You would think that after having 3 little girls, I would have my mothering instincts filled and overflowing. But after having Colin and Timmy over the other day, I find that there's room for more. When Colin called me Mommy, my heart skipped a beat. And when Timmy would crawl over to me, sit, and raise his arms for me to pick him up, my heart skipped another beat. My favorite moment of the day was cradling Timmy he drank his apple juice. He was completely relaxed and just melted in the crook of my elbow. I could have sat with him for hours.
No way do I want more children to raise, but it's nice to know that I don't feel like "I've been there and done that". I've been lucky to be a stay at home mom. I don't feel that my kids are growing too quickly, and I don't wonder where the time has gone. I get my fill of motherhood pretty much by 6pm, and that's okay. There is something to being sated rather than yearning. I know what that's like too.

Can-tankerous

I'm not one to buy too much canned food. I try to keep things fresh and simple for meals. I look at the conveyor belt in the supermarket as a canvas of sorts for the things I have chosen: Grains, meats, vegetable, fruit, dairy - milk, bread, cheese, eggs. If I can keep the junk out save for the occasional box of cookies (which I usually don't buy because I bake), I am happy with my classic combination of groceries on that belt. I imagine the checker giving me an internal thumb's up as my choices fit for a children's story book illustration roll past and under the scanner.

Canned foods are, however, a necessity. They are geat to have on hand in a pinch. Campbell's Chicken Noodle soup is wonderful to heat up and put in thermoses when I have no idea of what to stick in the girls' lunch boxes. They love it. I need to have my Pet Milk on hand always, because what if I want a cup of coffee (decaf please)? Only Pet Milk as a creamer will do. It reminds me of my grandparents. When Grandma would run out of regular milk, she would make my hot chocolate with Pet, and though it didn't taste quite the same, I loved the improvisation. It's the flavor of my childhood. I am lost without cans of Pet Milk in my cupboard.

Libby's Pure Pumpkin Puree is another must have. Pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread, pumpkin cookies, pumpkin empanadas - every home needs it. Stewed tomatoes for spanish rice, maybe throw in some canned peas, Ortega Chili for casseroles, Las Palmas enchilada sauce for the times (mostly always) when I don't want to use real New Mexico chili powder for the real thing. Besides, the kids are too small for the spiciness of the real thing, so the cheat of Las Palmas is acceptable in my (maybe not my mom's) book.

See, my canned choices are important. I don't have a ton of room in my pantry, so I have to be sure that what is in there is going to be used. No canned bread, no canned german potato salad, no lentils, no boston baked beans (but I love Trader Joe's Cuban Black Beans), no turkey chili, and definitely no Menudito or canned tamales are to be found in this house. So when the subject of the school canned food drive came up this week, I kept quiet.

In spite of my best canned food scrooge efforts, the girls are motivated philanthropists, and it was only a matter of time before Emme started scouring my meager stores. She came to me on Monday and sweetly asked for a can. How could I refuse? Sure. I gave her a can of Swanson's chicken broth. She stuck it in her backpack. I put my finger to my lips while pointing to Celeste who hadn't caught the charity bug yet.

Tuesday, Emme asked for another can. "Can I have two cans?" she asked, again sweetly. "I get little check marks next to my name for each can I bring in, and Om already has 20." Hmmm...I grudgingly look in my cupboard and hand her a can of Wolfgang Puck's cream of mushroom (great for casseroles) and a forgotten can of Dynasty Water Chestnuts. "Thanks Mom!" She sticks them in her backpack and is off. Wednesday: 2 more cans and Celeste finally catches the drift. "Hey Mom!" She frowns. "I need to take in cans too!" I offer her a can of diced tomatoes. It's starting to hurt. "But Emme is taking two!" Okay. One of my Pet Milks go into her backpack. No worries. Two more cans of Pet left for me.

