Which response would be appropriate when I asked H if he could brush the girls teeth while I fixed their medicine and he said to me, "But I can't, I never do that."
a. This approach I will call The Griffin, as in Mr., not the monster, and it goes something like this--
"Well, there are teeth, paste and a brush involved, and I believe you have practiced on your own, so why don't you nut up, put on your big boy pants, and get it done?"
b. This approach I will call the de Sales, as in St. Francis de Sales, who wrote this book called Introduction to the Devout life which espouses that doing all things with love is a type of devotion to God--I will also call it the Strange, not because it is, but because it reminds me of my friend who has this last name:
Said with a loving smile, "no problem babe, I'll get 'em in a minute. Sit down and relax and enjoy the girls, I know you've had a tough day."
c. The gunnysacker, or the Audrey, in reference to passive aggressive people who gunnysack their emotions--said under one's breathe but loud enough for someone nearby--its intended audience, of course, to hear:
"Well, there is not two of me, so I am not sure how this is going to get done."
d. all are appropriate responses--depending on the response you want to receive from your intended audience, of course...
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
February is the month when all good things happen
I love february. It is pink, it is fun, it is cozy, it is when people become sisters, it is valentines, it is when we celebrate great men, it is when my baby was born, it is a warm house that smells like pot roast, it is the end of winter, the start of spring. It is also when some people get married.
One of the things I always loved about my friend Barry is how real her parents love story is to her. How she cherishes it. The way she believes they were soul mates. It feels like I am right there when it is happening, and I love love stories, so I eat it up, I hang on every word.
And now it is her turn.
Barry got married today. And while some brides fall in love with the ceremony, the pomp, the etiquette, the dress, the registry--I'll spare you further vulgarities--not my friend.
She is in love with the pronouncement--and all the joy and beauty it contains.
One of the things I always loved about my friend Barry is how real her parents love story is to her. How she cherishes it. The way she believes they were soul mates. It feels like I am right there when it is happening, and I love love stories, so I eat it up, I hang on every word.
And now it is her turn.
Barry got married today. And while some brides fall in love with the ceremony, the pomp, the etiquette, the dress, the registry--I'll spare you further vulgarities--not my friend.
She is in love with the pronouncement--and all the joy and beauty it contains.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
remember that time that mom got a bee in her bonnet and we went torockport?
And packed a bag right quick and we left the house in a mess, but we didn't care, not even papa. (Well he cared, but just a little bit) And then we stopped at prasek's for lunch and then got to Fulton just in time to see the oyster boats come in? And then we drove around for a bit and then went back to the hotel? And Tallulah stayed up till 10, and then we woke up early, and went on a boat ride to see the whooping cranes? And we were cold and tired, and had tantrums--but it was fun. Remember that time???
 |
| Oyster boats at the end of a long day |
 |
| To be purchased |
 |
| yum |
 |
| At the start of the day |
 |
| After two hours on board--turns out poor thing was sick and had a fever |
 |
| A rare photo of mama |
 |
| After 4 hours |
 |
| snuggled and tired |
 |
| One of the most rare birds in the world in its own habitat, not in a zoo. Pretty cool. |
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
why not I with thine?
It is almost valentines day, a tiny day which I love and adore and I am sitting here, thinking about love. Not the romantic love that spurns men to peruse the Valentine's aisles of Target with blank looks on their faces, but the other kinds, the kinds that last...
Maternal
Tallulah told me she loved me today, for the very first time. We spent the entire day potty training--without a single accident--and during that time I exclaimed, "Tallulah, I'm so proud of you, I love you!" and she said, "No mommy, I wuv yoouuu." It was the first time she said it and when she did, my heart got the feeling it gets every once in a while-- that little silver bells are chiming in it. It almost made her writing on my newly upholstered couch with pen forgivable...almost.
Sisterly
While Annabelle was at school today, Tallulah spent a good deal of her time talking on her "phone." And most of that time was spent talking to "ba-belle" as she calls her. I felt sorry for the little thing, to have to spend a whole day without her sister. When Annabelle came home, I asked her who she played with at recess, an issue that we have had some concerns with lately--her reply? "I played with Tallulah--well I pretended I was playing with her." (an aside for Audrey-- H got Tallulah a stuffed puppy for Valentine's day and she named the puppy Strawberry)
Father-Son
Today at Ash Wednesday services, one of Annabelle's little friends sat in front of us. He was there with his father and after a minute or two, his grandparents joined them. After the grandparents settled in the pew, I saw the father touch the grandfather on the back in a very loving caress. And for some reason, I was deeply moved. Annabelle's friend is a sweet and loving child, but when I saw the father touch his own father, I knew immediately that I wanted Annabelle to marry into this family, because they are good people and I really don't care how crazy that sounds.
