So we have this game where someone goes: What's your favorite color? And the other person says a color: Orange, orange, orange. Then first person asks: What is orange, a banana or a pumpkin? And the second person answers the question.
It's a good game to help little ones learn their colors.
The other day, Count Cannonball, who just turned 3 and has known his colors since he was 2, started playing the game with me. It went something like this:
Count Cannonball: (in a singsong voice)What's your favorite color?
Me: Um, yellow, yellow yellow.
Count Cannonball: What's yellow, a yellow banana or a blue dinosaur?
Me (trying to keep a straight face): A yellow banana?
Count Cannonball: Yeah, you're right!
=)
Friday, April 1, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Pizza Pizzaz!
Hey all! So I've been getting into the cooking mode, after I bought Ree Drummond's Pioneer Woman Cookbook (I love her! And the recipes are scrumptious and easily doable, especially for poseurs amateurs in the cooking department like yours truly).
To date, I've tried 18 of the recipes in her book (I've also tried her recipes found in her blog but not included in her cookbook). This woman is my hero (next to my mom, my sister, and my mom-in-law) ;)
So. Pizza.
I've never made pizza--homemade pizza--in my life before PWC (Pioneer Woman Cooks, get it?). Ihave used to have a deathly fear of anything that says dough and use active dry yeast. I mean, when I hear yeast, I think infection. Ok, sorry, grossing you out.
*clears throat
Back to Pizza. This is simply a no-brain-cells-needed, use-whatever-topping, and kid-approved pizza ever. And it's all because of the crust.
PIZZA CRUST
1 tsp or 1/2 packet active dry yeast (do not be afraid of dry yeast, people!)
4 cups all-purpose flour (if you're a health nut, I'd assume using whole wheat flour is okay, but since I'm not a health nut and therefore have never substituted any other kind of flour in lieu of all-purpose, I can't say if it's any good. But hey, experiment people! You just might discover something wonderful)
1 tsp kosher salt
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling
See? 4 ingredients. How easy is that?
1. Pour 1-1/2 cups warm water into a bowl. Sprinkle the yeast over the water.
How warm should the water be? Well, honestly, I don't really know. The first time I did this, I got extra cuckoo in the head, wishing I had a thermometer. I know, I know. Kooky, that's me. But with a shrug, and a what-the-heck, I turned the faucet to warmish hot, but not all the way hot, and settled for that. It worked great.
2. Combine the flour and salt in a mixing bowl.
3. With an electric mixer on low speed, drizzle in the olive oil.
4. Go back to your yeast mixture and gently stir it, then drizzle into the flour-oil mixture; mix until the dough forms into a ball. Pioneer Woman says you can also mix by hand until the dough comes together. I have carpal tunnel syndrome so I used the mixer.
5. Drizzle a little olive oil into a clean bowl and toss your ball of dough in it, turning it over to coat in oil. Don't go overboard with the oil, just a little drizzle will do nicely.
6. Cover the bowl with a moist kitchen towel and set in a warm place (not drafty) for 1 to 2 hours. (Or cover with plastic wrap and store in fridge for up to 2 days).
This is the fun part where you pretend its magic and the kids ooh and aah over the dough being three times bigger than it was before.
And that's it, my good people who-are-kind-enough-to-read-my blog, you've got PIZZA DOUGH.
To make the pizza, preheat your oven to 500 degrees F. Divide the dough in half. Grab a cookie sheet or rimmed baking sheet or a pizza pan (whatever you have hiding in your drawers...er, kitchen drawers). Lightly drizzle olive oil on the pan. Plop that dough in the middle and start stretching (not you, the dough!) using your fingers. Press, press, press.
I usually use a plain cookie sheet (one that can stand up to 500 degrees F) and just press and stretch that dough to fit the whole pan. So I end up with a rectangular pizza, but I'm not much for accurate geometry. You are most welcome to make a circle if that's what you please. Heck, if you really really really are in the mood for some kookiness, you can shape it any way you want (like oddly-shaped pancakes the kids ask for on Sunday mornings), as long as you get the dough nice and thin. Thin crust is great, baby!
And then. And then, the moment of truth. Toppings!