Thursday comes and Emme goes in for the big guns. She convinces her dad to help her store 8 cans - Eight! - of my precious, well thought out supply into her backpack. I turn my head and walk away, thinking of the shopping I am going to have to do to replace this stuff. Or worse, what if I run out of salsa and need that can of El Pato, and it's not there anymore? Luckily, Celeste seemed uninterested. Until this morning. "Mom? Today is the last day of the week, and I would like to take in some more cans for the poor. May I have a few more?" I tried to mask a pained look, but she caught it. Her sensitive face fell and she said, "It's okay. I won't take anymore if you really need it." I bent down to her, ashamed that I am so selfish with my bounty. "No sweetie, the poor need it more than I do."

I hand her my pumpkin puree, my last two Pet Milks, some sweetened condensed milks (great for magic cookie bars), and my Trader Joe's Cuban Style Black Beans. I watch her stick them all into her backpack and stagger toward the Minnie Van with her similarly burdened little sister.

I take a look into my clutter free cupboards, and am delighted to be a part of the giving.

Convos in the Minnie Van 11/09

We had the pleasure of spending some time with Celeste and Emme's teachers this afternoon for parent conferences.

We learned that they are doing well, and are good students. (I also learned that Celeste needs to work on not passing notes to her friends. I found this utterly delightful, because I worry about her being such a serious child. Of course, I agree that note passing and whispering in class is not a good habit, but still, I'm happy that she can be naughty once in a while.)

We decided to take our superstars out to dinner to celebrate their accomplishments. While I drove the Minnie Van to the latest greatest new diner (Dad following in his car), I praised them and told them how proud we were of them.

Then Emme started to cry.

"Mommy, I'm crying, but I don't know why." I could see her in my rear view mirror wiping tear after tear from her beautiful face.

I asked, "Does something hurt?" I was sure I didn't say anything to hurt her feelings, but I questioned anyway, "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no." She answered, still weeping. "I don't know why I'm crying. There's no reason for me to be crying. I just am."
We all let her have her personal space, and enjoyed the ride to the restaurant listening to music.

We arrived at our destination. I parked and unbuckled the girls from their seatbelts.

Climbing out of the van, Emme jumped into my arms and smiled at me. "Mommy I know why I was crying now." She was radiant. "I was happy. I was crying tears of happiness."

Celeste, who has experienced this type of tears many times while watching Cinderella, or Hotel for Dogs, or even Breakfast at Tiffany's with me - we have shared some good happy cryfests, she and I - pumped her fist in the air.

"I knew it! I could tell those were tears of joy."

Emme laughed her bubbly laugh. She was thrilled to have become a bonafide member of our emotional ranks.

Arm in arm, we all marched off to join Daddy at Bob's Big Boy.

My Theological Beauty

Emme, with her sunny disposition and sense of humor belies her deep sense of self in contrast to her sister who is very serious, thoughtful and gifted with natural integrity.
Since I have the privilege of raising this dual natured child, I know her well, and am careful with how I teach her what I am supposed to be teaching her.

When she was around four years of age, she asked me, "Mommy, what happens to us when we die?" I gave her my best. "Emme, we are like caterpillars on this earth. We go about our business, and one day, we wrap it all up and take a very long rest. When we wake up, we find that we are transformed into something wonderful. Just like the caterpillar has no idea he will become a butterfly one day - something completely different - we have no idea what will happen to us. But I guarantee you it will be just as awesome."

Emme took that explanation to heart, and has been satisfied since. However, she is so in tune with the spiritual world that she comes to me with some questions that stump me and are not so easily answered.

Celeste was having anxiety problems, so I took her to the park and talked to her while Emme and Brooke played. We talked out the things that were bothering her, and I taught her how to meditate. I gave her a scene with animals and grass and water and showed her how to relax her body and give in to being one with God. She loved it. Happy and relaxed, she joined her sisters while I sat on the bench and supervised.

Eventually Emme came up to me and asked, "Mommy, what were you talking about with Celeste?" I explained that we talked out Celeste's problems and used meditation as a way to relax. "Would you like to try it?" I asked. "Sure." Emme agreed to it. I took her through the same routine, the park, the animals, the water, but Emme didn't buy it. "So what did you think?" I asked her. "Mom, all I saw were animals, grass and water. I didn't see God. When I want to see Him, I pray." Everyone is different, so I told her that that was wonderful.

