Tag Archives: writing

my girlfriend*

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One of The Kidling’s favorite teacher’s aides at her pre-school is a woman named Rene. Rene is pretty fabulous, so I can’t say I blame Alice for adoring her. Apparently Alice and Rene talked politics yesterday.

That’s my girl.

We headed out to a delicious taquería last night and on our way in, Alice told us a story. You see, she is rather keen on the idea of cheering for a team. Whenever a game of sportsball is on the television, she will ask for whom she is to cheer. She also always cheers against the red team. Once upon a time her beloved home town college team was playing against a nemesis swathed in red. Ever since then, red has been a trigger for jeering. Except for the Cardinals, which she refers to as “The St. Louis Robins.”

I digress. The main points of the above paragraphs? The Kidling, Rene the teacher’s aide, politics, cheering. Got it?

As we headed in for some tasty tacos, The Parents were told, “My girlfriend Rene is cheering for Barack Obama, too! Rene— My girlfriend Rene is cheering for Barack Obama. I’m sure somebody else is cheering for Barack Obama. I’m sure a few other people are cheering for Barack Obama.”

I’m thinking many millions, but whatever. Also? Rene has probably never had a girlfriend quite like The Kidling.

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Oh, blog-cation schmog-cation! I clearly cannot sustain a five-day break.

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sweet morning musings

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Saturday morning.

A child wanders, bleary eyed, into her parents’ bedroom.

The mother rolls over.

Words are exchanged.

Together they trudge

into the next room.

They snuggle.

Together.

Love and blankets

surround them,

providing comfort and warmth.

And comfort.

Warmth.

Amidst the beauty and wonder, the child rolls over and whispers

sweet, honest words.

A smile.

Then.

The morning’s first laughter.

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Wondering why the book of alice is a little different today? Why not?

so…

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Whaddaya think? Yay? Nay?

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Okay, so the real story is that even though I have notebooks full of material, I have writer’s block. For the first time since I started this thing. Back tomorrow? Fingers firmly crossed.

redecorating and relocating

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Dear readers, you would think I’d be used to it by now, wouldn’t you?

The conversations that make hairpin turns… twisting, flipping, and spinning… ending on the other side of the globe from where they started? Still they always catch me by surprise, and for that I am grateful. Because they never cease to elicit fits of laughter and eruptions of giggles.

Alice: (sitting on the edge of the tub, washing her hands) Maybe we should move the bathtub?

The Mama: To where?

Alice: Besides— Oh, nothing— (growls) What were we talking about anyway?

The Mama: The tub.

Alice: Oh yeah. Maybe we should move our tub upstairs to the other mini-room,* because I get kind of squashed in here.

Now, can you please politely get out of here? Now that we’re done with our conversation?

(The Mama exits)

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* We have extraordinarily small bathrooms. Henceforth, I shall refer to them as “The Mini-rooms.”

I learned how to parent reading The Huffington Post

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Can a person interrupt herself? If so, then I interrupt my regular programming with an atypical post. (Did you read that in an announcer’s voice? No? Then go back and read it again. Seriously. Now.)

Monday, I read this article by Melissa Sher on HuffPost Parents. If you aren’t the link-following type, then I will summarize:

Melissa told a story of a particularly frustrating morning at home. Nothing was going as it was intended, and conclusions were jumped to. Admonishing herself, she recalled a friend’s recent Facebook post about her own daughter:

“Maggie comes to me all excited and proud. She then proceeds to break a brand-new crayon in two. ‘Maggie!’ I say, ‘Why in the world did you just break a brand-new crayon?!’ And she looks at me all wide-eyed but the joy and pride that was there a second ago is gone. And then she burst into tears, saying between her sniffles, ‘I just wanted to show you how strong I was!’”

Which is to say:

  • Don’t freak out about little things.
  • Don’t assume the worst.
  • Don’t crush your child’s spirit because you are busy.

Okay, so that is offensively reductionist, but you are the one who refused to click the link. You reap what you sow.

Being the social media-loving mama I am, I shared this story on my personal Facebook timeline, with the comment, “I should probably read this every day. Every single day.” (Yes, I repeat myself for effect in real life, too. God I am an exhausting human being.)

THE VERY NEXT DAY—not later in the week, not next month, not around the holidays—a situation like the one Melissa Sher described came to my attention for the first time. I very nearly said that it happened for the first time, but I doubt that to be the case. I was likely just ignorant of the circumstances on previous occasions.

The Kidling, as usual, was displaying less-than-stellar dinner table manners. I calmly told her to stop making “gross sounds” at the dinner table. She changed to a new sound, but persisted. So, of course, to time out she went.

