Dearest Gwennie-ca,
First of all, mommy loves you.
BUT... could you please stop growing out of your clothes faster than I can move them through the laundry? The growing pile of carefully picked out clothing, which you've grown out of before you could wear them, is depressing me. The eensy pile of clothing which does fit you, depresses me. And frankly, its sucking the joy out of clothes shopping for you. Which also depresses me, because clothes shopping for you and your sisters is usually something I enjoy.
Allow me to tell you a quick story:
Once upon a time, there was a Greek god named Hercules who traveled the world on missions and stuff. One day he came across a man who was terrorizing travelers by tricking them into lying down on a mattress and cutting off the parts of their legs that hung over the side. Hercules found out about it and took care of that nut job right quick.
Not saying I'm going to do that so you still fit in your clothes, cuz that's just nutso. And also child abuse.
What I am saying is that, theoretically, there are ways to ensure you don't grow out of your clothes so quickly.
So anyways, mommy loves you. Even though you're growing way too frikkin fast.
Always,
Your mom
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
In Defense of the Tiger Mom
****Though I don't discuss specifics of the book, I do discuss my conclusion to Amy Chua's conclusion in her memoir. So, if you don't want a spoiler of any kind then you probably shouldn't read this post.*****
There's been a lot of buzz surrounding Amy Chua's memoir, The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. Most of it is not positive. I would even dare say contemptuous. Amy Chua has now become the new face of the Mom- -That-Everyone-Loves-To-Hate.
I read her "essay", Why Chinese Mothers are Superior in the Wall Street Journal before her book was released. And I have to admit that my first reaction was, OMG. Doesn't this woman realize that this kind of parenting is precisely why Asian American girls have such a high rate of suicide? Doesn't she know that, while Western parents are too concerned with self-esteem, the incredibly high demand for nothing less than an A is one reason why Asian teenagers kill themselves? Because they feel they have shamed their family with their sub-standard academic performance by getting only a 'B'? And then I put it out of my mind cuz I have my own kids to take care of. By the way, apparently she does realize this, as it is briefly mentioned in the first few chapters of her book.
But then the firestorm began, and I was interested. Readers called her abusive and accused her of having Borderline Personality Disorder (which may or may not be true, but I don't really think its relevant). And then Amy Chua began making the rounds to promote her book, which only enticed her critics to now accuse her of "back peddling" when she pointed out that her book was never meant to be a parenting how-to guide. It's a memoir- her experience with this particular style of parenting which she threw herself into head first thinking it was in the best interests of her children. I became even more compelled to read it. Not necessarily because it's so controversial, but because I began to see that maybe there was something in this book that the noise makers were failing to see, and I had to know what that was.
So I bought the book, I'm reading the book (60 pages from the end). And this is the conclusion I have come to.
First of all, the "essay" posted by the WSJ is not really an essay. It is a compilation of excerpts taken from different parts of Chua's book and then pasted together to look like an essay. It's an excerpt. Period.
Second, the title "Why Chinese Mothers are Superior" is misleading. Sensationalist? You bet'cha! But of course, that's probably how they got so many sucked into reading it and fueling the controversy. If it were title something more appropriate like, How a Tiger Mom Learned to Bend Before Her Kids Broke or How a 13 year old Girl Brought a Tiger Mom To Her Knees, most people probably wouldn't have been as interested. But this whole my-tiger-mom's-better-than-yours taunt just sounds more interesting. Besides, who can resist shouting back, "nu-uh!"
I think it's necessary to point out that I am not a Tiger Mom, although I could relate to Chua's battles with her youngest daughter from the very beginning. My kids are by no means over-scheduled. They don't play a musical instrument as of yet and our schedule is not jam packed with after-school activities. In fact, they are probably the most under-scheduled kids I know. I do this for two reasons.
