Why Can't My Babies Grow Up to Be Babies?

The X-Man is turning 6 next month. I ordered some cute invites and got them ALL sent out right on time (you may or may not know I am an epistolary loser, English degree and all). And then one of our lovely friends pointed out that the invites are for the X-Man's 5th!!!! birthday party!!!! Oy.

The thing is, I'm not that sentimental about milestones or the kids growing up and flying the coop or any of that. I failed baby book 101, I never teared up with them outgrowing the crib (or in the X-Man's case, getting kicked out). First day of school I get the teensiest bit verklempt, but for the most I'm just not that sentimental. I mean my job essentially is to work myself out of a job. So if I'm doing my job well the birthdays they keep a-comin', the kids they keep a-growin' and it's all blowin' in the wind. My conclusion--this says more about my last birthday (4-0) and the sieve-like container that used to be my brain.

Save the Daylight

I've heard some complaints lately about springing forward into Daylight Savings--it messes with the household routine, kids not going to sleep, my dh bemoaning that lost hour of productivity. I want to go on the record as a lover of daylights savings--I couldn't be happier with it.


First of all there's the simple novelty of the time changing. In the same way I look forward to the mail everyday to break up the tedium of a a long afternoon, the fact that something in my day or week is different delights me.


The bigger bonus though is what it's done to the kids. Morning wake up was getting earlier and earlier--those damn birds, I wish they'd tweet back to the Disney movie from whence they came. But now wake up is back to where it should be--7a.m. most days. Yesterday the X-Man slept until 7:20. By some incredible mom-alchemy I can still get everyone in the van and on the way to school by 7:51, so there's nothing to sweat. It's all early morning, reading the paper in peace and having a second cup of coffee goodness around here. Or, as of this moment, blogging. Ahhhhhhhhh.

Let's See if I Can Remember How to Do This

I got a friendly little grey nudge to get back over here and post something. So here I am. It feels a lot like dropping my journal for months then sauntering back, trying to act casual and make up for lost time. Or what I do to my good buddy Sara frequently--daily emails then I vanish in a puff of smoke for days on end.

Now, where were we? We've moved--had we moved last I was here? (I should read my own blog). We are farther South by a little and comfier by a lot. The kids are squared away school-wise. The house is coming along decorating-wise (albeit slowly). I am still fairly lazy and accomplish much less than I should.

I just poked my head over to my last post--duh. So, the house is done. It's beautiful and we're very happy with it. We are now trying (not always successfully) to keep the kids from destroying it. The X-Man ended up in our local public school and it looks like the best fit all around for him. We are thrilled--love his teacher, love the principal. The other families are great, the vibe is relaxed but involved. Missy Z is in a co-op. I never in a million thought I'd be a co-op mom, but it's not so crunchy it sticks in my teeth and she's very happy there.

I'll break it there and try not to let this poor blog languish again.

Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown





And yeah, that would be me. Which is why: I haven't been here lately; I've had two panic attacks in as many weeks; I've spent the better part of this weekend burning my eyes out looking at lighting websites; my back is killing me (okay, Miss Z probably gets some credit for that too); I'm not sleeping well; the house we occupy is even more drunken and disorderly than usual.


Ah, how the mighty have fallen. I was so on a roll with New House. I was making decisions right and left. I was on fire. Then it came time to choose lighting fixtures and I've buckled like a cardboard box in a hurricane.


I think that I am way over thinking this. I was trying to describe it to The Mr. last night (who, bless his heart, tried to look interested and comprehending). It goes something like this: I've been pouring over and clipping photos from shelter magazines for months to ready myself for these decisions. I'm trying to solve for: the house itself and the style that's inherent in the architecture; my preferences as they fit in with said house; The Mr.'s preferences and weird quirks as they relate to the house itself; what we can actually find in the time frame we're working in; and ultimately really, who we are collectively. But what creeps into all of this is something else--some sort of "should" that muddles my thinking. We should be cooler than we are. We should be fancier than we are. It's what leads someone who really like a very ordinary tap to pony up for something much chicer or hipper--and usually more expensive--really to keep up with the imaginary Joneses in their heads (disclaimer--we know two lovely Jones families IRL and I'm not talking about them). It sounds stupid, but it's there. I think the shelter magazines--for all their ideas and inspiration--are partly to blame. It's a bit like a teenage girl looking at Vogue. She's a perfectly wonderful teenage girl who looks fresh and great and cute. But then she looks at Vogue and starts the "I'm not thin enough, chic enough, blah blah blah enough and I should do something about it" (anorexia, shopping, plastic surgery).