Emme then looked up at me with her clear eyes and asked, "Mommy, do all prayers come true? Because every day, I pray for Chloe to be able to walk." I did not know how to answer this. If she had not thrown in her Chloe prayer, I would have answered 'yes'. But I don't know if she will ever walk. I dug deep. I didn't want to lie, but I believe in miracles, and I believe in prayer, so I told Emme the same. Emme was satisfied once again and ran off to play with her sisters.

Recently, the girls were chatting with me and asked, "What's a conscience? "It's the little voice inside you that tells you right from wrong. Sometimes cartoons show it as a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other shoulder." We discussed these little characters and different ways our conscience shows up. Ultimately, we decided it's knowing the difference between good and evil.

Again, Emme looked at me with clarity in her eyes and asked, "Did Adam and Eve have a conscience?" I was stunned. What a good question. I was quiet, and she went on, "Because my teacher said that before they ate the apple, they didn't know the difference between good and evil." I thought and decided that they didn't know the difference because there was no evil around to make that difference. Emme accepted that idea as pretty good, but I wondered, "Did they have a conscience?" What a funny thing to ponder.

Then, last night, I wasn't even looking, but I found this quote by Emanuel Swedenborg "Conscience is God's presence in man." That was it. Adam and Eve didn't need a conscience because they were in God's presence.

I can't wait to tell Emme.

Yum

Yesterday:

Celeste, regarding a foil-wrapped creme-filled chocolate cake confection: Mom, why do they call them Ding Dongs?

Monica, thinking hard about why they call them Ding Dongs and coming up empty: Because they look like hockey pucks.

Today:

Emme, holding a foil-wrapped creme-filled chocolate cake confection: Why do they call them Ding Dongs?

Celeste: I dunno. Because they look like hockey pucks?

My Newborn Baby Brooke

I think it was a few days after we had brought her home from the hospital. Her fingernails were already growing out so quickly. They were, as all newborn fingernails are, razor sharp.

I pulled out some clippers from one of my baby kits to trim her tiny fingernails. She must have been at the most, one week old. She was relaxed until I hit the quick of one of her fingers. Oh! It must have hurt because she howled so.

Really wanting to get the job done, I tried to finish after she calmed down. She wouldn't let me. She kept pulling her little hand away with more strength than you would believe a newborn would have.

All I had left to trim was her thumbnail. I gently took hold of her little hand. She balled it into a fist. I opened up her fist and then, quick as a wink, she popped her thumb into her mouth.

First Battle of Wits - Brooke versus Mommy:
Brooke 1 - Mommy 0

On What?

Celeste (waving a paper with pictures and sentences): I'm writing a story.

Daddy: On multiple pages?

Celeste: No. Just bugs.

Time Stand Still for Just a Moment

Scene: Brooke and I sitting on the floor of Celeste and Emme's bedroom. Brooke is playing with a box of teeny tiny toys while I read a book one foot away from her. Every once in a while, Brooke waves a small object underneath my nose and announces what it is: "cup", "shoe", "umbrella". I acknowledge the doll accessories, look her in the eye, nod, and then go back to my book.

I am pulled out of my book when I hear her baby voice singing. "I love you, I love you, shhhh! I love you!".

I look down and I see her laying a pink velour Barbie blanket over two 1 and one half inch Bratz Babies which are lying on a six inch plastic Dora The Explorer bed.
"Here's your banket" She whispers in her two year-old voice. "Shhhh!"

The dolls are at the footboard side of the bed and are nearly slipping off the end as she draws the blanket over them. I contemplate flipping them around to the headboard side so that they don't risk falling off anymore.

Worried that Brooke will protest, I take my chance and carefully flip the bed over. I turn the dolls around. The Bratz babies are still facing the same direction, but the headboard can now stop them from falling off. Brooke watches me while quietly holding the "banket".

When the babies are safely positioned, heads on pink Dora pillows, Brooke once again places the blanket over them.

"Here's your banket", she coos. Then she makes and proves all my wishes true and sings her lullaby.