I am cursed (or to some, blessed) with an incredibly meandering mind. It rarely wanders when and where I need it to. I'm so busy managing and redirecting what goes on in my head that most days I feel like an air traffic controller for my thoughts and its exhausting. This also tends to make me flakey and forgetful, even when I write things down in several different places and put it on my phone calendar with an email reminder. Therefore, I've learned to be very careful about unnecessary commitments for all of us. Because let's face it, the girls are not going to drive themselves to their lessons or remember the necessary equipment all on their own. That's another job that, right now, I just don't want to take on. The extra curricular activities they do participate in are taken once a week right after school at their school. So all I have to remember is what day I'm picking them up later than usual. Easy peasy.
The other reason I avoid over-scheduling them is simply because I don't want them to be so used to having their time filled with activities that they don't know what to do with themselves when they don't have any place they need to be. Of course, I still occasionally hear the "mom, I'm bored" complaint. And of course my reply is always, "well, you have books to read, toys to play, roller skates to skate with and a playground in the back yard. I'm sure you can find something you want to do." And then they disappear to find their own way out of their boredom. But this is just me. If I weren't so exhausted just keeping up with their care and feeding and keeping track of homework I might be more inclined to sign them up for something more regular but for now, this works for us.
I think Chua has touched a nerve because as parents, most of us are extremely sensitive to our perceived failures as parents. Hell, even if we haven't failed (yet), there it is looming over us- the fear that we'll cause irreparable damage to our kids which they will never get over without spending thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours talking to a shrink about how they're all fucked up because their parents were too strict/not strict enough, did/didn't breastfeed, did/didn't make us play a musical instrument or did/didn't let them quit little league when they didn't want to play anymore.
When someone comes out and says that they have The Answers to raising academically successful kids, we're sucked in. When we realize how extreme The Answers are, we're repelled. But then also a little part of us may wonder, but what-if she's right? This is what seems to be happening over Chua's book.
But I have to say that, as I read the book, I don't get the impression Chua is trying to say that her way is better than everyone else's at all. What she does is say how she approached parenting her children and why. Was she hard core, balls to the wall intense in how she went about it. Yes. Because she believed this to be the best way for her and her family. So, yeah. She comes off as cocky and self-assured for most of the book. Don't we all do that when we start out with anything? And did she stick to her guns to impose this philosophy on her daughters, even when it seemed counter productive? Yep. But then towards the end of the book she reveals that *gasp* she realized that perhaps her rigid Tiger Mom method isn't the best method for her children after all. And she begins to bend. But don't tell that to the critics who probably didn't even read past the first chapter. And that's if they even got past the WSJ article and decided to read the book at all.
One thing Chua does that makes it very easy for critics to completely ignore her conclusion is that her book is written chronologically, and not from an omniscient point of view. The reader doesn't know that Chua has had a change of heart until the event where her "ah-ha! moment" occurs. Which doesn't happen until the last half of the book. So if you're turned off by her strategy in the beginning and quit reading then you'll never discover Chua's realization that her Tiger Mom ways aren't quite working with her second daughter, and that someone (namely, Chua) needed to give.
Personally, I admire Chua's ability to claw down the curtain of pretense and let the world see her at even her (admittedly) ugliest moments. I actually enjoy reading this book and think it's a very well done memoir. If you've considered reading it, I think you should. I found the book to a very good testament to how different children respond to different methods. Being the Tiger Mother seemed to work for her eldest daughter. Not so much the youngest, who inspired the memoir.
At the very least you'll be entertained and reassured that it's okay to not be afraid to be hated by your children when you're motivated by their best interests. But perhaps, that's just me, too.
There's been a lot of buzz surrounding Amy Chua's memoir, The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. Most of it is not positive. I would even dare say contemptuous. Amy Chua has now become the new face of the Mom- -That-Everyone-Loves-To-Hate.
I read her "essay", Why Chinese Mothers are Superior in the Wall Street Journal before her book was released. And I have to admit that my first reaction was, OMG. Doesn't this woman realize that this kind of parenting is precisely why Asian American girls have such a high rate of suicide? Doesn't she know that, while Western parents are too concerned with self-esteem, the incredibly high demand for nothing less than an A is one reason why Asian teenagers kill themselves? Because they feel they have shamed their family with their sub-standard academic performance by getting only a 'B'? And then I put it out of my mind cuz I have my own kids to take care of. By the way, apparently she does realize this, as it is briefly mentioned in the first few chapters of her book.