I have a sister. I have two girls. My mom is one of four sisters, with an older brother who I've seldom seen, my father's father died when I was 10, for my entire married life, we have lived in Houston and my in-laws in San Antonio. I lead a life almost entirely filled with women and their way of loving and I haven't given much thought to how sons and fathers love each other. This single touch was so entirely foreign to me, and I felt like an intruder, a voyeur, but the thought of this love and the feeling I had when I saw it, has stayed with me all day.
Self
The ac in my car has been acting up, so we took it to a local mechanic, who was kind enough to drop me back home and then, when it was finished, the owner came back to my house with my car. He knocked on the door and Tallulah and I scrambled to put on our shoes and as we walked off the porch it became apparent to me, that he was going to drive me back to the shop. As in, he was going to drive my van instead of me. I felt befuddled. I wanted to ask him for my keys and my mind perused just how to say this and what etiquette called for in this situation, but there was no time to figure it out. We were on the driveway and then he was in my seat and I was in the passenger seat. We chatted on the way to the shop, but my mind wasn't there. I just kept thinking about how weird it was, how some other man was driving my car, instead of H, all because I was too polite to say, "oh, I'll drive, thanks, though." Forget man, forget H--someone was driving my car with me in it and I felt like I was cheating...on myself. Just one of the thousand little times I have been caught up in my head, and gone with a flow I didn't care for or invite. I'd like to say it will never happen again, but it will, and I will again be more amused than annoyed.
old
when I was a sophomore in high school, I spent lunch time in the orchestra room making music with my fellow nerds. One day on the chalk board I saw this written in the distinct squatty handwriting that even then I recognized:
the fountains mingle with the river
and the rivers with the ocean
the winds of heaven mix forever
with a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
all things by a law divine;
in one another's being mingle--
why not I with thine?
I recognized the poem as love's philosophy and wrote the second verse. I loved the poem and it seemed to need the second verse. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing significant, just something I remember from a long time ago. It needed the second verse.
Maternal
Tallulah told me she loved me today, for the very first time. We spent the entire day potty training--without a single accident--and during that time I exclaimed, "Tallulah, I'm so proud of you, I love you!" and she said, "No mommy, I wuv yoouuu." It was the first time she said it and when she did, my heart got the feeling it gets every once in a while-- that little silver bells are chiming in it. It almost made her writing on my newly upholstered couch with pen forgivable...almost.
Sisterly
While Annabelle was at school today, Tallulah spent a good deal of her time talking on her "phone." And most of that time was spent talking to "ba-belle" as she calls her. I felt sorry for the little thing, to have to spend a whole day without her sister. When Annabelle came home, I asked her who she played with at recess, an issue that we have had some concerns with lately--her reply? "I played with Tallulah--well I pretended I was playing with her." (an aside for Audrey-- H got Tallulah a stuffed puppy for Valentine's day and she named the puppy Strawberry)
Father-Son
Today at Ash Wednesday services, one of Annabelle's little friends sat in front of us. He was there with his father and after a minute or two, his grandparents joined them. After the grandparents settled in the pew, I saw the father touch the grandfather on the back in a very loving caress. And for some reason, I was deeply moved. Annabelle's friend is a sweet and loving child, but when I saw the father touch his own father, I knew immediately that I wanted Annabelle to marry into this family, because they are good people and I really don't care how crazy that sounds.
I have a sister. I have two girls. My mom is one of four sisters, with an older brother who I've seldom seen, my father's father died when I was 10, for my entire married life, we have lived in Houston and my in-laws in San Antonio. I lead a life almost entirely filled with women and their way of loving and I haven't given much thought to how sons and fathers love each other. This single touch was so entirely foreign to me, and I felt like an intruder, a voyeur, but the thought of this love and the feeling I had when I saw it, has stayed with me all day.