"I love you, I love you. Shhhhh! I love you!"

All Tangled Up

Late one evening, Celeste and I were quietly standing in front of the bathroom mirror. I was combing her wet hair after a bath. As I worked through the tangles, Celeste looked up at me and frowned.

"I wish I didn't have so many nerds." She said to me.

I wondered who she was talking about. Was she dealing with nerds at school? And who? All the kids in her class are pretty cool. Definitely not a nerd in the bunch.

"What nerds, sweetheart?" I asked.

"The nerds in my hair, Mom." She explained to me.

But her hair is clean and I haven't given her any Willy Wonka candy in a long time. I thought picturing the tiny fruity candy.

"Your hair?" I must have sounded like a... well, a Nerd.

"Yes, Mommy. The things in my head that tell me it hurts when you pull my hair."

"Ohhhhhh! Nerves!" I brilliantly figured it out.

"Yes! Nerves!" Celeste nodded.

We both smiled at each other.

Then Celeste frowned.

"Mommy, then what's a Nerd?"

Breakfast is not just for Champions

Yesterday, my buddy Christa gave me a phone call. It went something like this:

Me: Hello?

Christa: Hi! How are you?

Me: Good!

Background: little kid, presumably Colin, talking to his mama about something. I can't tell what.

Christa to Colin: Just go. You're a big boy now. You can go by yourself.

Christa to me: He's potty trained now! But he wants me to help him go poop. I'll call you right back.

Me: Okay. I'll be here!

several minutes later...

Christa: Hi! It's me again! I just threw some Cocoa Puffs in the potty and he went poop on top of them.

Me (not sure I heard right and visualizing little brown cornballs floating in the commode): Did you just say you threw cereal into the toilet?

Christa: Yeah. I got the tip from one of the teachers at pre-school. I called them asking for help. Colin used to have a hard time going Number Two on his own. They told me to throw some Cheerios into the pot. Now he goes in seconds. It's fun for kids I guess. They like to poop on top of cereal!

Me (musing over Christa's wise choice of Cocoa Puffs and thinking that I need to potty train Brooke in a few weeks and not sure if it will work for girls, but definitely planning on giving it a go):
Cool! Thanks for the tip!

Orthopaedics

While I was cooking dinner this evening, Emme was drawing in her notebook. She would talk to me as she drew, making comments here and there and asking me questions. All was peaceful as Brooke was playing with her puzzles and Celeste was quietly doing her homework.

Once I had dinner simmering on the stove, I took a break and sat next to Emme on the family room sofa.

"Mom, I'm finished with my drawing" she informed me.

Emme has made some pretty fantastic drawings. I was eager to see what she had been so diligently working on.

"They are body parts." said Emme, explaining the different sizes and shapes she had drawn in a seemingly random disorder.

"Look. Here are the toes." She showed me 5 toes placed at the top of the page. To the left were the arms. The middle of the page featured a circle with another smaller, darker circle in the middle. There were some dashes on the top that looked disturbingly like hair.

"What's that?" I winced pointing to the encircled spot with speck marks on top. I was hoping it wasn't a breast or worse.

"Oh. That's an eye" said my Emme. I breathed a sigh of relief.

That's how the page was. There was a nice set of teeth, a pair of thighs. There were upper arms and lower arms, not necessarily next to each other. A few circles represented knees and elbows. There was even a neck. Pretty much every part of the skeletal system (covered in skin) that Emme could think of was there. The entire page was filled.

As I mulled over Emme's curious work, she looked up at me with big hazel eyes.
"I want to be a doctor, but not just a regular doctor." She announced this with alarming lucidity.

"What kind of doctor do you want to be?" I asked.

"The kind that fixes body parts. I want to fix broken body parts Mommy."

"Oh. That's called an Orthopedist. Is that what you want to be when you grow up?"

Emme looked natural, as if she heard that word all the time.

"Yes. That's exactly what I want to be. An Orthopedist."

Celeste had been listening the whole time.

"How about you Celeste?" I asked. "What do you want to be?"

