Dictionary Dot Com

The delightful and effervescent Millie tagged me for a meme, and while I usually abstain from the reindeer games, this time I’ll play along… By the way, if you haven’t checked out Millie’s blog, What on Earth is that Smell, you are totally missing out. The chick-a-dee has a house full of naughty babies, and get’s her kicks picking play-doh from the carpet while she listens to Weird Al music… She’s one-of-a kind.

So I’m to tell you the definitions of the following words, the unabridged compendium according to Dandelion T. Mama: 

  • slivovitz– n. (sliv- ow-vits) a delicatessen meatunique to certain boroughs of New York City. Often served with onions and sour pickle and wrapped in wax paper.  Slang: something not appreciated by people outside of New York.
  • zucchetto- n. (zoo-keh-to) An Italian couture house women’s shoe, styled with a pointed toe and very high, spiked heel. Often comes in shades of green, with leather embossed in the texture of various vegetables as opposed to animal hides. Zucchetto’s are notoriously difficult in which to walk. Also see: Manolo Blahnik, Jimmy Choo.
  • Ignitron- p.n. (Ig-ni-tron) Proper noun. Member of the Decepticon fellowship of the Autobot planet. Fights for the forces of evil with Megatron again the uber-hero, Optimus Prime.
  • gentrice– n. (gen-trees) a woman’s article of underclothing, usually worn in previous decades, to push a woman’s body into artificial curvature.  Became obsolete with the advent of drive-through plastic surgery centers in the early 21st century. verb: to make something idealized and unnaturally feminine.

Worth Reading…

Michelle, an Alaskan mom (hear that, Mo?) at Scribbit, added a thoughtful comment and link at the tail-end of the “Sign of the Times?” post… It’s a wonderful post about protecting our kids, sure, but more about how letting them be kids is being crowded out by rules and regulations… she says it far better that I have.  Check it out.

Sign of the Times?

Signs of the times? Paranoid mama who’s been watching too much news? Or just an over-reaction to a real threat? I don’t know, and while I’m not dwelling on it, I can’t decide where to file this away.

Tonight, DH had some late business obligations, so knowing I was going to be flying solo for the evening, I bribed the Monkeys with a trip to fast-food-playland for overpriced plastic toy-meals in exchange for a clean playroom and no whining. It worked, too.

So the Monkeys are in the human habi-trail running around, turning red and having a good ol’ time. There were half a dozen families whose kids were also playing while their mom’s and dad’s kept an eye out between bites of burger. Sitting near the door, so as to prevent any escaped Monkeys, I held Abby in my lap as she was highly entertained by the loud chaos. Continue reading

Quarter Balls

Sometimes having small children can be so embarrassing- even for the wide-open and frank among us…

Yes, that was us in Old Navy this afternoon, trying to take advantage of the Fall Sale- good deals abound, and Abby now has a long-sleeved onsie that says “Mama is a Rock Star”- for only $3.50, it was worth the ego stroking smile it induced.

One of the coolest things about Old Navy, as far as my kids are concerned, are the giant-size super-balls you get from the giant gumball machine, for only a quarter. At least at our Old Navy-I assume they do that everywhere? But I digress…

So here is Beanie, being relatively well behaved as I riffle through the sale racks for things we can’t live without. He is laying and rolling around on the floor, playing with his giant-super balls, but I don’t really get too upset about things like that-   when he yells, as only a three-year-old can:

“Hey Mama! Look at my giant BALLS! LOOK MAMA! I PUT MY GIANT BALLS IN MY PANTS!” accompanied by his delighted laughter at his ingenuity of putting his super-balls in his pockets.

Everyone in the store turned and looked- and more than a few busted out in laughing. Yes, that was us. *Long, deep sigh* I love having sons.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs…

Suddenly, the magic key of phonics has opened the beloved door of reading and writing for my precocious kindergartner. And with the ability to sound things out, now comes the ability to question and to express himself in the written word… (*sigh* I do so love words…)

Every door and wall in the house has at least one, often several,  crayon signs scotch taped at door-knob level. Signs declaring ownership, the season, the holidays upcoming, his prowess against monsters, his love of Halloween, and whom is unwelcome in his room. The ‘fridge is completely covered- notes to me, notes to dad, notes to Beanie and Abby- a picture with comments about the “habitat” of a frog (yes, I’m totally serious- he wrote habitat!) and some really wicked drawings of ghosts. He even taped things to the freezer and fridge at the same time, so when I opened the top, pictures and signs went spilling willy-nilly to the floor.

At this moment, I am totally enchanted with my oldest son. His bright eyes and insatiable curiousity are a balm to my spirit- just what I needed in these hard as rocks days. Learning right along with your child is one of the very best perks of being a mama… 

And like I can be throwing stones about writing what he feels…! Yay for Jeffrey!

The “Princess” Years Begin

My boys are Little Mermaid Heads. That’s all they want to do now, is watch The Little Mermaid- we’ve seen it four times since we bought it at Costco earlier this week, and I only picked it up because Disney has that thing with the “vault”- and if I didn’t get it now, they would lock it away again forever, or another seven years, whichever came first. (How’s that for a marketing gimmick, by the way?? Buy our stuff now, or we won’t LET you buy it again for a looooong time! Bwa-hahahaha!)

