iceblocks!"
I am happy. I get to spend the next 10 hours with these ladies who happen to be two of my most favorite women in the world.
I couldn't think of a better way to spend my free time.
A Happy Sneak
Because that's what it really is, and because I couldn't come up with a better title than what already is, I present this:
http://pearblossom.typepad.com/pearblossom/2007/11/happy-sneak.html
Because I can't link it, I don't know why, must be that flu I have, I ask you to to cut and paste if you wanna look-see!
Thanks!
http://pearblossom.typepad.com/pearblossom/2007/11/happy-sneak.html
Because I can't link it, I don't know why, must be that flu I have, I ask you to to cut and paste if you wanna look-see!
Thanks!
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Conversations in the Minnie Van
Lately, Emme has taken to calling Brooke "Oonie". To me this is a temporary nickname, just a nonsense word that she recently came up with, so I let it go.
I had to put down my foot however when, as we were driving home from school today, she affectionately called her baby sister "Oonya." Now it's not spelled the same, but it sounds the same as the word fingernail in Spanish.
"Emme", I say as we're rambling down Chatsworth, "You're calling the baby 'Fingernail' Oonya means 'fingernail' in Spanish".
I receive for my efforts an unexpected and intense reaction from Celeste. "WOW! I can't believe it!" She shouts from the back seat. "Mom, do you understand what's happening?! This is so great! EMME SPEAKS SPANISH!"
With a frown of admiration on her face (kind of like a news reporter), Celeste turns to Emme and demands, "How did you learn Spanish?"
Emme smiles and answers, "I just know it." She chucks Brooke affectionately under the chin and coos "Oonya..."
"Mom!" Celeste says, "Emme just called Brooke Oonya again! Emme! Mom says that's a bad word! A bad Spanish word!"
"Fingernail in Spanish is NOT a bad word." I explain. "It's just not something I would want to be called. Okay?"
"Okay Mommy." Then Emme asks worriedly, "What's a Feen-ger-nel?"
And off we go over the hill toward home...
I had to put down my foot however when, as we were driving home from school today, she affectionately called her baby sister "Oonya." Now it's not spelled the same, but it sounds the same as the word fingernail in Spanish.
"Emme", I say as we're rambling down Chatsworth, "You're calling the baby 'Fingernail' Oonya means 'fingernail' in Spanish".
I receive for my efforts an unexpected and intense reaction from Celeste. "WOW! I can't believe it!" She shouts from the back seat. "Mom, do you understand what's happening?! This is so great! EMME SPEAKS SPANISH!"
With a frown of admiration on her face (kind of like a news reporter), Celeste turns to Emme and demands, "How did you learn Spanish?"
Emme smiles and answers, "I just know it." She chucks Brooke affectionately under the chin and coos "Oonya..."
"Mom!" Celeste says, "Emme just called Brooke Oonya again! Emme! Mom says that's a bad word! A bad Spanish word!"
"Fingernail in Spanish is NOT a bad word." I explain. "It's just not something I would want to be called. Okay?"
"Okay Mommy." Then Emme asks worriedly, "What's a Feen-ger-nel?"
And off we go over the hill toward home...
Brooke's Nicknames
When Brooke was born, Celeste took one look at her and said, "Ooooh, you're so cute! You're so tiny. I'm going to call you, uhhhhh..." Blank look.
"Mommy, I can't call her Tiny. That's what you call ME."
"That's right." I say. "Why don't we just call her Brooke?"
Celeste gives me another blank look because she's thinking. "I know!" She says with one finger pointing into the air - pointing at the little cartoon lightbulb hanging above her head.
"I'm going to call you "Sign-ey" Celeste tells the baby with finality. "Because it rhymes with Tiny."
I tried to discourage this strange nickname, but once Emme caught on, it was over for me.
"If you must call her something other than Brooke" I reason, "why don't you try to call her Anneliese?" Anneliese is Brooke's middle name. We named her for the main protagonista in the Barbie movie "The Princess and The Pauper".
Both would blow me off with words I love to hear. "Okay Mommy."
They call her Sign-ey, or Shiny, Shine, and my personal favorite: The Sign.
I thought this was just something they would get over, but no, now I am calling my baby Shine, Shiny, and Sign-ey. I can't bring myself to call her "The Sign" yet.
Maybe I'm too supersticious.
"Mommy, I can't call her Tiny. That's what you call ME."
"That's right." I say. "Why don't we just call her Brooke?"
Celeste gives me another blank look because she's thinking. "I know!" She says with one finger pointing into the air - pointing at the little cartoon lightbulb hanging above her head.
"I'm going to call you "Sign-ey" Celeste tells the baby with finality. "Because it rhymes with Tiny."
I tried to discourage this strange nickname, but once Emme caught on, it was over for me.
"If you must call her something other than Brooke" I reason, "why don't you try to call her Anneliese?" Anneliese is Brooke's middle name. We named her for the main protagonista in the Barbie movie "The Princess and The Pauper".
Both would blow me off with words I love to hear. "Okay Mommy."
They call her Sign-ey, or Shiny, Shine, and my personal favorite: The Sign.
I thought this was just something they would get over, but no, now I am calling my baby Shine, Shiny, and Sign-ey. I can't bring myself to call her "The Sign" yet.
Maybe I'm too supersticious.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Attitudes Caskets
When we lived in Sherman Oaks, I loved to shop at all the mom and pop places on Magnolia, Burbank and Ventura Blvds. These unique stores had charming names like "Floral and Hardy "or "Da Bombe Ice Cream Shoppe".
Naturally, I was not surprised when zipping along one of these boulevards I spotted with the corner of my eye a shop named "Attitudes Caskets". I was delighted. What a bold name.
"When I die," I told Bruce one day, "Please bury me in an Attitudes Casket." Bruce solemnly promised that he would.
Satisfied with my burial plans, I would pass that shop and sigh in contentment until the day I read the sign with more clarity. "Attuades Caskets" was what the owner had intended for us to read, and that's what it said.
I think about it once in a while. Attuades must be the name of the craftsman who builds these final homes for the tired shells of our immortal souls. How fortunate he is to have such an eye-catching name. A name that could cause someone like me to think about being buried with attitude.
Today is the Day of the Dead and I honor Mr. Attuades.
Feliz Dia de los Muertos!
Naturally, I was not surprised when zipping along one of these boulevards I spotted with the corner of my eye a shop named "Attitudes Caskets". I was delighted. What a bold name.
"When I die," I told Bruce one day, "Please bury me in an Attitudes Casket." Bruce solemnly promised that he would.
Satisfied with my burial plans, I would pass that shop and sigh in contentment until the day I read the sign with more clarity. "Attuades Caskets" was what the owner had intended for us to read, and that's what it said.
I think about it once in a while. Attuades must be the name of the craftsman who builds these final homes for the tired shells of our immortal souls. How fortunate he is to have such an eye-catching name. A name that could cause someone like me to think about being buried with attitude.
Today is the Day of the Dead and I honor Mr. Attuades.
Feliz Dia de los Muertos!
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