"Oh, I haven't really thought about it yet Mommy. I think I want to stay home until I'm 41 and then find a man."

Cool.

The Look

I haven't had the luxury of a good haircut in a long time. I usually just go to Fantasic Sams and have them hack off a good 5 or six inches once a year.

I used to have my friend Christa cut my hair before she took time off to have her darling baby boys.

She would give me the best hair styles to frame my face. They were up to date and youthful because she is up to date and youthful.

I enjoyed sitting there in the salon with her chatting about this and that. But there was always a point that I dreaded. She would spritz the final touch of hairspray with a flourish and hand me the mirror. I would stiffen. She would smile at me encouragingly. I would set my face. She would nod. I would relax and look at my hair and she would say:

"There! You just did it!"

"What?" I would be crushed. "Did what?"

"That Look. The same look you always make when I'm done cutting your hair."

"But I tried so hard not to." I would whine.

"It never fails. You always do it." My beautiful blonde and smug friend.

This became a not-so-looked-forward-to tradition between the two of us. Well, I didn't look forward to it. I'm sure Christa did. She would always laugh delightedly when she saw "The Look". As hard as I tried, I never disappointed her.

***

So last night, I'm getting Celeste and Emme ready for a Father Daughter Dance at the local Country Club. They bathe and wash their hair, dress in lovely black and white taffetta dresses, put on their Sharpay perfume. They then announce to eachother that it's time to go the Hairdresser.

That's where I step in. I'm the Hairdresser. I plug in the hot rollers. I set out my tools and I blow Celeste's hair dry. The hot rollers are hot.
"I just want one roller Mom. Right in the front." is Celeste's request.

I indulge her with one roller. I blow dry Emme's hair.

Celeste takes off the roller after a bit. She looks in the mirror. She has one curl cascading down the side of her head. It lies serenely on top of the rest of her silky straight locks. I regard her hairstyle, thinking that I like it, but maybe it could use some tweaking. I plan on tweaking it in a moment.

I'm still drying Emme's hair when I feel someone's eyes on me. Celeste is looking at me long and hard. I look back at her questioningly.

"Mommy. You gave me The Look."

My blood runs cold.

"What Look?" I ask cautiously.

"That look that you always make when you don't like how I combed my hair."

Oh. That Look.

I get it now.

It's not a bad look. All it means is that I like it, but it could use some personal tweaking. It's a look reserved only for hair.

I think Christa would have loved to have been there.

Conversations in the Minnie Van part 3

I have to write this down before I forget...

One morning, I was driving the girls to school. It was a gorgeous January day, just starting, and the kids' music was playing in the car. The girls were singing and the baby was drinking from her sippy cup.

Halfway there, Brookie dropped her sippy cup on the floor of the Minnie Van. Celeste tried to bend down to get it for her, but her seatbelt stopped her.

"Mom, could you get Brooke's sippy cup for her?" Celeste asked.

"Sure! Wait until I get to a stop sign." I answered.

At the next stop sign, I bent over and reached for the cup. As I handed it to Brooke, I realized I had seen something disturbing. There was no one behind me, so I took another look.

Emme was only wearing one shoe.

I started the van off toward school and said,

"Hey Emme. You're only wearing one shoe."

Emme looked at her feet.

"Oh yeah!" She said. "I guess I forgot to put on the other one."

Thinking back on my days at St. Hilary, I recall that one of my worst nightmares was going to school without shoes on.

"Emme. Are you okay with this? It doesn't bother you to be wearing only one shoe?"

"Yeah, it's okay, Mom." She assures me.

"Well, you're living my worst nightmare!" I say.
(Celeste gasps. I never claimed I was the best mother in the world.) "We need to find some shoes for you in this car so you can go to school with two shoes on!"

I start to think. All of last year, we had about 5 pairs of shoes in the car, but I had recently taken up a habit of cleaning it out nearly every day. There were no shoes except for their dance shoes.

"How about you wear your tap shoes?" I tell Emme. "Yeah, you can wear your tap shoes. Wouldn't that be cool?"

"No way mom. I am not going to be tapping around my classroom in tap shoes all day. I'd rather have one shoe." Emme is stubborn.