Beanie and Jeff are absolutely possitive the whale at the beginning of TLM has Nemo and Dori in his mouth. It would seem the story has amalgamated into something like “Fining Nemo in the little Mermaid’s whale named Jonah”.  *shaking head*

The Little Mermaid was a movie I had never seen- actually purposefully avoided for years- why? Oh, not sure really, more superstition than anything. But now I’ve seen it- and it’s a cute movie. Easily better than all of the current drivel the studio has put out, excluding the Pixar masterpieces. But don’t get me started on that…

The part I am hung-upon is the ending. I’m watching along, carried away by the story, which I wasn’t unfamiliar with, but I found myself really bothered by the ending, actually saying aloud “No!- What?! It can’t end like that!” Why was I surprised? Really it should be no surprise that a princess movie ends with the girl giving up her identity, family and life to sail away with the prince. But for some reason, I really had a visceral reaction to this time. And I’m not normally the type to get all riled up about the trappings of feminism- I guess I just was hoping she at least got to keep her tail. But no; and I was strangely sad about the missing tail.

When I voiced my odd concern, DH wondered how they would make guppies if she had kept her tail… Well? Fish procreate, so there would have to be a way. But that’s really NOT the issue!

The fact THM’s voice was restored is a consolation; and maybe the voice will come in handier than a tail when the ‘happily-ever-after’ wears off, the frye are pulling at her hoop-skirts and Prince Charming is watching Monday night football instead of tending the castle…

Monkeys of the Serengetti

The boys like to pretend they are cats- Beanie has used up most of a blue eyeliner pencil coloring whiskers and noses on himself, any given morning. It’s beyond cute, by the way, how crooked and darling his hand-drawn whiskers are…

Today in the bargain bin at the fabric store (yes, I go there a lot, they know me, I can go in the stockroom whenever I want… what can I say?) I found them each a set of Tiger-ears attached to a headband. They might have been intended for girls, but the boys fell in love with them, and wore them the rest of the day.

So earlier, I walked by our stellar new bathroom, and they were both on the floor, crouched over, ears perched on their red-heads, growling and hissing and making a big ruckus.

Stopping in the doorway, I watch, intrigued, a few seconds, “Hey guys, what are you doing?”

They both stop, imaginary paws in midair, and growl at me. “Mama, we have a Zebra, and we are ferociously eating it in half. Then we are going to share a wildebeest!”

I pause, nod introspectively,  “Hmmm. .. Fractions. Sharing…well, carry on, then.”

Heartsore

One of the mistakes I have repeatedly made in my life, and I’m still not even sure it’s a mistake, is to trust people to be decent, honest and forthright. Perhaps even to a fault- I hope for people I love, even when they have shown that trusting them is really not such a hot idea, to be decent human beings. And, in my life, this has come back, again and again, to bite me in the butt.

My husband told me, once upon a time, that in life,  “lessons will repeat until learned”. That’s kind of frightening, if you think about it… things that are difficult and challenging for you will continue to happen, until you make the effort to get it, learn, and ultimately are allowed to move on.

I may finally get it.

My heart is tender beyond all reasoning at the moment. Being a person who prides herself on being honest and frank, it is painful when confronted with people who do not value the same virtues… the problem really lies not in their choice of virtues, however- but in my assumptions that they are functioning with openness, as I would. Learning that you are bounding along, thinking everyone is on the same page, only to have the book slammed on you and find yourself all alone is jolting and leaves you stunned and seeing stars. The problem is with my perceptions, my lack of guard, and my willingness to overlook the small voice of my spirit that warns me, Jiminy Cricket-like, that I am in dangerous waters.

So what’s the lesson? What is it I need to get, so I can finally move on?

Trust your Cricket. Don’t drown out the voice of the Spirit with logic and hopes for the improbable and unlikely. That, and people are pack animals… and will often single out the different one, if only to lift themselves up in their world and make themselves feel better, damn the consequences.

My heart is so sore. And I am so sorry it is that way, but sacrificing my dignity, my sense of self, or my children on the altars of others is no longer an option.

Make it so.

Froggin’

Just overheard in our downstairs bathroom, where the boys are both in the shower, but sitting in the tub-part while the water cascades down upon them:

“Beanie, look what happens when I frog*!”, as air bubbles rumble to the surface, followed by hysterical laughter.

Beanie apparently missed the stellar display of physics by his older brother, and requests a repeat performance, to which ends Jeff is trying to accomodate him…

Boys.

* “Frog” is what we call passing gas- it’s a holdover from my childhood, because my dad thought f*rt sounded like a naughty word.

Why Mama’s Don’t Decorate

The quilting guild I belong to meets once a month, and this month is my turn to host- it’s a fun, social evening, and I usually learn something from all the older ladies who have about a million years combined experience. I am by far the youngest member…

We have a meeting, talk shop, show projects we are working on, then have a dessert buffet. So, in getting ready to have a house full of ladies, I have been cleaning. A lot. (You know you would too!) In a burst of creativity, I decided to make use of all the extra apples from our backyard.  Carefully choosing the prettiest apples, making sure their leaves were still attached, I stacked them in a bowl around a tall beeswax pillar candle. It looked festive and Fall-y. Very nice.

I shoulda known better….

This morning, my boys got up before I did. Never a good thing. Walking into the living room, knowing I’m gonna see something bad- sure enough, there is Beanie, sitting on the dining room table. Apples are spread all around him, and he has meticulously plucked every single leaf off every single stem. He has also, um, sampled the apples. Many of the apples- each having only a bite taken from it. He must’ve gotten a page from his brother’s book, because Jeffrey did the exact same thing once- every apple, one bite.

There was also a pile of spit-out skins next to him- he claimed “…my didn’t like the wrapper, Mama…” Hmmmmmm. Good morning.

So much for my centerpiece.