Live from the Kitchen

So I got home from work Wednesday night and my children were sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me with love notes and the news of their day. I went to my room (which is off the kitchen) to change, and listened to their chatter and gossip. Then I heard Daija (the informant) tell Tyler that Halle wasnted to ask so and so out…

NO I DON’T!

In that obnoxious, snotty, you are SOOO STOOOOPID voice that apparently comes with pre-puberty. I sighed heavily, and waited for the “why do you have to be so RUUUUUUDE?” wail from Daija, followed by the “Why are you talking about my business” roar. I’m not sure why it didn’t come, but as I reached the kitchen to break up the fight I was sure was about to happen, Halle said,

I want HIM to ask ME out. 

I briefly considered using it as a launch point for a discussion about feminism and empowerment, and then decided… NOT.

So now that Halle has set her sights on one of Tyler’s (junior high) friends, I wonder what I was thinking all those years that I said I wanted a boy first, then a girl or two.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… be careful what you ask for. God has a sense of humor.

Roxie: 30 SECONDS FROM FREEDOM

Roxie mastered a new skill about two weeks ago.  Yesterday morning, right after she jumped out of the yard & before I took a jaunt through the neighborhood that resulted in me being 15 minutes late to work, I thought to myself,

I bet it doesn’t take her more than 30 seconds to get over that wall from the time she gets out the back door.

Sadly, I was right.  The good news? She’ll jump back in… and stay in.

Bike Riding…

So tonight at dinner we’re having some nice conversation.

Tyler: I wish we could go for a bike ride.

Halle: Where at?

Daija: Colorado! 

Tyler:  WHY in Colorado?

Daija: What?  I dunno… cuz it’s as big as our world… it’s medium-large…

God, I love these kids…

I swear it’s true…

So we were watching a netflix rental from the 70’s earlier this afternoon, called Free to Be You and Me. I hadn’t paid much attention to the cast, but early in the movie I recognized a face.

“Oh, my God! That’s Michael Jackson!”

My son looks at the TV and back at me, without any hesitation in his voice AT ALL,

“No, it’s not… Michael Jackson is White.”

Ironically, he was singing a duet with a female character about how it didn’t matter whether he was tall or she was pretty, neither of them would change when they grew up.

OPEN THE DOOR!

So we were up late Saturday night, my little Easter/Christmas Elf and I, assembling Easter baskets and watching The Five People You Meet in Heaven.  It was a warm weekend, but I refuse to turn on the air conditioning this early, so I popped the baskets into the fridge, intending to get up about half an hour earlier than either of the girls usually wake up to set them out and to go outside and, using the chalk stamper/stencil I got at Target, to stamp bunny feet going to and from our front door.

The girls woke up at 6:30. 

So I herded them into the tub before they could look any further than their rooms, pulled the chilled chocolate and jelly beans out of the fridge and set them out, and ran outside in my jammies to stamp the bunny foot prints. 

Dear Mr. Exterminator… (by Halle)

Dear Mr. Exterminator,

Please do not destroy me and my home.  If you don’t, I’ll continue to help you out with your bedbug problem.

I know I’m nasty, but that’s just the way I am… forever.

Sincerely,

Cockroach

Apparently, cockroaches eat bedbugs.  Who knew?  And Tyler shares with me that they can live without their heads for three weeks, go without food for a month, and hold their breath for 45 minutes.

Gotta love public education.

Twinkies, and other snack cakes

So you learn something new every day.

I have reached that point, 3/4ths of the way into the school year, that I am just tired of being hit up for money.

I’m tired of school pictures.

I’m tired of class pictures.

I’m tired of yearbooks (Christ, I was in high school before I had a yearbook.)

I’m tired of fundraisers.

I’m not interested in hitting up my friends and colleagues to buy shit that is substandard in quality and certain to break within weeks.

And thanks, but no, I’m not interested in fighting childhood obesty* and going door to door to asking for pledges for Tyler to participate in Jump for Heart.

I very crossly informed him the other morning, “My children are all healthy weights. Let the parents that send their kids to school with twinkies pay for childhood obesity.”

This dissolved Tyler into giggles.

“Mom, we’re not allowed to have that stuff at school.”

This is what the world has come to… junk food has actually been BANNED at my children’s elementary school.  No Little Debbie, no Doritos, no Fruit Roll-Ups, no Cracker Jacks, etc.

