Oven mitts from williams sonoma

About a month ago, I started training Annabelle,  "if Papa asks you, 'what should we get mama for Christmas', this is what I want you to say: 'oven mitts from Williams Sonoma.' Let's practice it right now, ok?  I'll be Papa.  'Annabelle, what should we get Mama for Christmas?'"  Annabelle hesitated and said, "oven mitts from..mama I can't remember."  "Williams Sonoma," I corrected.

She got it right the second time and every other day or so, I would quiz her.  When I went to a Church party,  she had her chance to shine, because I knew he would ask her, and I was right.  She told me when I tucked her in that night.  "Mama, papa asked me what to get you for Christmas and I told him, oven mitts from Wee-lee-ams So-no-ma."  "Atta girl," I told her.

To be on the safe side, I also dropped some hints.  Like, " Hey Babe, if you take something out of the oven, be careful because this mitt has a hole in it and I don't want to you to burn yourself."  His reply?  A slight eyebrow lift and "oh, yeah, I just use a wet rag."  That's how I knew he knew and I knew I was screwed.

But that's ok. You see, I am the mother a four year old girl.  And so the other day she was in her room with some wrapping paper.  She came out and said coyly, "Mama, I just wrapped your preessseeeent."  She put it under the tree.  But I could see, out of the corner of her four-year-old wrapping job, that it was the toy red gingham oven mitts that she plays with all the time.

And I am loved, which is the best gift of all.  

Organizing ties

We had a cuddly night tonight.  The girls made a spot in front of the tree with blankets and we all sat down and ate peppermint patty brownies.  Then all the people in my family who have two functioning acl's danced to crazy Christmas songs and I cracked up at H's dancing--his special patented side kick dance move.  Some of the dancers had just taken a bath and were butt-ass naked.  Then to calm everyone down, I put on Mahalia Jackson and headed upstairs to put Tallulah to sleep.

I came back downstairs to find Annabelle and her father listening to Christmas carols and organizing his bow ties.

Once, when I was in court, an attorney walked in wearing a bow tie and someone, I think it was Harvard, commented," it takes a special sort to wear a bow tie."

Special.  Very special.  Especially special for someone to have so many.

Annabelle had them organized in piles:  "Polka dots, flowers, stripes, mermaids ,animals, squares, art, missing half--because it is not as long as the other ones, and beautiful.

Yes, you read correctly.  There is a mermaid pile.

Jingle bells, diaper smells, grandma really stinks

The other day we were driving home and Annabelle was singing to herself, as she does, and it sounded like this: "jingle bells jingle bells,"  etc. and was very sweet and lovely. Then she was quiet for a minute and said  "stinky smells"  and burst into laughter and that might have been it, except some moron piped in "Actually Annabelle, it goes like this: Jingle bells, batman smells, robin laid an egg."  Another adult in the car may have given the moron a quizzical look out of the corner of his eye, a look that said "what the hell are you doing?"

But looks rarely can stop stupid.  Because we now have many versions, including poo-poo smells, stinky stinky stink.  And my personal favorite-- grandma really stinks, which Lulu sings too.  Sometimes she just says "ga-ma, casto-hill... stinks!"  and cracks up laughing.

Regrets?  I have a few....

"tahnta"

Well, this went as expected.  All dressed up and excited to see Santa, and even says "hiiii tahnta."  But then, as the college girls who were manning the joint texted each other, it started to set in " I'm gonna have to sit on this guys lap.  This is no bueno.  Yep, I feel it coming on, I am going to scream in three, two..."

Meanwhile, Annabelle was making small talk.  I like the sparkles in your beard.  I like your furry boots.  This is my teddy.  I love her.  I put this top on her, see?  I want a dreamlite pillow pet and a barbie and some barbie clothes and a pippy book.  My sister wants a puppy.

Tallulah, upon hearing this stops crying and chimes in, "baby too."  Then it was lap time, and well, you see how that went.

Looks like one of my kids is going to be real disappointed this year.    

Christmas tree farm with a Stevens twist

A couple of weeks ago we went to a Christmas tree farm with my parents to get their tree and this is what it  looked like....

There was a pump station and if you pumped really hard the water would move the ducks down a trough, and this was fascinating to Annabelle because we are reading Farmer Boy, and fascinating to Tallulah because there were "quack quacks, momma."

 Of course, everyone had their own idea about which tree we should pick, but in the end, Grandpa cut down the one mom told him to cut we all agreed on, and we went home happy, with a couple of tiny daisies in our pockets.

"ga-ma, look fwoweh! see!"

We put  lights on it that night and a couple of ornaments and my mom finished decorating it after we came back home to Houston.

But, because we are the Stevens family, I get a call this week, and it goes a little something like this:

Mom:  mija, I have to tell you something and I don't want you to be upset.

Me: what?