After a few minutes, I went to talk with her about it. Any guesses what she told me? Earnestly she said, “But Mom, I wasn’t making gross sounds. That was part of my song. I was making music.”

And I had humble pie for dessert.

whodunnit?

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Things get a little out of sorts with The Kidling in the house. The Mama tends to overlook the disasters. If I don’t see them, then I don’t have to clean them, right?

I know. With this kind of reasoning, I’d better watch out when The Kidling turns 13.

Alice’s father, The Dada, has no such delusions.  Saturday morning, he noticed marks on a wall outside The Kidling’s bedroom.

The Dada: (pointing to large area on wall covered in red marks) Alice, did you do this?

Alice: No, it wasn’t me.

The Dada: Put your hand on the mark. (places Alice’s hand over the messy area and points to each corresponding mark) Finger, finger, finger, finger, thumb. That looks like a perfect match to me.

Alice: No, it wasn’t me. See? This mark is longer than my finger. (points to mark that is not, in fact, longer than her finger)

(The Dada goes into Alice’s room and sits down. Alice follows, maintaining her innocence)

The Dada: Well, this sounds like a mystery to me.

Alice: Yeah! We should try to solve the mystery!

The Dada: Well, maybe we can look for clues?

Alice: Yeah!

The Dada: Alice, go look at the mark. See what color it is.

Alice: Sure! (runs to the hallway. Looks at the wall  in silence. Hurries back)  It’s red. 

The Dada: Hmmmm, a red mark?  (pauses. For effect. He is totally digging this) Maybe you can go to the shower and see if you can find anything red.

Alice: Yeah! (hurries away. Several moments pass in silence. Suddenly, she hurries back) Dad, there’s nothing red in the shower except a red shower crayon.

The Dada:  Hmmmm.  There’s a red mark on the wall, and there’s a red shower crayon in the shower. These seem like good clues. (The Kidling nods solemnly) Alice, who’s been in the shower lately?

Alice: I took a shower last night.

The Dada: Hmmmm. So there’s a red mark on the wall the size of a kid hand, a red shower crayon in the shower, and you took a shower last night? These seem like good clues.

Alice: Yeah, but it wasn’t me.

The Dada: Alice, do you remember what happened at the end of your shower last night? Didn’t you throw a fit? And Mom had to get you out of the shower quickly? Do you think that maybe you didn’t have time to wipe the red crayon off your hands completely?”

The Mama: (emerges from bedroom. Confession time. I had been in bed giggling during this entire conversation. Saturday mornings are amazing) Maybe, Alice… Maybe you were running down the hallway (runs from bathroom down hallway dramatically) and maybe you were so fast you couldn’t run straight (heads toward wall and deflects (dramatically) off the wall with hand) and maybe (places hand on the hand print) this is your hand print?

Alice: Yeah, but it wasn’t me.

Yep. We gave up.

on imperialism

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That kidling…

Every mother anxiously awaits the day when her four-year-old child asks questions about imperialism and genocide. Right? Sigh. This one gets a bit dicey.

While driving down the highway a few weeks ago, Alice started asking about the indigenous people of North America (hereinafter “Native Americans”). Pardon me for a moment while I bitch and moan: heaven forbid she would ask when we were about to drop her off at pre-school. Or headed to a doctor appointment. Or any other time when she didn’t have all the time in the world to dig in to the details. Oh no. She waited until we were roadtripping and had just gotten out of Our Town. So The Mama had to think fast.

At one point during our talk (The Dada was noticeably silent while The Mama trudged through this conversation), I noticed The Kidling spoke in the past tense, so we had to deal with that. She was perplexed when I told her that Native Americans are, in fact, alive today and living throughout the United States. She was caught up with the idea that she was confident she had not personally seen a person of Native American ancestry (which I am fairly certain is not true, but it wasn’t worth fighting over). The Kidling was concerned about the small population and had a plan:

Alice: I know how we can make a Native American.

The Mama: How?

Alice: Well, we take some stuff and put it together and push a button and it lasts forever and ever.

The Mama: (suppressing a chuckle) You think that would work?

Alice: (ignores The Mama’s question) The Native Americans are very happy except for the people who stole their land. How many people are in Europe?

The Mama: I don’t know, kiddo, but these parts of the world are fairly well established now. Nobody is trying to steal parts of North America, but in other parts of the world, people do fight over land.

Alice: Well, which one has more people?

The Mama: I don’t know. Sometimes it isn’t about which has more. It is about who is the strongest.

Alice: Why?

The Mama: Because people fight to get land. It is how they gain power and boss each other around.

Alice: Well, Nana and Papa’s country doesn’t boss our country around.

And this is where I was let off the hook. Geography and the political boundaries of Our State are much easier topics to explain on a Saturday morning.