But then the firestorm began, and I was interested. Readers called her abusive and accused her of having Borderline Personality Disorder (which may or may not be true, but I don't really think its relevant). And then Amy Chua began making the rounds to promote her book, which only enticed her critics to now accuse her of "back peddling" when she pointed out that her book was never meant to be a parenting how-to guide. It's a memoir- her experience with this particular style of parenting which she threw herself into head first thinking it was in the best interests of her children. I became even more compelled to read it. Not necessarily because it's so controversial, but because I began to see that maybe there was something in this book that the noise makers were failing to see, and I had to know what that was.
So I bought the book, I'm reading the book (60 pages from the end). And this is the conclusion I have come to.
First of all, the "essay" posted by the WSJ is not really an essay. It is a compilation of excerpts taken from different parts of Chua's book and then pasted together to look like an essay. It's an excerpt. Period.
Second, the title "Why Chinese Mothers are Superior" is misleading. Sensationalist? You bet'cha! But of course, that's probably how they got so many sucked into reading it and fueling the controversy. If it were title something more appropriate like, How a Tiger Mom Learned to Bend Before Her Kids Broke or How a 13 year old Girl Brought a Tiger Mom To Her Knees, most people probably wouldn't have been as interested. But this whole my-tiger-mom's-better-than-yours taunt just sounds more interesting. Besides, who can resist shouting back, "nu-uh!"
I think it's necessary to point out that I am not a Tiger Mom, although I could relate to Chua's battles with her youngest daughter from the very beginning. My kids are by no means over-scheduled. They don't play a musical instrument as of yet and our schedule is not jam packed with after-school activities. In fact, they are probably the most under-scheduled kids I know. I do this for two reasons.
I am cursed (or to some, blessed) with an incredibly meandering mind. It rarely wanders when and where I need it to. I'm so busy managing and redirecting what goes on in my head that most days I feel like an air traffic controller for my thoughts and its exhausting. This also tends to make me flakey and forgetful, even when I write things down in several different places and put it on my phone calendar with an email reminder. Therefore, I've learned to be very careful about unnecessary commitments for all of us. Because let's face it, the girls are not going to drive themselves to their lessons or remember the necessary equipment all on their own. That's another job that, right now, I just don't want to take on. The extra curricular activities they do participate in are taken once a week right after school at their school. So all I have to remember is what day I'm picking them up later than usual. Easy peasy.
The other reason I avoid over-scheduling them is simply because I don't want them to be so used to having their time filled with activities that they don't know what to do with themselves when they don't have any place they need to be. Of course, I still occasionally hear the "mom, I'm bored" complaint. And of course my reply is always, "well, you have books to read, toys to play, roller skates to skate with and a playground in the back yard. I'm sure you can find something you want to do." And then they disappear to find their own way out of their boredom. But this is just me. If I weren't so exhausted just keeping up with their care and feeding and keeping track of homework I might be more inclined to sign them up for something more regular but for now, this works for us.
I think Chua has touched a nerve because as parents, most of us are extremely sensitive to our perceived failures as parents. Hell, even if we haven't failed (yet), there it is looming over us- the fear that we'll cause irreparable damage to our kids which they will never get over without spending thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours talking to a shrink about how they're all fucked up because their parents were too strict/not strict enough, did/didn't breastfeed, did/didn't make us play a musical instrument or did/didn't let them quit little league when they didn't want to play anymore.
When someone comes out and says that they have The Answers to raising academically successful kids, we're sucked in. When we realize how extreme The Answers are, we're repelled. But then also a little part of us may wonder, but what-if she's right? This is what seems to be happening over Chua's book.