Go crazy. Whatever satisfies your palate, I grant you permission. For my version, because my dear hubby is unkooky like me, I used store bought Pizza sauce (Ragu), pepperoni, mozarella cheese (not the grated ones; I got me a fresh one and I grated it myself. Makes a world of difference!), and diced green olives. The kids are all about plain sauce and cheese, and maybe a little bit of pepperoni. (Seriously, I need to get my gene pool checked. No adventure-seeking eaters here. *pout*)
Bake the pizza for 8-10 minutes, until the edges turn into that yummy golden brown color.
Voila! You just made yourself a fresh, homemade pizza. Forget delivery, forget frozen freezer-burned versions. Grab some drinks. Line up your complete 1st, 2nd, and 3rd season Mad Men DVDs, and let the night roll away.
Someone obviously couldn't resist.
To date, I've tried 18 of the recipes in her book (I've also tried her recipes found in her blog but not included in her cookbook). This woman is my hero (next to my mom, my sister, and my mom-in-law) ;)
So. Pizza.
I've never made pizza--homemade pizza--in my life before PWC (Pioneer Woman Cooks, get it?). I
*clears throat
Back to Pizza. This is simply a no-brain-cells-needed, use-whatever-topping, and kid-approved pizza ever. And it's all because of the crust.
PIZZA CRUST
1 tsp or 1/2 packet active dry yeast (do not be afraid of dry yeast, people!)
4 cups all-purpose flour (if you're a health nut, I'd assume using whole wheat flour is okay, but since I'm not a health nut and therefore have never substituted any other kind of flour in lieu of all-purpose, I can't say if it's any good. But hey, experiment people! You just might discover something wonderful)
1 tsp kosher salt
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling
See? 4 ingredients. How easy is that?
1. Pour 1-1/2 cups warm water into a bowl. Sprinkle the yeast over the water.
How warm should the water be? Well, honestly, I don't really know. The first time I did this, I got extra cuckoo in the head, wishing I had a thermometer. I know, I know. Kooky, that's me. But with a shrug, and a what-the-heck, I turned the faucet to warmish hot, but not all the way hot, and settled for that. It worked great.
2. Combine the flour and salt in a mixing bowl.
3. With an electric mixer on low speed, drizzle in the olive oil.
4. Go back to your yeast mixture and gently stir it, then drizzle into the flour-oil mixture; mix until the dough forms into a ball. Pioneer Woman says you can also mix by hand until the dough comes together. I have carpal tunnel syndrome so I used the mixer.
5. Drizzle a little olive oil into a clean bowl and toss your ball of dough in it, turning it over to coat in oil. Don't go overboard with the oil, just a little drizzle will do nicely.
6. Cover the bowl with a moist kitchen towel and set in a warm place (not drafty) for 1 to 2 hours. (Or cover with plastic wrap and store in fridge for up to 2 days).
This is the fun part where you pretend its magic and the kids ooh and aah over the dough being three times bigger than it was before.
And that's it, my good people who-are-kind-enough-to-read-my blog, you've got PIZZA DOUGH.
To make the pizza, preheat your oven to 500 degrees F. Divide the dough in half. Grab a cookie sheet or rimmed baking sheet or a pizza pan (whatever you have hiding in your drawers...er, kitchen drawers). Lightly drizzle olive oil on the pan. Plop that dough in the middle and start stretching (not you, the dough!) using your fingers. Press, press, press.
I usually use a plain cookie sheet (one that can stand up to 500 degrees F) and just press and stretch that dough to fit the whole pan. So I end up with a rectangular pizza, but I'm not much for accurate geometry. You are most welcome to make a circle if that's what you please. Heck, if you really really really are in the mood for some kookiness, you can shape it any way you want (like oddly-shaped pancakes the kids ask for on Sunday mornings), as long as you get the dough nice and thin. Thin crust is great, baby!
And then. And then, the moment of truth. Toppings!
Go crazy. Whatever satisfies your palate, I grant you permission. For my version, because my dear hubby is unkooky like me, I used store bought Pizza sauce (Ragu), pepperoni, mozarella cheese (not the grated ones; I got me a fresh one and I grated it myself. Makes a world of difference!), and diced green olives. The kids are all about plain sauce and cheese, and maybe a little bit of pepperoni. (Seriously, I need to get my gene pool checked. No adventure-seeking eaters here. *pout*)
Bake the pizza for 8-10 minutes, until the edges turn into that yummy golden brown color.