And I’m really OK with this, because the Safeway Delivery Man carries very little of that stuff through my front door anyway.  I send carrot sticks, pickles, cucumbers, avacado, sliced bell peppers, grapes, apple and orange wedges, pretzels, granola, etc.

But despite the fact that, when away from my children’s ever watching eyes, I am a junk food fiend, I’m never ceased to be surprised that I am clearly part of such a tiny population of parents who are conscientious about what their children eat.  I’m amazed that other parents are sending crap food to school in such quantity and with such regularity that it’s actually been banned in an elementary school handbook.

Tyler brought up Jump for Heart again.  I guess he thought that the dollar was some kind of admission fee and assumed I’d believed the same, and wanted to clarify with me that it was not for him to jump, to to help fight obesity.

I responded, with less ‘tude this time, that my children have healthy diets and that the parents who choose to feed their kids Twinkies and Doritos can pay to fight obesity… I already paid at the grocery store.

Again, my son almost fell over laughing.

My son tells me how funny I am, and I am compelled to ask what is so funny. My son tells me that I’m the only grown up who has ever said that word to him.  This is when I was learned, or should I say, had my memory refreshed, that the name of just about any snack cake has an alternate meaning for the ten year old boy. 

Granted, I remember weeners and ding dongs… but I never remembered the 10yo boy’s genitalia being referred to as a twinkie.

Live and learn, I guess.

*I realize that childhood obesity is a serious issue – no disrespect intended to anyone who may be battling weight issues, whether their own, or their children’s.

Butts, and other “big” conversations…

Daija was crawling around on the floor with her head down Thursday night, not looking where she was going.  After nearly tripping over her…

Me to her:     Be careful, Little Girl.

Her to me:     OK, Big Momma.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Friday morning I was trying to get dressed in something cute enough to have my passport picture taken in.  After unsuccessfully trying to get a pair of capri’s I bought last spring over my hips…

Me to Ro:     Babe, I’ve put on some weight.

Ro to me:     I could have told you that.

Me to Ro:     Well, I wish you had… I was awful surprised this morning when I tried to get dressed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Leaving the Aloha Festival this afternoon, and Halle caught a glimpse of her full profile in a car window.

MY BUTT IS BIG!!! 

My brain:  You’re singing to the choir, sister.

My mouth:  Your butt is beautiful.  Look, mine sticks out too.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ro to Daija:     Where did you to go today?

Daija to Ro:     We went to Cal-i-for-knee-uh, where all the people and the flowers are.

Mom:               No, baby girl… it was Hawaii.

Daija to Ro:     Oh, yeah.  It was Hawaii, Daddy. 

and skips out of the room singing…. Ahhhh-lohhhh-haa OY, Ahhhh-lohhhh-haa OY, Ahhhh-lohhhh-haa OY!

Menu Planning with Daija

Are you cooking chicken or meatballs?

Chicken.

Chocolate chip cookies goes with chicken.

Really?

Yes.

Huh. I was thinking that macaroni & cheese and salad goes with chicken.

Ohhhh, yes… macaroni cheese and salad goes with chicken… I was going to talk about that.

“Sniveling”

I was watching Bill Cosby As Himself last night… and while I used to laugh REALLY hard at the part about the children having brain damage, I don’t find that nearly so funny anymore.  Seeing as Tyler’s only answer for damn near everything I ask him is “idunno” it probably hits a little too close to home to be anything other than mildly amusing.  But the part about how Dad doesn’t know where anything is and he’s always asking, “Where’s your mother?” that had me laughing so hard, that I was shaking trying to hold it in because Ro, who is on Round 2 of the Sinus Infection from Hell, was asleep. When Bill started describing how his wife forced him out of bed one morning to cook breakfast (which reminded me of when I was getting ready for that Christmas party and he asked what the kids were going to eat) and Bill gave them chocolate cake (Ro has given Daija mini marshmallows for breakfast, because she asked for them). Alas, I shook him awake.

I found myself with my head down on the kitchen table, shaking with laughter and trying not to pee myself a little while ago.

Background:  I’ve been saying, “Quit that damn sniveling” an awful lot since I’ve been on vacation.

I instructed the younger girl-child to go wash her face (the kids had ice cream for dessert).

She inquired, “In Daddy’s bafroom or my bafroom?”

I responded, “Go to your bathroom.”