But I have to say that, as I read the book, I don't get the impression Chua is trying to say that her way is better than everyone else's at all. What she does is say how she approached parenting her children and why. Was she hard core, balls to the wall intense in how she went about it. Yes. Because she believed this to be the best way for her and her family. So, yeah. She comes off as cocky and self-assured for most of the book. Don't we all do that when we start out with anything? And did she stick to her guns to impose this philosophy on her daughters, even when it seemed counter productive? Yep. But then towards the end of the book she reveals that *gasp* she realized that perhaps her rigid Tiger Mom method isn't the best method for her children after all. And she begins to bend. But don't tell that to the critics who probably didn't even read past the first chapter. And that's if they even got past the WSJ article and decided to read the book at all.
One thing Chua does that makes it very easy for critics to completely ignore her conclusion is that her book is written chronologically, and not from an omniscient point of view. The reader doesn't know that Chua has had a change of heart until the event where her "ah-ha! moment" occurs. Which doesn't happen until the last half of the book. So if you're turned off by her strategy in the beginning and quit reading then you'll never discover Chua's realization that her Tiger Mom ways aren't quite working with her second daughter, and that someone (namely, Chua) needed to give.
Personally, I admire Chua's ability to claw down the curtain of pretense and let the world see her at even her (admittedly) ugliest moments. I actually enjoy reading this book and think it's a very well done memoir. If you've considered reading it, I think you should. I found the book to a very good testament to how different children respond to different methods. Being the Tiger Mother seemed to work for her eldest daughter. Not so much the youngest, who inspired the memoir.
At the very least you'll be entertained and reassured that it's okay to not be afraid to be hated by your children when you're motivated by their best interests. But perhaps, that's just me, too.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
YOU get a friend, YOU get a friend,
"e-v'ry-body. Gets. A. Frieeeeeend!" I sang from the laundry room in my best imitation of Oprah. Sofia came running over.
"Ooooh, mama, can I clip some socks, too?" she asked, matching my excitement.
"Sure, baby. Grab a clip and jump in." I said, passing her a pair of socks and a sock clip.
I explained to her that I was trying to match the socks on their way into the dryer so that could have a friend with them and not be lonely.
"So we have to find them a friend?" she asked. I continued matching and clipping socks before tossing them into the dryer.
"Yup." I said. "But they have to be the same."
Sofia grabbed a clip between her skinny little fingers and exercised her super-girl strength to pry the edges open and over the cuff of a pair of socks. I had to help her out to get it the rest of the way, and then on we went, matching the remaining socks in the washer.
Amazingly, this scene is not the fictional creation of my deepest domestic-related fantasies. It happened. For real's. Tonight. It turns out that, much like adults, a shiny new "gadget" gets my kids excited about helping out with the most mundane tasks. Even sorting socks.
Let me explain.
Yeah, yeah, I know. This seems a bit extreme to make sure I don't have a bunch of unmatched socks sitting around, waiting for their perfect mate to come along so they can be worn. I am well aware of this. Nevertheless, it makes me happy to have them. Even happier, still, that my daughter would be as excited as I am about the prospect of perfectly matched socks the next time she needs a pair. I'm sure this giddiness is only temporary but that's okay. I can use them for clothes pins the next time I need to hang the cloth diapers out in the sun.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Scrooge, Interrupted
I'm not nearly as crotchety as Scrooge, yet every holiday season I struggle with the meaning of Christmas and how it manifests in my holiday celebrations. Until tonight I never had a good answer for myself on combating the gross commercialization that has sucked real meaning from the season. I have become an emotional Scrooge, bah-humbugging my way to the end of the year as I make myself crazy figuring out how much money to spend on whom, and for what.
Then there's the matter of trying to raise kids who realize that Christmas should not be about getting gifts, or even giving gifts to our loved ones (stay with me). It shouldn't be about gifts at all. But again, I've been at a total loss on what should fill that void, and how to do it. And then tonight I had a revelation of sorts.
Christmas is, ultimately, about LOVE.
It is the celebration of Jesus's birth- but to what end was he born? Jesus didn't walk around handing out the first century equivalent of ipods and XBOX 360 games. He walked among us to help us, to show God's love for us... he was born so that he could give his life for our eternal salvation whether we want it or not. Therefore, his life is about God's love.