Celeste tries to help. "I can wear the tap shoes and Emme can wear my school shoes."

I think about this, but I can't stand the thought of Celeste tapping around the whole school in tap shoes. Emme's right. It's just too wierd.

We get to school and park. I send Celeste off to first grade and decide that I will have to buy a pair of shoes for Emme at Target which is just 5 minutes away from school.

"Mom, you're going to have carry me into my classroom. I don't want to get my sock dirty."

I pick up Emme and turn her in to Mrs. Margo who looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

"How did she get past you with one shoe on?" I can see her imagine Emme walking outside to our car, me oblivious to my child's welfare. Then I see the light turn on.
"Oh! you have an attached garage! It would be easy for her to get in the car without you noticing!"

Yep. I smile at One Shoe Emme.

"Okay! I'll be back with some shoes. See you soon!"

"Okay Mama! I love you!"

I love her too. So much.

Emme's Laugh

Emme has a wonderfully infectious laugh that makes you want to laugh too no matter how unfunny the situation at hand may be.

She throws her head back and, with that gorgeous toothy smile of hers, let's go.

When she's done laughing she, all the while grinning, heaves a bit for a breath and says:

"Good Times. Good Times."

I know for a fact that she got that line from "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" which is her all time favorite movie.

So this tells me she gets the irony.

This kid kills me.

Happy Valentine's Day!

I'm wondering why the greeting card companies put those little stamp squares (place postage here) on the envelopes for Valentine cards to husbands and wives.

I get that there are people who are overseas and want to send cards to their spouses, but do the overseas greeting card manufacturers (say the Afghani ones) put the little stamp squares on their envelopes?

Not only that, but the ratio of people who give their spouses greeting cards in person is likely greater than than the people who send their cards overseas.

Okay, so not overseas - how about if a person's spouse were in another state? If Bruce were, say in Boston (or for that matter, I'll take him overseas to London where he once was for Valentine's day), I would just wait until he got home to give him his Valentine's day card.

I'm just going to belabor the subject a bit more: Say I'm a military wife and want to send my hubby a Valentine's day card. I wouldn't just send a card. I would send pix of the kids and artwork from them and some homemade cookies and a sweater - lot's of goodies in a big box where I would tuck in the Valentine card right on top. No need for little square once again!

And while I'm at it, why do we need a square anyway? Are we that dumb that we can't figure out where to place a postage stamp? Has email taken over our lives so much that we've forgotten how to write a note and send it via snail mail? If that were the case, then I'd send my Valentine an E-CARD!

Okay - I'm losing it, but here's the thing: that little gray square (place postage here) completely offends my sense of aesthetics. I wish it were gone. I would have liked to have had a nice clear white rectangle on which to write "To Bruce" unmarred by a little grey square in the upper right hand corner.

Yeah, I put a sticker (not a stamp) to cover it up, but it's not the same.

Mitie's Vinca

Vinca, our platinum Burmese kitten, is the only pedigreed being in this family. But you know, I was thinking, My dad was mexican and my mom's dad was born in Mexico and so was her mom's dad and it goes pretty far back on all sides. Further back than Vinca maybe.

Does that make me pedigreed too?

So what would I be called I wonder?

Moctezuma's Monica Armendariz Sanchez de Miller?

just a thought

My Brownie

One fine day, this past summer, my friend Dominique asked me if I would like to be a co-leader with her for a Girl Scout Troop. "Sure" I said. I'm always game to take up a new activity that costs money, time and lots of volunteer work.

We had a slow start rounding up interested parties, but boy did we take off as a troop during Girl Scout Cookie season. Cookie sales are not my forte. Selling anything is not my forte. I like to buy. I love to buy. But selling....ugh.

At first, I listed my goal for selling cookies as 5 boxes. "5 boxes!" My friend Monica stared at me in surprise. "Yes. 5 boxes is a fine goal. You know, that's 5 boxes for each girl." (Celeste is a Brownie and Emme is a Daisy.)