So perhaps the above rant is the punchline to "when is a lighting fixture not just a lighting fixture?"

X-Man 5

No, I don't have the scoop on the latest Wolverine feature--my little boy, my first baby is turning 5 today. I can't even believe that I'm writing that. I remember the first time I held him--all 3 1/2 pounds of him--like it was yesterday.

So here's my ode to my oldest child.

* You have the best laugh ever--somewhere between a snicker and a giggle, with some other nuances thrown in. Your shoulders hunch up and that crazy sound comes out and it always makes me smile.

* I love that when I take you to the candy store you are completely thrilled to pick out one tootsie roll. That when we go to Talbot's Toyland, you never complain about leaving empty-handed. That instead of asking us to buy you that super cool fire fighter helmet with the flashing light, you simply say "I'll save up my allowance for it."

* The way your mind works constantly amazes me. On the way to school yesterday you did your customary shut-down (due to your "no talking at school" policy) and said to me "Mom, my answer machine is broken." I replied "well, you still may need to ask some questions." Your rejoinder? "nope, that's broken too--there's a tube connecting the answer part and the question part so when one's not working the other doesn't too."

* And my all-time favorite, "Mom, Mr. Penis wants to do everything what I do, but he can't because he doesn't have opposible thumbs."

* I love that when I ask what your favorite food is you answer "tofu." And as weird as it is to have a kid who doesn't eat Peeps at Easter, I respect your position on not eating anything shaped like an animal. And your request that we not anthropomorphize your food (I'm talking about you, Mr. Hot Dog), because then you can't cook or eat it either.

* Did I mention your big, melty brown eyes? The twinkle in them? That spark of mischief that's been there from day one?

* And the maddening qualities, of course. Your insane stubbornness? Honestly, is there another child as strong-willed as you? I truly doubt it. And there's the really advanced level of selective hearing you have--or maybe it's not so selective. You told me the other day "Mom, I can't hear you when I'm busy thinking." At any rate, it's a quality you share with your father and it drives me crazy in both of you.

* Nothing pleases you more than "work" of some kind--whether it's shepherding a younger child through a new activity, hounding your baby sister while she careens through the world, or making one of your wild systems of tubes, wire and cat scratching posts. It's like watching a border collie on steroids.

* I love how you shake your little tushy to a really good riff of music.

* You seem to get the essence of people right away--not in so many words, but in your interactions I can see your assessment happening. And there's a special twinkle you reserve for especially funny women.

* Five years is a big chunk of change, and a whole lot of growth and transformation has happened in that time. But there's the essence of you that was there from day one--a tenacity I saw when you took out your breathing tube at ten days old. A combination of doggedness and caution that governed the way you approached a big milestone like walking. A sweet snuggliness that still pops up at bedtime. I love you, little man, and I'm blessed to be your mom.

Brand Me

Perusing this month's Domino I saw an article about these gals and was instantly intrigued with the idea of what they do. In a nutshell, they interview you for one hour and then they give you your own brand concept. It's a two word tag in an 80/20 format--meaning you are 80% the first word/concept and 20% the second one. Examples: Creative Natural, Classic Genuine.

All of this of course leads to the big question--what's my brand? Am I Passionate Kooky? Chic Comfort? Suburban Lassitude?

I am so incredibly tempted to try them out. With a house to decorate and a major birthday milestone to face down, I think this could be an incredible help. Anyone want to try their hand at it and save me $500?