We're living in a time when the economy is going down the toilet, when so many willing to work must do without it because the jobs simply are not there; this is a time when banks and big businesses have made incredibly reckless decisions and yet received bailouts on the tax payers dollar to continue business as usual.
Meanwhile, unemployment benefits are expiring leaving millions of people in our country even more desperate to find ways to buy food for their families, and pay for basic utilities like water and electricity... for many of them, the hyper-commercialized Christmas season may be an even more depressing time because they simply cannot give even when they want to. Just day to day living is sucking up every bit of income they've got. When necessities are hard to come by, something has got to give. And I get that. I totally do. And it breaks my heart that when many get the chance to receive something- anything, for Christmas, they'll ask for things most of us take for granted- toiletries, sweatshirts, blankets, pillowcases, socks, food...
We live in a time when our legislators are clearly uninterested in helping the American people ease their burdens even just a little bit, and billions of our tax dollars are going to fund causes overseas. In light of this the meaning of Christmas (to me) became undeniably clear.
LOVE.
We can only help ourselves so much, our government will help us hardly at all. But we are not hopeless. No one is hopeless. Because despite these uncomfortable facts, it is more important then ever that we come together and help each other. Jesus came to show God's love for us, and in turn, we should use this time to celebrate his birth by taking care of each other. Our loved ones already know we love them, and it's great to show them even more during the holidays with gift cards and goodies. But what about those who struggle to keep warm? Jesus showed kindness to strangers... that was sort of his MO. And I think it should be ours, too.
As far as raising ungrateful, materialistic punks, I realize I also had that all wrong, too. I shouldn't strive to make them grateful by depriving them of the luxuries they want, or harping on them about being grateful for the things they already have. Likely, my best chance at raising grateful children would be by teaching them the joy of helping others who need it. Emotionally, physically, materially. I can teach them to be grateful by teaching them to spread the love.
My renewed philosophy on the holidays, then, boils down to this-
Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. Hebrews 13:2
Love is the reason for the season. We don't have to have Scrooge's millions of dollars to make a difference, either. We just have to harness the power of One- one person, reaching out to fill another's need in love. This is the only way I can think of to truly honor the birth of Christ.
Happy Holidays, everyone!
Then there's the matter of trying to raise kids who realize that Christmas should not be about getting gifts, or even giving gifts to our loved ones (stay with me). It shouldn't be about gifts at all. But again, I've been at a total loss on what should fill that void, and how to do it. And then tonight I had a revelation of sorts.
Christmas is, ultimately, about LOVE.
It is the celebration of Jesus's birth- but to what end was he born? Jesus didn't walk around handing out the first century equivalent of ipods and XBOX 360 games. He walked among us to help us, to show God's love for us... he was born so that he could give his life for our eternal salvation whether we want it or not. Therefore, his life is about God's love.
We're living in a time when the economy is going down the toilet, when so many willing to work must do without it because the jobs simply are not there; this is a time when banks and big businesses have made incredibly reckless decisions and yet received bailouts on the tax payers dollar to continue business as usual.
Meanwhile, unemployment benefits are expiring leaving millions of people in our country even more desperate to find ways to buy food for their families, and pay for basic utilities like water and electricity... for many of them, the hyper-commercialized Christmas season may be an even more depressing time because they simply cannot give even when they want to. Just day to day living is sucking up every bit of income they've got. When necessities are hard to come by, something has got to give. And I get that. I totally do. And it breaks my heart that when many get the chance to receive something- anything, for Christmas, they'll ask for things most of us take for granted- toiletries, sweatshirts, blankets, pillowcases, socks, food...
We live in a time when our legislators are clearly uninterested in helping the American people ease their burdens even just a little bit, and billions of our tax dollars are going to fund causes overseas. In light of this the meaning of Christmas (to me) became undeniably clear.
LOVE.
We can only help ourselves so much, our government will help us hardly at all. But we are not hopeless. No one is hopeless. Because despite these uncomfortable facts, it is more important then ever that we come together and help each other. Jesus came to show God's love for us, and in turn, we should use this time to celebrate his birth by taking care of each other. Our loved ones already know we love them, and it's great to show them even more during the holidays with gift cards and goodies. But what about those who struggle to keep warm? Jesus showed kindness to strangers... that was sort of his MO. And I think it should be ours, too.