Self
The ac in my car has been acting up, so we took it to a local mechanic, who was kind enough to drop me back home and then, when it was finished, the owner came back to my house with my car. He knocked on the door and Tallulah and I scrambled to put on our shoes and as we walked off the porch it became apparent to me, that he was going to drive me back to the shop. As in, he was going to drive my van instead of me. I felt befuddled. I wanted to ask him for my keys and my mind perused just how to say this and what etiquette called for in this situation, but there was no time to figure it out. We were on the driveway and then he was in my seat and I was in the passenger seat. We chatted on the way to the shop, but my mind wasn't there. I just kept thinking about how weird it was, how some other man was driving my car, instead of H, all because I was too polite to say, "oh, I'll drive, thanks, though." Forget man, forget H--someone was driving my car with me in it and I felt like I was cheating...on myself. Just one of the thousand little times I have been caught up in my head, and gone with a flow I didn't care for or invite. I'd like to say it will never happen again, but it will, and I will again be more amused than annoyed.
old
when I was a sophomore in high school, I spent lunch time in the orchestra room making music with my fellow nerds. One day on the chalk board I saw this written in the distinct squatty handwriting that even then I recognized:
the fountains mingle with the river
and the rivers with the ocean
the winds of heaven mix forever
with a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
all things by a law divine;
in one another's being mingle--
why not I with thine?
I recognized the poem as love's philosophy and wrote the second verse. I loved the poem and it seemed to need the second verse. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing significant, just something I remember from a long time ago. It needed the second verse.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Happy new year
For most people today was an ordinary Sunday, where you went to church, or not, and lounged around and missed football, or not.
But for the Asians, or those married to them, it was the first day of the new year. The Chinese New Year, or as Hyphen likes to call it, in a cute little fit of nationalism, The Lunar New Year. You are supposed to live the day the way your year will be, according to my mother-in-law--clean house, clean laundry, no fighting, no spending money, and wear red, because it brings you luck. We were good on the red part.
We celebrated by going to dinner with our friends last night. And then today, we headed to Chinatown to see a dragon dance. Annabelle was excited to see the dragon--this was the year she wasn't going to be afraid.
Armed with the knowledge H gleaned from the internet--we headed to the Viet Hoa market, where they were supposed to have a dragon dance. But, as happens every year, the info H gets from the internet regarding where the celebration is, was wrong. So while we were there, we decided to eat at the Parisian Cafe, where the kids loaded up on cha, a kind of processed meat and H and I had bahn mi which is like a subway sandwich, if subway had homemade mayonaise, cilantro, cucumber and jalepeno on it. And tasted good.
Of course, no visit to Chinatown would be complete without a trip to the bathroom. Annabelle has been potty trained since she was two, and she is now going on 5. We go to Chinatown at least twice a month. So conservatively, that is about 75 times that I have had to take her to a Chinatown bathroom. If you have ever been to the bathroom in Chinatown, well, you understand why I dread going. Now, I am not saying that Asian people are dirty and have bad bathroom hygiene . I am not saying that. I am not saying that because it would be racist and unkind, but I am saying that the people whose job it is to clean these bathrooms, these people, should be fired.
So, we decided to drive down Bellaire and look for some kind of celebration. Annabelle spent that time telling Tallulah that the dragons were not real, and that they were just people in a costume. From inside the car, we heard the raucous noise that marks the dragon dance and followed it to the Kim Son buffet. H dropped us off at the front and went to park. From there, I fought the crowd, carried Tallulah and her rainboots and sweater and my over-laden mom-purse, up the two flights to the second floor, while guiding Annabelle and making sure she didn't get crushed in the mass of New Year celebrants. We got there and Annabelle pushed her way to the front of the crowd. That child is ready for N.I.O.S.A.
Then she got a good look at the dragon. Up close and in her grill. And she started to scream. And I started to laugh, and Tallulah started to cry and H found us and scooped up his oldest, who was still screaming and he was laughing too.
Afterward, she said she was only a little scared, because it was loud and part of the dragon brushed up on her leg.
You be the judge.
But for the Asians, or those married to them, it was the first day of the new year. The Chinese New Year, or as Hyphen likes to call it, in a cute little fit of nationalism, The Lunar New Year. You are supposed to live the day the way your year will be, according to my mother-in-law--clean house, clean laundry, no fighting, no spending money, and wear red, because it brings you luck. We were good on the red part.
We celebrated by going to dinner with our friends last night. And then today, we headed to Chinatown to see a dragon dance. Annabelle was excited to see the dragon--this was the year she wasn't going to be afraid.
Armed with the knowledge H gleaned from the internet--we headed to the Viet Hoa market, where they were supposed to have a dragon dance. But, as happens every year, the info H gets from the internet regarding where the celebration is, was wrong. So while we were there, we decided to eat at the Parisian Cafe, where the kids loaded up on cha, a kind of processed meat and H and I had bahn mi which is like a subway sandwich, if subway had homemade mayonaise, cilantro, cucumber and jalepeno on it. And tasted good.