Boys Will Be Boys

This is the kind of stuff you're supposed to photograph and put away to trot out on prom night to your child's utter mortification. I don't have photographic evidence yet, but the X-Man is going through a heavy princess phase. It's priceless.

We've watched some of the old school princess movies. I confess I love all of it and welcome an excuse to visit the weirdly violent and distorted world of Sleeping Beauty and Snow White. Fairy tales are just so macabre and bizarre--even the cleaned up Disney versions (although Angela Carter is more fun). And I can see why a kid--any kid, boy or girl--would be more drawn to the princesses. Despite all the cultural critique against Disney and the princess market, any princess in any story is more compelling and interesting than the prince. I don't care who saves whom with a kiss--does anyone remember the name of the prince in Snow White? But I digress.

So ages ago I snapped up a few well-worn princess dresses from a thrift store. They are pretty tatty but X has been donning them every day for the past week to get his princess jones on. I felt sorry for him squeezing into the too-small, faux-Cinderfella gear. So yesterday at the consignment store I found a really nice, fully Disney-branded Snow White ensemble (with detachable collar and cape) for him. I have to say, it's gorgeous. I would wear it--if it were in my size and I had dark hair. Yes, I am living vicariously.

So last night he put on a "princess show" for the whole family. It doesn't consist of much yet, although he's working in a bit with a poison comb and poison apple and his fainting is getting quite impressive. He clomps around on the purple plastic heels ("it's kind of hard but I can manage") and tap dances a bit, then faints. Mr. sat smiling at X and rolling his eyes at me muttering, "must you encourage this?" under his breath.

Tonight we were all piled in the car heading home from the new taqueria (La Corneta--very good by the way) and X in the back seat says "I'm going to paint my nails with a pen. They'll look so pretty" and then began humming "dum, de dum, dum dum." If he broke into something from West Side Story the whole scene would have been complete.

Here's the thing I keep trying to get across to the Mr.--wearing princess clothes when you're almost five doesn't mean you're gay. It might--it could be that X will grow up and fly the rainbow flag. Or he could grow up to be an executive transvestite. But most likely he'll grow up to be a kid who used to wear princess dresses when he was little. My big brother dressed up in my sister's patent leather shoes and hula skirt and cried when our mom had his curls cut off. At the heart of the whole thing is that I don't give a damn, and I don't think the Mr. should either. Yeah, yeah, I'm imposing my perspective on the Mr., but in this case I'm right. Gay, straight, purple, spotted--it doesn't matter to me as long as my kids are happy. What does matter? Can the X-Man go off to college and do his own laundry? Do his culinary skills extend beyond the microwave? Is he a gracious winner and a graceful loser? Can he do the fox trot? Make someone laugh? What he's wearing when he does all that? I don't give a flying fig.

House

Here's the latest:

* Paint colors--for those who asked, I'll try and get down the actual names/numbers in case you want to check them out. I'm going by memory right now. The pale blue for the master bedroom and Miss Z's room is Constellation (AF-450 I think). It's the dreamiest, most relaxing hue I think I've ever seen. Walking into it I feel like I've just done an hour of yoga.

The chocolate brown in the dining room is also an AF color (all of these are Benjamin Moore--the AF designation means the color is from their new Affinity line which they used to launch their Aura paint--the low-VOS/low-odor stuff that's better for you). Anyway, I don't have the number but the name is Kona.

I got the color for my basement studio nailed down--also AF it's called Fondant, a really nice pale pink (I enjoy being a girl). And the guest room will be Peau de Soie (AF).

I'm working on the kitchen color right now--the original idea of a brightish yellow isn't sitting right, so I'm thinking something more along the lines of a cream w/ some yellow hint to it. Lychee might work.

* Tile is still going in. Basement bathroom is done, the kids bathroom is getting there. Tomorrow I'm going to select the stone for the Mr.'s boom boom room counter tops and for the counter in the wine/cat room. Also needing to be determined asap is the surround for both fireplaces.

* Landscaping should start soon. How is it in my family--my mom is a master organic gardener and my brother an acclaimed landscape architect--I didn't get a green thumb? I have no clue as to what I'm doing in that area and the Mr. has even less. But we need to get an opinion soon.