Mom:  I think I am going to have to take down the tree

Me(bemused at the fact she still thinks I am Annabelle's age)  Really, why?

Mom:  because it stinks.  (when my mom says stinks it kind of sounds like steeinks).  It smells like rotten wood.  Like a stinky tree.

Then my dad chimes in because they always talk to me on speaker so they can both hear..

Dad:  it's either that or the refrigerator, we can't tell.

Me(trying real hard not to laugh): what?

Dad:  you open that thing and you want to pass out it stinks so bad.

Mom:  but that smells like rotten meat, and so I threw out all the meat.  I threw out the good eggrolls that your mother gave me, because I thought it might be them, but it wasn't.  But that is not the tree stink, the tree just stinks if you get near it.  Plus, I woke up with a rash, so its gotta go.  And the only thing I did different was drink some orange juice from those orange-things that are growing on B_____'s tree.  But I think I am going to try to keep it up until friday, because we are having people come over.  But we can't turn it on, unless I want new curtains, because it will catch fire.  I don't think your father watered that tree at all.

Dad (indignant): toni, I did so!  I'll do it right now

Mom:  oh, siguele, yes, that water will do it good now.  In another day it will be a skeleton tree.  If you get near it all the needles come off.  Besides (changes to her guilt trip tone), you are not coming for Christmas anyway, so the girls won't see it , so who cares?

Later on, I got a call about the fridge.  It was the cranberry sauce from Thanksgiving that smelled.  "But that shouldn't stink, unless your sister put meat in it.  It was a meat smell."

Or it could be a hello, my name is cranberry sauce and I've been here since thanksgiving and am ready to meet the garbage disposal smell.  It could be that.

The tree is still up, as far as I know.  She's got to impress the guests with her beautiful, stinky tree.

seriously, how did we ever hook up?

1.  Tonight, H comes home with some champagne, for no reason, 'cause he's cool like that, and we are sitting down to watch what is left of Saturday Night live (what's left, because I never ever watch tv anymore because it is nothing but trash and naked people, and it is never on until he turns it on) and we see right before the commercial, Sir Paul sitting at the piano, to which H says :

H: "oh gag."

Me: seriously, how are you and I married?

H:  Paul McCartney is a moron.

Yes.  He said it.  He said that Paul McCartney was a moron.

2.  Then a few minutes later...

H: I don't think we should put all the ornaments on the tree this year.

Me: admit it, you just don't want to make a mess.

H:  admit what? I said it it.  I don't want to make mess and it makes a mess.

Me:  is that the only reason?

H:  that's one of them?

Me:  what is the other?

H:  it makes a mess

3.  And then this while watching a commercial...

H:  they made a remake of Total Recall?  Why?  Cool.  I could go for a hamburger right now, do you want one?


Uhhh, no.  No, I don't want a hamburger at 11:15 at night.  I don't give a shit about total recall, either the first one or the remake and the mess from Christmas ornaments is temporary, unlike my love for Paul McCartney, which is permanent.  

how we love our kids

A while back, when Tallulah was a newborn, my sister-in-law said something I didn't quite get.  She said that God makes our kids different so we will love them, because if they were the same, we would love them less.  Or something to that effect.  I didn't understand because the baby was an uninteresting blob, and I didn't see how it was possible to love or want anything different than Annabelle.

Enter Tallulah.  She won't ever make a grand entrance, because that is not her style, but she will smile and win you over in a thousand little ways.

Case in point, the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special.  There is a scene in the show where Snoopy is battling a lawn chair.  When Annabelle first saw it, she was screaming with hysterical laughter.  She laughed so hard, it made us laugh and get out the video camera, which is something we never, ever do.  Now, 3 years later is is Lulu's turn to see it for the first time.  It was sort of old hat to Annabelle and she was just chuckling at it, but Tallulah was very concerned.  She had a little frown on her face and looked to her sister for reassurance.  I could tell she didn't like that the chair was getting the best of Snoopy, but if Annabelle was laughing, it must be ok, but still.....

Fast forward to the Texans spanking from the Patriots.  After the second touchdown, I stopped watching, but not because the Texans didn't show up--I stopped watching because the game was upsetting Tallulah.  She wasn't yelling "ker-plonk" every time there was a tackle like another little two year old girl I used to know did.  She said,  "No!  No!  Football hurt.  Football hurt me." and pointed to her body and then the tv.  I asked her if she wanted to go to bed.  "Hmm-hmmm" was her response and she pointed toward the stairs.  I obliged and held her in my arms for a few minutes while her peaceful little soul fell asleep.

But in case you think she is Mother Theresa, think again.  She walked up to Annabelle this afternoon and pulled out a handful of her hair for no reason.  And then did it two more times and laughed. Not quite as hysterically as Annabelle did when she first saw snoopy and the lawn chair, because that is not her style, but with an equal amount of merriment.