“Awwww!  I wanted to go in YOUR bafroom, Momma.  I don’t want to go to my bafroom.”

And she crosses her arms and walks petulantly towards her bathroom, as she repeats the following litany,

“Sniveling, sniveling… sniveling, sniveling, sniveling… sniveling… sniveling…”

she slays me…

 

OK, so Daija was sporting a fairly low maintenance hair style today… the front of her hair gathered into a ponytail on top, and the back gathered into a ponytail in back.  Several dress up changes had done some damage to the top ponytail, so after I pulled her pajamas on, I set out to redo the top ponytail.  As I’m trying to gather her hair all up on top of her head, she looks at me with a frown and says,

 

“Why you doing my hair like a giraffe?”

Live, from the kitchen…

Current mood: annoyed 

I’m in the kitchen multitasking… cooking dinner and on the phone with reservations to change Ro’s itinerary and check on the company’s policy on emergency travel for employees.  I’m holding patiently while Ms. Fabulous Reservations Agent it searching the policy (made me feel less dumb, I couldn’t find it either). 

 

Daddy’s Girl appears.

 

Momma, I am so tired of Princess.

 

Really, Daddy’s Girl?

Yes.  I am JUST SO TIRED of Princess.

Why are you tired of your sister?

Because I told her two times to clean up the poop.

Daddy’s Girl… what poop?

THE POOP.

Daddy’s Girl, where is the poop?

In you room.

Daddy’s Girl, can you show momma the poop?

O-tay…

Damn dog.  Anyone want a Shih Tzu?  Ms. Fab Res Agent declined as politely and professionally as one can while choking on laughter.

Daija and Halle, Live from the back seat…

I’m editing this post because the back seat entertainment really started this morning. 

the trailer

I have several books that I had as a child, that I’ve had so long I don’t know quite how I got them, but whenever that was, they were already old.  I’ve been trying to get Tyler to move away from paperbacks he’s read over and over and trying a couple of these classics.  Monday night, I found success and he chose Black Beauty for his nightly read & respond.  Daija, not to be outdone, chose Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.  I put Huck away, but I keep finding him all over the house.  Daija gets him out, I put him back, Daija gets him out, I put him back… not so much because it’s inappropriate literature for a child of three years, nine months… but because Huck is 58 years old.  OK, so not the story itself, but this book, is 58 years old.

the opening act

This morning we leave for preschool, and Daija smuggles Huck out to the car.  I reminder her that the contraband (she always has contraband) must be left in the car when we get to the preschool.  She agrees (she always does) and announces she is going to read to me.  I buckle her into her booster seat, she opens the book in her lap, and we start our commute.

I don’t remember Mark Twain writing much about an octopus… but Daija is aware that “O” stands for OCTOPUS, therefore, if there is an “O” in the book, the book is about an OCTOPUS.

Daija likes the story, and expresses her desire to take the book into the preschool.  I express my desire the book stay in the car.  She screams NO.  We have a brief discussion about how Momma’s are to be spoken to.  She says, in a more favorable tone of voice, that she doesn’t want to leave the book in the car.  I explain that I do not want the book to get broken or lost.  Daija responds, in her “Silly Rabbit” voice, that the book will not get lost.  I restate that the book must stay in the car. 

Momma

she says as she lays the book in the center seat.

Look at this book.  Someone will take it out of our car.

I frantically yank the plastic off my bottle of starbucks and pray the caffeine kicks in quickly enough to make a strong rebuttal that no one will break into our car to steal a 58 year old copy of huckleberry finn… and wonder how much it’s going to cost me to put Daija through law school.

the final act

I wound up leaving work early because Tyler was in the nurse’s office twice complaining of head and stomach aches.  We went home, where I was almost immediately hit with an extended family crisis, then went and picked up Halle & Jelani from the community center and Daija from daycare. 

On the way to daycare, Halle and Jelani are chatting in the back seat.  I’m preoccupied with the family issue so I didn’t catch the whole conversation, especially since Jelani tends to mutter.  But here are the snippets I did catch out of Halle’s mouth…

Real mermaids don’t have those things up here.  But mermaids are real.

I think by up here, she was referencing the bikini top or seashells often depicted on mermaids’ breasts.  I leave that alone, and interject that no one has ever been able to take a picture of a mermaid to prove they exist.

That’s because we live in a DESERT.

I don’t hear much because I’m choking back laughter.  When I manage to tune in again, Halle seems to be theorizing that God created mermaids.