As far as raising ungrateful, materialistic punks, I realize I also had that all wrong, too. I shouldn't strive to make them grateful by depriving them of the luxuries they want, or harping on them about being grateful for the things they already have. Likely, my best chance at raising grateful children would be by teaching them the joy of helping others who need it. Emotionally, physically, materially. I can teach them to be grateful by teaching them to spread the love.
My renewed philosophy on the holidays, then, boils down to this-
Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. Hebrews 13:2
Love is the reason for the season. We don't have to have Scrooge's millions of dollars to make a difference, either. We just have to harness the power of One- one person, reaching out to fill another's need in love. This is the only way I can think of to truly honor the birth of Christ.
Happy Holidays, everyone!
Santa's Going Green
I was chatting with Santa the other day and he was telling me about his renewed commitment to reduce environmental waste. Besides, with the economy being crap these days, wrapping paper seems like such a waste of resources.
"Ach, wrapping paper!" He said ruefully. "I hate that stuff anyways! My elves take so much time and care to wrap each gift and the kids rip it to shreds within seconds and the paper ends up in the trash! Noone ever remembers how elegantly a gift is wrapped, anyways."
I know what he means. I hate wrapping gifts, too. And then there's all that extra trash to contend with.
"So, what are you going to do instead?" I asked.
"Furoshiki." he said. I thought he'd sneezed.
"Bless you?"
"No, no, furoshiki. That's my solution this year. Replace wrapping paper with fabric. I've even hired a consultant to train the elves on the different ways toys can be wrapped using furoshiki. Google it."
So I did. And you know what? Santa is fucking BRILLIANT! Here's a little video to give you some idea on ways to do this:
Besides wrapping, I've been thinking of all the ways a furoshiki cloth can be used once the gift getting is all said and done. Here's what I've come up with so far:
* A tote bag
* Toy shopping bag
* Small apron
* Shawl
* Cloth napkins or table cloths for playtime
* Doll blankets
What do you think? Will Santa be dropping off paper wrapped gifts this year or is he going green at your house, too?
"Ach, wrapping paper!" He said ruefully. "I hate that stuff anyways! My elves take so much time and care to wrap each gift and the kids rip it to shreds within seconds and the paper ends up in the trash! Noone ever remembers how elegantly a gift is wrapped, anyways."
I know what he means. I hate wrapping gifts, too. And then there's all that extra trash to contend with.
"So, what are you going to do instead?" I asked.
"Furoshiki." he said. I thought he'd sneezed.
"Bless you?"
"No, no, furoshiki. That's my solution this year. Replace wrapping paper with fabric. I've even hired a consultant to train the elves on the different ways toys can be wrapped using furoshiki. Google it."
So I did. And you know what? Santa is fucking BRILLIANT! Here's a little video to give you some idea on ways to do this:
Besides wrapping, I've been thinking of all the ways a furoshiki cloth can be used once the gift getting is all said and done. Here's what I've come up with so far:
* A tote bag
* Toy shopping bag
* Small apron
* Shawl
* Cloth napkins or table cloths for playtime
* Doll blankets
What do you think? Will Santa be dropping off paper wrapped gifts this year or is he going green at your house, too?
Saturday, November 6, 2010
These days will fly by
I bought perfume today- Love by Nina (Ricci) limited edition. I haven't worn, much less bought perfume in over 6 years so this is a big deal for me. And like everything else I try, the girls are completely taken with the novelty of spray that makes you smell pretty. I don't think the cute little apple shaped bottle it comes in makes it any less enticing.
After their bath tonight they wanted a spritz. Because I have a short memory and am prone to lapses of judgement that end up in DOH! moments, I said sure. And gave them each a spritz. I mistakenly thought "a little dab'll do" them and their need to smell lovely would be sated. Riiiiiight. D'OH!