* Cabinets are going in, and the shelving, desks, wainscoting. There's a lot of all that stuff.

* The Mr. is not convinced that we'll be ready to move in June. I am cheerfully not hyperventilating about it.

If You Go to Junior Gym

a place I love and suggest frequenting, could you do two favors for me please?

1) please wear a combination of jeans and underwear that allow me to see you bend over without showing me your entire thong and part of your butt crack. Really, the world would be a better place without that visual, no matter how size 2 you are.

2) If you are sitting in the lobby waiting for your child to finish a class and there are toddlers around, could you please find somewhere to put your really huge, hot cup of Peet's besides the floor? No one benefits in that scenario. Ditto the special, easily torn playing cards your child has carefully arranged in a pattern on the floor. That + toddler (especially my toddler)---you see where I'm going here, right? I think my exasperation was quite reasonable.

Thank you.

House

Latest update, for those concerned (or interested, or midly interested).

* Paint colors are coming along. The Mr. said today "gee, there's a lot to do with paint colors, huh?" To which I replied "would you like the job?"

The dining room is sporting a dark chocolate brown (Benjamin Moore Affinity collection "Kona") which we'll go with. The day-glo aqua just wasn't doing it for me in Miss Z's room, so I decided to put the blue in there we're using in our bedroom (I'll look up the color name and get back to you--but it's another Affinity color. They're gorgeous). I think a pale blue in there will be charming and, very important, soothing.

Still working on a color for the guest room. If you think you might someday be a guest, chez Poppy, then log on and cast a vote. I got nuthin' so far.

* Tile flooring is almost done in the basement and looks great. Tile is going on in the bathrooms. I'm having a very low-level freak out about the countertops I chose for the basement bath and the kids' bath, but it will probably all be fine when it comes together.

* Landscaping is supposed to start in two weeks. Oy. I know nothing about gardening. I need to get an opinion soon.

* I chose the pavers for the driveway yesterday--McNear "cobblestone" in charcoal/grey. Hope they look alright once they're in.

That's it. A bit dull, but what the heck.

To the Tree House

The Poppy family had an amazing weekend. To rip off my treasured Boz, "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times." It included multiple barf-in-the-car episodes, a family milestone, lots of drama and some real highs.

* I'll get the barfing out of the way first. X-Man is a champion barfer--the kid has great aim. Unfortunately, on Thursday, there was nothing to aim at but himself, the carseat and the car. We were driving to meet a friend so we could borrow a pack-n-play for the weekend away. He gave me a second of warning and then whoosh. A word of caution about the X-Man--he's a little trigger happy on the gag reflex. If he's the right combo of tired and phlegmy, he barfs. That's for your future reference.

The first time it happened on Thursday I pulled over and went into full haz-mat mode and thought (ah, pride goeth before a fall) "I am a pretty damn together Mommy. I'm working it out." After the fourth incident in less than 30 minutes, I was not feeling so hot on myself (or my kid or my car). But we finally got it all dealt with.

* Family Milestone: on Friday it all became official--The Mr., the kids, my parents and I stood before the judge and said "yes indeedy, Miss Z is our little gal forever." With her adoption finally finalized we proceeded to Il Fornaio to get foodie. How blessed we are to be the parents of our kids.

* And then--on some mistaken notion that I could manage with two children, away from home, on my own for more than a day, I had agreed to go to our church's parish weekend retreat here . There are various purposes to the weekend: fellowship with other parishioners, time spent in a really beautiful place, reflection, maybe some kind of transformative experience. And truthfully, I got all that plus lost two pounds in the process. And the kids had a blast.

There were some ferociously low moments. Those moments of feeling like the crummiest mom in the world (or at least in this group of people). Lunch on Saturday was particularly unpleasant, with the X-Man doing his best to push me over the edge--and succeeding. I had to send him off with the other families with children for the afternoon while Miss Z napped and I pulled myself back together. The sleep was not great for any of us, and that factored in. I wasn't able to stay in chapel on Sunday because I had Miss Z with me and she was way disruptive. I was embarrassed several times over the weekend by my apparent lack of control of my children--and of my own temper and internal emotional compass.