Of course, no visit to Chinatown would be complete without a trip to the bathroom. Annabelle has been potty trained since she was two, and she is now going on 5. We go to Chinatown at least twice a month. So conservatively, that is about 75 times that I have had to take her to a Chinatown bathroom. If you have ever been to the bathroom in Chinatown, well, you understand why I dread going. Now, I am not saying that Asian people are dirty and have bad bathroom hygiene . I am not saying that. I am not saying that because it would be racist and unkind, but I am saying that the people whose job it is to clean these bathrooms, these people, should be fired.
So, we decided to drive down Bellaire and look for some kind of celebration. Annabelle spent that time telling Tallulah that the dragons were not real, and that they were just people in a costume. From inside the car, we heard the raucous noise that marks the dragon dance and followed it to the Kim Son buffet. H dropped us off at the front and went to park. From there, I fought the crowd, carried Tallulah and her rainboots and sweater and my over-laden mom-purse, up the two flights to the second floor, while guiding Annabelle and making sure she didn't get crushed in the mass of New Year celebrants. We got there and Annabelle pushed her way to the front of the crowd. That child is ready for N.I.O.S.A.
Then she got a good look at the dragon. Up close and in her grill. And she started to scream. And I started to laugh, and Tallulah started to cry and H found us and scooped up his oldest, who was still screaming and he was laughing too.
Afterward, she said she was only a little scared, because it was loud and part of the dragon brushed up on her leg.
You be the judge.
No Tallulah pics, because I was holding her with the other hand, not that I needed to--she was clutching onto me for dear life
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
me do
Stuff I am thinking and saying when the "me do" hits while we are trying to get in the van in the rain
1. Well actually, you are not tall enough to open the door, so no, you no do.
2. Even if you were tall enough, you lack the requisite physical coordination to open the van door.
okay, my hair is getting wet and it looked super cute, let me just speed this along with the old magic remote trick...
"Oh, wow, you opened the door! What a big girl you are!"
"Ok, get in your seat Tallulah, let me buckle you."
"No, me do!"
"Ok, you do the top."
"No me do top, me do bottom."
"Sweetie, my hair is getting wet" (get the f!@# in the car!!!!!!!!!!!!)
"Need help mama,"
"ok angel baby,"
(of course you need help --like you could do the bottom buckle--seriously? Annabelle can barely do it-- my mom can't even do that--and I am totally going to need to re-chi my hair and everyone knows you cannot chi on a humid day, so now my hair is just going to look like this. great.)
"No, you cannot have my keys. Get back in the seat. No, you cannot put it in the car."
"ME DO, ME DO, MEEE DOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"
(I am the mom, I am the mom)
"These keys are not a toy--get in your seat before I count to three or I will spank you. One, two--Tallulah...I don't want to spank you..."
"Me do, mama."
(the days are long but the years are short, the days are long but the years are short, someday I will miss this- oh wait--no I won't, someday, I will be old and dry with dry straight hair!!!! and I will be driving a sedan!!!!! what does h say, "the days are long, the years are long?" who cares? he is a crazy a-hole and my hair is wet and we are going to be late for story time!"
"Give me my keys, get in your seat, now!!!"
Crying, followed by teary eyed compliance.
Hello two, as advertised,you are truly terrible.
1. Well actually, you are not tall enough to open the door, so no, you no do.
2. Even if you were tall enough, you lack the requisite physical coordination to open the van door.
okay, my hair is getting wet and it looked super cute, let me just speed this along with the old magic remote trick...
"Oh, wow, you opened the door! What a big girl you are!"
"Ok, get in your seat Tallulah, let me buckle you."
"No, me do!"
"Ok, you do the top."
"No me do top, me do bottom."
"Sweetie, my hair is getting wet" (get the f!@# in the car!!!!!!!!!!!!)
"Need help mama,"
"ok angel baby,"
(of course you need help --like you could do the bottom buckle--seriously? Annabelle can barely do it-- my mom can't even do that--and I am totally going to need to re-chi my hair and everyone knows you cannot chi on a humid day, so now my hair is just going to look like this. great.)
"No, you cannot have my keys. Get back in the seat. No, you cannot put it in the car."
"ME DO, ME DO, MEEE DOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"
(I am the mom, I am the mom)
"These keys are not a toy--get in your seat before I count to three or I will spank you. One, two--Tallulah...I don't want to spank you..."
"Me do, mama."
(the days are long but the years are short, the days are long but the years are short, someday I will miss this- oh wait--no I won't, someday, I will be old and dry with dry straight hair!!!! and I will be driving a sedan!!!!! what does h say, "the days are long, the years are long?" who cares? he is a crazy a-hole and my hair is wet and we are going to be late for story time!"
"Give me my keys, get in your seat, now!!!"
Crying, followed by teary eyed compliance.
Hello two, as advertised,you are truly terrible.
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