Voila! You just made yourself a fresh, homemade pizza. Forget delivery, forget frozen freezer-burned versions. Grab some drinks. Line up your complete 1st, 2nd, and 3rd season Mad Men DVDs, and let the night roll away.
Someone obviously couldn't resist.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
I was on H-I-A-T-U-S
This blog is not abandoned. I was on hiatus. Or, in other words:
( )I was too lazy to write.
( )I was too busy to write.
( )I was watching Lady Belle and Count Cannonball grow up.
( )I was in Cooking Mama mode (no, not the DS game), whipping up delectable, delicious, delightful gastronomical fares for my crew.
( )I was learning how to get into the Cooking Mama mode.
( )I was expanding my braincell-starved brain by diving into the well of imagined characters, settings, and scenarios; in other (plainer) words, I was reading books.
( )I was trying not to ignore the pile of dirty laundry crying "Wash Me!", or the pile of dirty dishes saying, "Scrub Me!", or...well, you get the idea.
( )I was living life and not missing one second of it.
( )All of the above.
( )I was too lazy to write.
( )I was too busy to write.
( )I was watching Lady Belle and Count Cannonball grow up.
( )I was in Cooking Mama mode (no, not the DS game), whipping up delectable, delicious, delightful gastronomical fares for my crew.
( )I was learning how to get into the Cooking Mama mode.
( )I was expanding my braincell-starved brain by diving into the well of imagined characters, settings, and scenarios; in other (plainer) words, I was reading books.
( )I was trying not to ignore the pile of dirty laundry crying "Wash Me!", or the pile of dirty dishes saying, "Scrub Me!", or...well, you get the idea.
( )I was living life and not missing one second of it.
( )All of the above.
Earnestly Praying
...for the people of Japan. My sis-in-law's family lives there. As far as I know they are currently safe. But with the magnitude of the disaster the whole country is facing, safe is a relative word.
Images here.
Images here.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Oh Croup!
No, I didn't misspell 'crap'. Though I must say the two could be synonymous, in my world at least. As much as I was relieved to find that my little Count Cannonball did not have the swine flue (yay!), the *croup diagnosis was no cause for celebration (boo!). Add ear infection to the equation, and Voila! Instant crappy, sleep-deprivating, vomit-laden situation with a side of unending crankies.
True, I should be grateful it is not life-threatening.
True, I should be grateful it didn't turn into *RSV.
Still, after 3 days...or wait, is it 4?...of lugging my sweet 35-pounder up and down the stairs, of having only 2-hour increments of disrupted sleep, of having my ear drums beaten to an unrecognizable pulp (he has strong lungs, which is a good thing says the doc), of patiently waiting for his fits to subside while I kept myself from screaming and tearing my hair apart--
You can tell it's been a loooong 3 days (or 4; I don't know anymore). The dirty dishes scream 'Wash me!' in the sink, while piles of washed laundry wilt and wrinkle on the couch, silently bemoaning their forgotten state. See? See what I mean--my brain has ceased to function as evidenced by the purple prose written above.
So not good.
What's a mom to do? Even worse, what's a writer to do? Ah croup!
*croup: Accdg. to KidsHealth.org, Croup is a condition that causes an inflammation of the upper airways — the voice box (larynx) and windpipe (trachea). It often leads to a barking cough or hoarseness, especially when a child cries.
Most cases of croup are caused by viruses. Those involved are usually parainfluenza virus (which accounts for most cases), adenovirus, and respiratory syncytial virus (RSV). Croup is most common — and symptoms are most severe — in children 6 months to 3 years old, but can affect older kids, too.
*RSV:Respiratory syncytial virus (RSV), which causes infection of the lungs and breathing passages, is a major cause of respiratory illness in young children.
True, I should be grateful it is not life-threatening.
True, I should be grateful it didn't turn into *RSV.