So that all sounds pretty crap, doesn't it? But you know what? It's wasn't. It was a really great weekend. This is probably going to sound really churchy, but every time I was struggling there was someone there to help me out. Pete and Lee with hot coffee when the kids were up too early. Leslie and Susan rocking Miss Z and singing their own greatest hits to her while I got X to bed. Serina and Lisa taking him off to play with Ella and the other kids. The fabulous Bolt family who let the X-Man try out their new metal detector (totally his thing) and sit at their table for lunch. Kristi telling me that she never would have left the house with her kids when they were this little. And on and on.

And somehow, being out of our usual environment, I was able to get a fresh perspective on my parenting without fully freaking out about it. I came home thinking "you know, what I'm doing is really, really not working. So I've got to try something else." And that's what I'm doing, and I like it a lot better than what I was doing before. I'm not sure it's the ultimate fix, but it's an improvement.

Tag on to all that the joy of watching Miss Z act as ring leader to a small toddler gang and charm the pants off all the grown ups. And seeing X in a pack of kids, hiking to the tree house, running up and down hills, playing fire fighter with an old hose, taking communion with this really special community of ours, TALKING, and having a blast. All that is just priceless. We'll be back for more next year.

Turn Offs

* Wind. I hate wind. And it's pretty damn windy today. Grrrr. The whole Cathy/Heathcliff thing--count me out. No heaths for me. It just makes me grumpy, irritable, pissy.

* Linen. I don't care if you wear linen. I don't care about the wrinkles. It's fine on furniture. But I've finally figured out that if I buy a piece of clothing in linen, it won't find its way out of my closet. I can't stand the way it feels on me.

* I won't get too deep into the shopping cart thing. I'll just say, the carts belong to the store and there is no "borrowing" as it relates to shopping carts--that's just stealing. I won't say any more on the topic in case I start foaming at the mouth--not a good look for me.

The Spell Is Broken

Ah yes. It all comes back to bite us in the ass eventually, doesn't it?

If I've ever directed any smugness your way, or exhibited any smugness near you related to sleep issues (or the relative lack of them chez Poppy), well the chickens have come home to roost.

Three times in the past week, instead of simply falling asleep to the sounds of a book on tape (as he has done for lo these several years), the X-Man has actually LEFT HIS ROOM AT NIGHT!!!! What's that you say? Get a grip Poppy. Children have been doing this since children were invented. Not in my damn house. Oh, but it gets better. As the Mr. says, X is a formidable adversary. You know how in Alien, the alien is so adaptive? Well, take away the sticky, drooly bit and the many snatching claws and you've got X (and yes, he's also hell-bent on world domination).

Three nights this week he has left his room, flung open the door to his sister's room, turned the light on full and stolen all of her Dohs (those not familiar with the peculiar Poppy family lexicon, these are actually Taggies--and she uses them to soothe herself to sleep. They are as essential to her well-being as coffee is to mine.). He then hops back in bed and hollers "I didn't take them" when a parental type goes upstairs to investigate. Ah, but they sit right there on his bookcase, in full view. Guilty as charged.

It gets worse. Tonight we had a sitter and X not only left his room, but he came downstairs. This is totally and completely unheard of. It means he's realized that he CAN LEAVE HIS ROOM AT NIGHT and that scares the crap out of me.

Our wise sitter took all his guys away (guys = his precious collection of stuffed animals). After the second noctural foray I had warned him that there would be dire consequences for not staying in his room. Tomorrow night, the strong arm of the Poppy Mom law will be lowered. Stay tuned.