Twenty minutes later I was instantly overpowered by the now familiar fruity aroma of my newly purchased eau de toilet. As you know, even the most pleasant of scents can become an assault on your senses in excess. I'm sad to say that my living room is now awash in the perfume, and not in a good way. I have a headache, and my throat feels weird.
"Did you spray more perfume?" I asked the smelly offender without looking up. In response I heard "these days will fly by" in a soft and cryptic tone. I looked up to see Allie intensely fiddling with her handmade magic wand. Puzzled, I asked her to repeat herself. She repeated her enigmatic statement in the same low, trance like tone.
"These days will fly by..."
"Was it you?" I asked her suspiciously. She was practically chanting then, seeing as how her non-sequitor response was the only response she was giving up. My brain thought, thank you so much, Nostradamus. But my mouth said, "What do you mean by that?"
She lifted her eyes, peering at me from behind her choppy bangs. Pure mischief.
"These days will fly by. Tomorrow is a different day and then it won't matter that Sofia ruined my wand." I
paused, carefully considering my response. I mean, I couldn't exactly argue with that logic. And I was glad she had concluded that. But right then I didn't give a damn about Sofia and her magic wand. We're talking about my perfume, here.
"You're right," I said. "but I need to know that you understand you are NEVER to touch my perfume again without asking. Do you hear me?"
"It doesn't matter." she murmured, her attention still on her wand.
"Actually, it does. Don't touch it. Do you understand?"
After a brief hesitation, Allie grinned again and replied, yes.
"Just so we're clear, you won't touch my perfume tomorrow or in any of the days after it, right?"
"Right."
And now, stewing in the thick residue of Love By Nina permeating the living room, I'm left wondering two things:
Where should I hide my perfume so their grubby hands can't find it, and what the hell is going on in Allie's head?
Although I'm not sure I want an answer to that last one...
These days will fly by, indeed.
After their bath tonight they wanted a spritz. Because I have a short memory and am prone to lapses of judgement that end up in DOH! moments, I said sure. And gave them each a spritz. I mistakenly thought "a little dab'll do" them and their need to smell lovely would be sated. Riiiiiight. D'OH!
Twenty minutes later I was instantly overpowered by the now familiar fruity aroma of my newly purchased eau de toilet. As you know, even the most pleasant of scents can become an assault on your senses in excess. I'm sad to say that my living room is now awash in the perfume, and not in a good way. I have a headache, and my throat feels weird.
"Did you spray more perfume?" I asked the smelly offender without looking up. In response I heard "these days will fly by" in a soft and cryptic tone. I looked up to see Allie intensely fiddling with her handmade magic wand. Puzzled, I asked her to repeat herself. She repeated her enigmatic statement in the same low, trance like tone.
"These days will fly by..."
"Was it you?" I asked her suspiciously. She was practically chanting then, seeing as how her non-sequitor response was the only response she was giving up. My brain thought, thank you so much, Nostradamus. But my mouth said, "What do you mean by that?"
She lifted her eyes, peering at me from behind her choppy bangs. Pure mischief.
"These days will fly by. Tomorrow is a different day and then it won't matter that Sofia ruined my wand." I
paused, carefully considering my response. I mean, I couldn't exactly argue with that logic. And I was glad she had concluded that. But right then I didn't give a damn about Sofia and her magic wand. We're talking about my perfume, here.
"You're right," I said. "but I need to know that you understand you are NEVER to touch my perfume again without asking. Do you hear me?"
"It doesn't matter." she murmured, her attention still on her wand.
"Actually, it does. Don't touch it. Do you understand?"
After a brief hesitation, Allie grinned again and replied, yes.
"Just so we're clear, you won't touch my perfume tomorrow or in any of the days after it, right?"
"Right."
And now, stewing in the thick residue of Love By Nina permeating the living room, I'm left wondering two things:
Where should I hide my perfume so their grubby hands can't find it, and what the hell is going on in Allie's head?
Although I'm not sure I want an answer to that last one...
These days will fly by, indeed.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Nobody Expects The Spanish Inquisition
Know what my favorite thing about having young kids in the house is? How everything turns into an Inquisition. EVERYTHING.