Still, after 3 days...or wait, is it 4?...of lugging my sweet 35-pounder up and down the stairs, of having only 2-hour increments of disrupted sleep, of having my ear drums beaten to an unrecognizable pulp (he has strong lungs, which is a good thing says the doc), of patiently waiting for his fits to subside while I kept myself from screaming and tearing my hair apart--
You can tell it's been a loooong 3 days (or 4; I don't know anymore). The dirty dishes scream 'Wash me!' in the sink, while piles of washed laundry wilt and wrinkle on the couch, silently bemoaning their forgotten state. See? See what I mean--my brain has ceased to function as evidenced by the purple prose written above.
So not good.
What's a mom to do? Even worse, what's a writer to do? Ah croup!
*croup: Accdg. to KidsHealth.org, Croup is a condition that causes an inflammation of the upper airways — the voice box (larynx) and windpipe (trachea). It often leads to a barking cough or hoarseness, especially when a child cries.
Most cases of croup are caused by viruses. Those involved are usually parainfluenza virus (which accounts for most cases), adenovirus, and respiratory syncytial virus (RSV). Croup is most common — and symptoms are most severe — in children 6 months to 3 years old, but can affect older kids, too.
*RSV:Respiratory syncytial virus (RSV), which causes infection of the lungs and breathing passages, is a major cause of respiratory illness in young children.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
I really should...
...try to blog more often, but with only 24 hours in a day, and 8 of that spent sleeping (I wish!), there's only so much that one can do in 16 hours. Right? Right!
Since I've got one sick kid (poor Count Cannonball) at the moment, thought I'd let you guys amuse yourselves with this:
In two days' time, I assure you that song will be stuck in your head. Happy ticking! BTW, this is my little cannonball's fave...erm...puppet show. Thank heavens he doesn't understand why Dumbledore shows up naked later on. I won't have to explain that one for many years to come (I hope!).
Enjoy!
Since I've got one sick kid (poor Count Cannonball) at the moment, thought I'd let you guys amuse yourselves with this:
In two days' time, I assure you that song will be stuck in your head. Happy ticking! BTW, this is my little cannonball's fave...erm...puppet show. Thank heavens he doesn't understand why Dumbledore shows up naked later on. I won't have to explain that one for many years to come (I hope!).
Enjoy!
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Dear Lucky Agent
For you writers out there--wait, let me make that, desperate aspiring writers--here's a contest that'll get you to quit your love affair with your bourbon, or whiskey, or heck, I don't know what you people drink.
For YA and Middle Grade only, here's the contest info:
BTW, this is from Chuck Sambuchino (an awesome guy--no, I haven't met him in person, but his pic looks cool!;)) He's an editor for the Writer's Digest Books. Oh, just click on the link, okay, cause I haven't got time to list all he's done (which is a LOT).
Welcome to the second "Dear Lucky Agent" Contest on the GLA blog. This will be a recurring online contest with agent judges and super-cool prizes. Here's the deal: With every contest, the details are essentially the same, but the niche itself changes—meaning each contest is focused around a specific category or two. So if you're writing a book-length kids novel, this second contest is for you!
HOW TO SUBMIT
E-mail entries to februaryagentcontest@gmail.com. Please paste everything. No attachments.
WHAT TO SUBMIT
The first 150-200 words of your unpublished, book-length work of middle grade or young adult fiction. You must include a contact e-mail address with your entry and use your real name. Also, submit the title of the work and a logline (one-sentence description of the work) with your entry.
Please note: To be eligible to submit, I ask that you do one of two things: 1) Mention and link to this contest twice through your social media - blogs, Twitter, Facebook; or 2) just mention this contest once and also add Guide to Literary Agents Blog (www.guidetoliteraryagents.com/blog) to your blogroll. Please provide link(s) so I can verify eligibility.
CONTEST DETAILS
1. This contest will be live for approximately fourteen days - from Feb. 7 through the end of Sunday, Feb. 21, EST. Winners notified by e-mail within seven days of end of contest. Winners announced on the blog thereafter.
2. To enter, submit the first 150-200 words of your book. Shorter or longer entries will not be considered. Keep it within word count range please.
3. This contest is solely for completed book-length works of middle grade and young adult fiction (kids novels).
4. You can submit as many times as you wish.
5. The contest is open to everyone of all ages, save those employees, officers and directors of GLA's publisher, F+W Media.