"Monica,", says my friend Monica W. "Surely you can sell more than 10 boxes. Everyone loves to buy Girl Scout cookies. They practically sell themselves. I set my goal for 100 boxes."

"Yes, well," I reply. "I like to set my sights low so that I when I pass my goal, I feel good about myself."

Monica, the psychologist by trade, raises her eyebrow at me.

"Fine. I say. 50 boxes."

The next day, I get a call from Dominique. "We've already sold 200 boxes, and we've just begun!" Nice.

Michelle sends me an email. "Wow. I sold 100 boxes at work today. The first day!"

hmmm

Bruce took our order form to work. But guess what? One of his co-workers jumped the gun and took his daughter's form to work the week before the sale even started. (whine). He sold 100 boxes.

"Give me his troop number. I'm reporting him." I growl.
"There is no way I'm going to hunt him down to get the troop number so that you can report him." Bruce laughs at me. bwahahaha rings in my brain.

Celeste, who is listening in, says, "Mom, let me sell the cookies at school."

"Oh boy" I think. All of her classmates are Brownies. One has cornered the market already. She is in for disappointment. Ignoring my protective instinct, I say "Okay, Celeste, I'll put a form in your backpack to take."

She came home with 20 orders.
*
This Sunday afternoon, my Celeste, my shy, darling little daughter tells me, "Mom, let's go sell Girl Scout cookies. Now." I groan inwardly. "But I've already changed my clothes. Go ask Dad."
"No way." Says Bruce.
"Mom, all you have to do is put on some jeans. You'll be fine."

I put on some jeans and off we went.
We spent two hours in our neighborhood. Celeste would walk up to each door and bravely ring the doorbell. "Hello" she would say in her delicate little voice. "Would you like to buy some Girl Scout Cookies?"

My neighbors were no pushovers.
As I watched with anxiety, I heard:

Neighbor: "How much per box?"
Celeste: "One package for 4 dollars".

Neighbor: "When are you going to deliver them?"
Celeste: "I will be back with your cookies March 1st."

Neighbor: "Do you want me to pay now?"
Celeste: "You can pay now or when I deliver your cookies."

My steel magnolia.
I had not coached her on what to say. I had not pushed her. I was ready to go home after 3 houses, but she didn't want to stop. Steadily she went on, politely offering her cookies, answering questions and admiring pets. I am filled with admiration for her.

This tiny little kid sold 54 boxes today. All on her own with me simply there as her adult escort.

This is what Girl Scouting is all about. Courage, Confidence and Character. I had the privilege of watching it in action right before my very eyes.

I learned a lot today.

Emme who had accompanied us, looked up at me with those huge hazel eyes. "When I'm a Brownie, can I sell Cookies door to door too?"

Knowing it's not so bad, and even something to look forward to next year, I answer,
"Of course my love!"

Not So Much

So we just get home from the girls' jazz and tap class from which I have been exactly one half hour late for two weeks in a row.

Such a long story, which ends up with me mortified when the teacher announces that they would practice jazz first next week because SOME people can't make it to class on time.

I apologized to the teacher and explained that I had the times mixed up, but I spent the next couple of hours wallowing in humiliation and self flagellation.

We get home and Brooke is screaming for milk, Emme is singing "Vinnie Valentine" at the top of her lungs and Celeste is desperately trying to do her homework in all of the noise and clatter while I try to make some dinner.

As fish sticks bake in the oven, I am trying to load the dishwasher when Brooke, who has abandoned her cup of freshly poured milk, decides to help me. I want to get this done, but she is insistent on helping. It's nice that she wants to help, but she is 21 months old and I am tired and my brain is fried and Emme is SO LOUD with her singing while Celeste is reciting her memory verse from school.

I can't take it anymore. The hackneyed saying "Calgon Take Me Away!" (really, when am I ever going to take a bath with Calgon no less?) is repeating itself over and over in my head. I snatch a cup away from Brooke who has put it in the dishwasher upside down and I yell at Emme to STOP SINGING! please.

It is silent for a blissful moment. Celeste grabs the opportunity to innocently recite her memory verse,
"Love is patient. Love is kind...."