House

So Poppy, how are things going with the new house? (you may or may not be asking). Here's the status report:

* I am knee deep in paint colors. I love and hate this part of things. I wish I had a little more time to focus on it, because I do actually enjoy it. It's especially nice to hit it out of the park right off the bat--we found the perfect pale blue for the master bedroom. Ethereal, soothing, sophisticated. I let the X-Man choose his own paint colors. If you guessed something with orange, you're a winner. I have been trying to work from the new line of Benjamin Moore colors--low-odor, all the colors coordinate with each other (the Affinity collection of Aura paints). And no, I don't get a kickback for that there product placement. Anyway, I showed X the fan deck and he chose the orangest orange on there and a medium blue. And he got it right the first time--they're great colors and great together. His inspiration (clipped from Metropolitain Home) is a Todd Oldham room with very bright colors, a funky lamp, and a painting that reads Hotties 125 (X is pre-literate). So a chair rail for him with orange on the bottom and blue up to the ceiling. Miss Z's room is the one I'm agonizing over. It's a fairly bright aqua right now. Part of me wants to do over and tone down. And the other part of me knows that things like this actually work out. I don't have some grand plan for her room--I am trying to avoid that pink & lavendar, cottage, princess, shabby chic look (no offense to anyone). I'd like to go more boho and funky for her.

The trickiest color so far is what to do all the hallways and extra spaces in. I'm going down today to look at a green-blue-grey we chose to see how that's coming.

And we're going to try a chocolate brown for the dining room, with a blue-teal for the living room. I'll keep you posted on that.

* Tile is starting to go in. Woohoo.

* Cabinets are going in. The pantry is ginormous--making up for the seven years I've spent in hobbit pantry hell here.

* Driveway is going in soon. The brick patio in back and railing are done. The exterior is painted.

* Hardwood floors are in.

Not really a witty and scintillating post, but figured I'd do the update for any interested parties.

I Don't Eat Animals (part--oh whatever)

Add Peeps to the list. Can you even imagine? My sister is probably sobbing at this--with either despair or delight (more Peeps for her). Yellow only please.

And add jelly beans to the list too--even though they don't look like any kind of animal, they disgust X.

Braveheart

Because we still have a few marbles to spare, the Mr. and I decided to take the kids to Disneyland Easter weekend. What actually transpired is that the Mr. had some business to do and could meet us down there. That meant that I needed to get myself and the two kids on an airplane and to the O.C. by myself. So I girded my loins (with goldfish crackers and stickers) and took the plunge. And you know what? It was totally fine.

Anyone looking at me in the airport and on the plane with X and Miss Z probably thought "what a cute couple of kids. What a together mom." I'm not even joking (as X-Man says). Is there something easier about two kids vs. one? Am I jinxing myself to a fresh new hell by writing that? There were a few moments on the plane of "that's stupid" (X's favorite new way to get under my skin) but that was easily outweighed by his total capability going through security, Miss Z's cuteness and well-timed nap during the flight, and the actual helpfulness of X.

And Disneyland itself? We had a blast. Our expectations were very low, which helps (I'm becoming convinced that actual fun with children in tow really is about expectation management). The boys got to go on a few key rides: Pirates, Haunted Mansion, the teacups. We all went on Small World--it was priceless to watch Miss Z--who, my sister pointed out, looks exactly like a Small World doll--clapping in time to the music and pointing at all the fake animals. And on a side note, I totally dig the Small World aesthetic--my 70's childhood showing. Disneyland also has their dude ranch stocked with the nicest, cutest and smallest goats ever (of course, Disney goats)--and the kids loved that. There was a fantastic interlude with a fiddle playing cast member in Frontierland who geared his whole spiel to Miss Z--while she stood in the middle of the crowd clapping, dancing and demanding "mo." And back at the hotel on Friday night, we had some real sibling love going on when we tried to bed the kids down in the same room--the Mr. and I overheard X trying to sing Miss Z to sleep. And when I went in to check on them I found them both in the crib, Miss Z climbing on top of her bro-bro while he giggled. As we dragged him to the other room he kept saying "I don't want to be separated from Sissy!" Pretty damn heartwarming.

Holy Week

As you may or may not know (depending on how religiously you follow my life here or IRL), last fall I started attending church with the kids. Miss Z actually stays in the church nursery where, big surprise, she's the belle of the ball and a clear favorite of one of the paid caregivers (who went so far as to say she would name a daughter Miss Z if she had one). I digress. The primary reason we started going to church is that The Mr. works almost every Sunday. I got tired of looking out the window at families out having fun together doing family things. Self-pity is never a pretty thing. Church seemed like a good solution--a place to go, purpose and design to the day.