6. There are more rules (most of them dealing with legal stuff) that you can find in the comments section of this post.
7. By e-mailing your entry, you are submitting an entry for consideration in this contest and thereby agreeing to the terms written here as well as the terms added by me at the beginning of the "Comments" section of this blog post.
PRIZES!!!
First place: 1) A critique of 25 pages of your work, by your agent judge. 2) A query critique from your agent judge. 3) Two free books from Writer's Digest Books (I will give you several choices and you pick the books your want).
Runner-ups - second and third place: 1) A critique of 10 pages of your work, by your agent judge. 2) One free book from Writer's Digest Books (I will give you several choices and you pick the book your want).
Jennifer Laughran from Andrea Brown Lit Agency will be judging your ink-and-paper dreams. So polish, polish, polish that ms. And goodluck to everyone.
For YA and Middle Grade only, here's the contest info:
BTW, this is from Chuck Sambuchino (an awesome guy--no, I haven't met him in person, but his pic looks cool!;)) He's an editor for the Writer's Digest Books. Oh, just click on the link, okay, cause I haven't got time to list all he's done (which is a LOT).
Welcome to the second "Dear Lucky Agent" Contest on the GLA blog. This will be a recurring online contest with agent judges and super-cool prizes. Here's the deal: With every contest, the details are essentially the same, but the niche itself changes—meaning each contest is focused around a specific category or two. So if you're writing a book-length kids novel, this second contest is for you!
HOW TO SUBMIT
E-mail entries to februaryagentcontest@gmail.com. Please paste everything. No attachments.
WHAT TO SUBMIT
The first 150-200 words of your unpublished, book-length work of middle grade or young adult fiction. You must include a contact e-mail address with your entry and use your real name. Also, submit the title of the work and a logline (one-sentence description of the work) with your entry.
Please note: To be eligible to submit, I ask that you do one of two things: 1) Mention and link to this contest twice through your social media - blogs, Twitter, Facebook; or 2) just mention this contest once and also add Guide to Literary Agents Blog (www.guidetoliteraryagents.com/blog) to your blogroll. Please provide link(s) so I can verify eligibility.
CONTEST DETAILS
1. This contest will be live for approximately fourteen days - from Feb. 7 through the end of Sunday, Feb. 21, EST. Winners notified by e-mail within seven days of end of contest. Winners announced on the blog thereafter.
2. To enter, submit the first 150-200 words of your book. Shorter or longer entries will not be considered. Keep it within word count range please.
3. This contest is solely for completed book-length works of middle grade and young adult fiction (kids novels).
4. You can submit as many times as you wish.
5. The contest is open to everyone of all ages, save those employees, officers and directors of GLA's publisher, F+W Media.
6. There are more rules (most of them dealing with legal stuff) that you can find in the comments section of this post.
7. By e-mailing your entry, you are submitting an entry for consideration in this contest and thereby agreeing to the terms written here as well as the terms added by me at the beginning of the "Comments" section of this blog post.
PRIZES!!!
First place: 1) A critique of 25 pages of your work, by your agent judge. 2) A query critique from your agent judge. 3) Two free books from Writer's Digest Books (I will give you several choices and you pick the books your want).
Runner-ups - second and third place: 1) A critique of 10 pages of your work, by your agent judge. 2) One free book from Writer's Digest Books (I will give you several choices and you pick the book your want).
Jennifer Laughran from Andrea Brown Lit Agency will be judging your ink-and-paper dreams. So polish, polish, polish that ms. And goodluck to everyone.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
And For Art Lovers Out There...
You can't call yourself an art enthusiast if you have not seen these glorious, fully-expressive pieces by Mia Araujo. Awesome detailing, vivid colors and portrayal--simply delightful to the senses. Don't miss it and be a doofus.
Well, what are you waiting for?
What's that? I didn't give you the link?
[sheepish grin]
Here ya go then!
Well, what are you waiting for?
What's that? I didn't give you the link?
[sheepish grin]
Here ya go then!
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Wreck This!
Ah who thought I could get addicted to one particular blog?