[static, static, static]

God… [pause] Who VOTED for God? I mean, did somebody vote for him, or did he just get it because he was the first one?

[static, static, static]

I wish I knew what was in the clouds.

[static, static, static]

Jesus is like… Jesus is just like awesome.

[static, static, static]

How am I supposed to drive in these circumstances?  And poor Jelani, having to hold the other end of that conversation!

The Next Irma Bombeck…

In a fit of frustration about two weeks ago, I decided to price some cleaning services. Needless to say I got interrupted too many times to get very far in making calls and wound up just doing a crisis clean/stash & dash my damn self.

But I wanted to share one email inquiry:

In a message dated 1/13/2006 2:09:45 P.M. US Mountain Standard Time, curlykidz writes:

I’d like to get an estimate for weekly or bi-weekly general cleaning in the area of {my location}. My home is {the size of my home}. As far as the condition, well… it’s a little cluttered, and a little grubby, but I wouldn’t qualify for FEMA assistance. My friends are still happy to eat here and show no hesitation to use the bathrooms, which I consider a good sign. I work full time and my husband is contracting out of state… and we have two school age children and a very demanding preschooler. Unless the day grows more hours, I need outside help for bathrooms, dusting, and the floors. My family is fond of clean socks and drawers and I’m fond of not breaking my neck tripping over legos and barbies… unfortunately that doesn’t leave a whole lot of time left for sweeping and mopping, which needs to be done throughout the majority of the house. I don’t have any laid carpeting, three of the bedrooms and the living room have 5×7 to 8×10 area rugs. Oh, and I can’t forget wiping down the white kitchen cabinets that I had to have. So that my kitchen would look bright and airy. I forgot the first rule of parenting, which is never, ever, ever… get anything in white. Including kitchen cabinets.

The response:

Hi Cyndi:

Thank you for inquiring about our services. I am sorry, but while we do clean in the Phoenix area, we just don’t go out as far as {your location}. Our office is at {their location}.

I have to say I certainly did enjoy reading your email. You should try to be the next Erma Bombeck. It was quite entertaining. Good luck in your search!

Not exactly what I was looking for… but flattering…

originally posted on January 31, 2006 at The Next Irma Bombeck… – CURLYGURL’s MySpace Blog.

Cool! The whole crew’s gonna be at the sock hop!

Just let the title marinate for a little while. It’s not just me that thinks there’s something fundamentally hysterical about any sentence that contains both the term ‘crew’ and the phrase ’sock hop’, is it?

Friday after I picked the kids up from the community center, Tyler asked if Jelani would be going to the sock hop at their school that night. The subject line was his response when I answered yes.

I managed not to laugh, and just gave a little hiccup as I inquired, “You have a crew?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tyler responds.

“Who all is in this crew?” I ask, as if I don’t already know the answer.

“Me, Cameron, Elijah, and Jelani,” Tyler informs me.

If you follow our blog on myspace, you probably remember Cameron and Elijah from my posts on Tyler’s stint as a small business owner and attempt at petty forgery. They’re getting quite a little reputation, the three of them. The last time the staff at the community center shared a concern with me, the story began like this… “Tyler and his posse were by the bingo machine…”

You don’t mess with the bingo machine at a community center that has a thriving senior group whose primary social entertainment consists of B-I-N-G-O. You especially do not allow oragami claws to enter any part of the machine.

I finally got a chance to meet Cameron’s mom at the sock hop, and she says she hears Tyler’s name just as often as I hear Cameron’s. I think it’s a tossup as to who gets who in trouble. I told her about the little conversation Tyler and I had about their little crew, she laughed and called them the Fab Four. In the Cha Cha Slide, she’s the lady in the denim outfit and baseball cap; I think Elijah’s mom is the lady wearing gray slacks and a burgandy top.

Halle, upon hearing Tyler list out his crew, decided she has one as well. You can probably just dub Halle, Chaz, and Kennedy ‘The Pink Ladies’ and be done with it. I wish I’d gotten more pictures of her, but in case you couldn’t tell, she wasn’t real interested in the camera.

Daija had a great time at the dance… she jumped into the picture Jelani wanted me to take of his face painting, and then grabbed his hands and started dancing. I think they may well have been the only boy/girl couple at the dance!!! But that’s my Daija, she knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to take matters into her own hands.

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