Of course that wasn't the only reason. I also felt ready for religion, somehow. I was raised in a Baptist family by parents who had stopped attending church before I was born. My mother says she "feels closer to God in my garden" than at church. And there's a distinct possibility that my father turned into a non-believer somewhere along the way. So the spiritual guideposts of my childhood were something like EST called Iamathon (ponder the solipsism of that for a moment) and transcendental meditation (or TM).

The Mr., on the other hand, got enough religion for himself, me and a few friends--chapel at religious school daily, and a Catholic mass or two on Sundays.

So with almost zero church-going experience, I gave the whole thing a try in September and was really pleasantly surprised at how great it is. I think we got very lucky by choosing the closest Episcopalian church--it turned out to be a fantastic place. The rector is great--wonderful sermons. His wife leads the children's liturgy--which the X-Man really enjoys. The community is welcoming, not overbearing, but filled with really nice people. It just feels right.

Now, coming into this with almost no background, I'm not always sure what I'm doing. I figure these are muscles that haven't been worked before. In some spots I go through the motions and figure it will all sort itself out. And of course, X being who he is, he has lots of questions. I don't think I always do a good job answering them, but I give it the old college try. The evidence of his religious experience can be pretty interesting. I give you the following:

Scene--the bathtub, both kids getting bathed by ME (a job I find incredibly tedious and off-load onto The Mr. whenever I can).

Miss Z (with a pitcher of bath water): bwahahahaha (crazy new laugh she's developed) and a little splashy splashy.

X-Man: (filling an empty shampoo bottle and pouring it into Miss Z's pitcher) The body of mice, the blood of mice.

N.B.--Don't Salute My Meatball

Sunday night is always spaghetti & meatballs chez Poppy. Tonight I had no meatballs. As I was plating the food (and X was waiting to "table" it--a job he relishes) he looked sadly at his plate of pasta & sauce and asked "isn't there any meat?"
Poppy: Well, I have these fearless franks in here--you can have one of those.
X-Man: Yes please.
Poppy: (wrestling with the wrapper) Okay Mr. Hot Dog, let's get you out of there.
X-Man: Mom, don't call it Mr. Hot Dog. I can't eat things that are called Mister.

Flashback

Thursday is GrandmaGrandpa Day at our house. My folks come to visit and play with the kids. Today I've got Miss Z dressed up especially for Grandma--she's wearing a dress that I wore at her age. It's a pale aqua Polly Flinders with the smocking on the front. It was a big deal to my Mom--I think she saved up for it and dressed me in it at every opportunity. I've got a photo of me in it sitting here on my desk. If I were the kind of person who knew anything about computers (see previous post) I would add that photo >HERE< so you could see. But I'm not that kind of person. I am capable enough, however, to do this:




Trust me, I was cute. But Miss Z--way cuter.

Just So You Know

There are a few things I'm pretty good at: cooking, knitting, theme parties, Cajun/Zydeco dancing (I am, in fact, a kick ass Cajun/Zydeco dancer), reading aloud.

There are a lot of things I'm not good at at all. Among them: sewing, gardening, packaging items to mail (if this weren't true, I might try my hand at Ebay selling).

And at the tippy top of that bottom list should be: anything related to computers.

So the fact that I have a blog at all is sort of astonishing. What's not surprising is that I can't figure out how to do a lot yet. So whatever is lame here, attribute it to the fact that I grew up without a computer and haven't caught up yet.

Related to this: the Mr. has taken to doing Sudoku puzzles in the evenings. We have a long tradition of working crossword puzzles together (we're about a SF Chronicle Thursday over dinner out). So I thought maybe the Sudoku would be fun. The Mr. started to explain it to me. After the second time he mentioned "there's a series of numbers . . ." my brain completely glazed over. So add that to my "not so good at" list too.