As I was getting the girls up for school this morning I noticed Sofia was unusually warm so I checked her temp. When 100.2 came up on the thermometer I decided she, along with Allie (who also had a fever) were staying home from school today. I didn't even bother waking Sofia up, since she wouldn't be going to school anyways. Once she finally did an hour later she looked at the clock and said, "Oh, no! We're missing breakfast!" (they serve it at school every morning). I told her she had a fever and she was staying home and she asked how many days she had slept. Confused, I replied the way I always do when I'm uncertain of the question- "yes." Unsurprisingly this answer was insufficient.
S: How many days was I sleeping mom? HOW MANY?
me: ummmm, one.
S: So I'm sick because I slept a whole day?
me: No. You didn't sleep a whole day. You slept a whole night, like you do every night.
S: Is that why I'm not going to school?
me: No. You're not going to school because you have a fever.
S: So I have a fever because I slept all night?
me: (sighing) ...yes.
Later:
S: Mom, how come I'm not going to school today?
me: Because you have a fever.
S: So I'm sick?
me: yes.
S: How do you know I won't be sick tomorrow?
me: I don't know but I hope you're not sick tomorrow
S: If I'm not sick I go back to school?
me: yes
S: How do you know I'm going to school tomorrow?
me: I just said I don't know.
S: How do you know I'm not going to school tomorrow?
me: I don't know. I hope you do.
S: BUT HOW DO YOU KNOW I won't be sick?! HOW?!
me: (utterly resigned) Yes.
S: Yes WHAT?!
me: I. DON'T. KNOW.
still later (Groundhog Day, anyone?):
S: mom, how do you know I won't be sick tomorrow?
me: uggggh. I. Just. Know.
S: because you're psychic?
me: yes.
S: oh, so you looked into my brain? And saw that tomorrow I would be better?
me: (seeing an opening) YES. YES. I looked into you're brain and saw you would be better.
S: okay.
Good God. Why didn't I just start with that?!
As I said, nobody expects (the Spanish) Inquisition.
As I was getting the girls up for school this morning I noticed Sofia was unusually warm so I checked her temp. When 100.2 came up on the thermometer I decided she, along with Allie (who also had a fever) were staying home from school today. I didn't even bother waking Sofia up, since she wouldn't be going to school anyways. Once she finally did an hour later she looked at the clock and said, "Oh, no! We're missing breakfast!" (they serve it at school every morning). I told her she had a fever and she was staying home and she asked how many days she had slept. Confused, I replied the way I always do when I'm uncertain of the question- "yes." Unsurprisingly this answer was insufficient.
S: How many days was I sleeping mom? HOW MANY?
me: ummmm, one.
S: So I'm sick because I slept a whole day?
me: No. You didn't sleep a whole day. You slept a whole night, like you do every night.
S: Is that why I'm not going to school?
me: No. You're not going to school because you have a fever.
S: So I have a fever because I slept all night?
me: (sighing) ...yes.
Later:
S: Mom, how come I'm not going to school today?
me: Because you have a fever.
S: So I'm sick?
me: yes.
S: How do you know I won't be sick tomorrow?
me: I don't know but I hope you're not sick tomorrow
S: If I'm not sick I go back to school?
me: yes
S: How do you know I'm going to school tomorrow?
me: I just said I don't know.
S: How do you know I'm not going to school tomorrow?
me: I don't know. I hope you do.
S: BUT HOW DO YOU KNOW I won't be sick?! HOW?!
me: (utterly resigned) Yes.
S: Yes WHAT?!
me: I. DON'T. KNOW.
still later (Groundhog Day, anyone?):
S: mom, how do you know I won't be sick tomorrow?
me: uggggh. I. Just. Know.
S: because you're psychic?
me: yes.
S: oh, so you looked into my brain? And saw that tomorrow I would be better?
me: (seeing an opening) YES. YES. I looked into you're brain and saw you would be better.
S: okay.
Good God. Why didn't I just start with that?!
As I said, nobody expects (the Spanish) Inquisition.
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