I have to confess, I spent hours--hours, mind you, I mean my butt was glued to my seat, my nose up the screen, ignoring the ominous cracking sounds of plastic against wood and the predictable wail that signalled someone's toy was broken, the ensuing ruckus behind me with one high-pitched voice crying, "Mine! No, mine!"...
[eyes glazed over, grin widening at the fresh new wreckreations appearing on the screen]
Oh, you still here?
Sorry. Like I said, it's become an addiction. I don't smoke, I don't do drugs, and I don't drink (alcoholic beverages, that is), but this--chain me up 'cause I'm guilty as charged.
Two words: CAKE WRECKS.
See for yourself. But I'm warning you, you're gonna get suck in its vortex and then we will have to start an intervention, eh?
I have to confess, I spent hours--hours, mind you, I mean my butt was glued to my seat, my nose up the screen, ignoring the ominous cracking sounds of plastic against wood and the predictable wail that signalled someone's toy was broken, the ensuing ruckus behind me with one high-pitched voice crying, "Mine! No, mine!"...
[eyes glazed over, grin widening at the fresh new wreckreations appearing on the screen]
Oh, you still here?
Sorry. Like I said, it's become an addiction. I don't smoke, I don't do drugs, and I don't drink (alcoholic beverages, that is), but this--chain me up 'cause I'm guilty as charged.
Two words: CAKE WRECKS.
See for yourself. But I'm warning you, you're gonna get suck in its vortex and then we will have to start an intervention, eh?
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Spooky Saturday Fun
I hereby declare that my little demolition ball, aka baby boy, be called from this time and henceforth, the prodigious name of Count Cannonball, defender of Skittles, knight-errant of the two kingdoms bordering Granny's patio and Mommy's kitchen, and the advocate of the poor and the needy bugs (and whatnot) living in the dirt.
The lovely Maiden of Puddingshire, aptly christened Elizabeth but disliking the name, insisted upon being called Lady Belle instead, in honor of her all-time favorite movie and story, Beauty and the Beast. Thus she is to be called: Lady Belle, Maiden of Puddingshire, lover of chocolate and all things glittery and shiny, and wearer of silken tutus and scratchy tulle.
******
As I do not want you to think I have gone bonkers, or that my brain has spiraled beyond the acceptable limits of eccentricity, let me explain the inspiration for the above declarations.
Saturday found us at the local museum attending a fun event, with a myriad of activities including arts and crafts, games, face painting, and a tour of the Pirate's lair for the whole family. The theme was Pirates, Fairies, and Such. Dressing up, though not required, was duly encouraged, so my son donned a pirate's hat, while my daughter was decked in full Tinkerbell attire, with wings and all. Upon entry, the children were given names that were picked out of some bowls. Hence, Count Cannonball and Lady Belle (which was originally Maiden Elizabeth the Third) came to life. Needless to say, we all had fun.
And now, for the purposes of my blog, the brilliant idea came to me to use these fanciful names when referring to my kiddos. Then I would not have to keep saying, my little boy, or my little girl. So there you have it.
The lovely Maiden of Puddingshire, aptly christened Elizabeth but disliking the name, insisted upon being called Lady Belle instead, in honor of her all-time favorite movie and story, Beauty and the Beast. Thus she is to be called: Lady Belle, Maiden of Puddingshire, lover of chocolate and all things glittery and shiny, and wearer of silken tutus and scratchy tulle.
******
As I do not want you to think I have gone bonkers, or that my brain has spiraled beyond the acceptable limits of eccentricity, let me explain the inspiration for the above declarations.
Saturday found us at the local museum attending a fun event, with a myriad of activities including arts and crafts, games, face painting, and a tour of the Pirate's lair for the whole family. The theme was Pirates, Fairies, and Such. Dressing up, though not required, was duly encouraged, so my son donned a pirate's hat, while my daughter was decked in full Tinkerbell attire, with wings and all. Upon entry, the children were given names that were picked out of some bowls. Hence, Count Cannonball and Lady Belle (which was originally Maiden Elizabeth the Third) came to life. Needless to say, we all had fun.
And now, for the purposes of my blog, the brilliant idea came to me to use these fanciful names when referring to my kiddos. Then I would not have to keep saying, my little boy, or my little girl. So there you have it.
Friday, October 9, 2009
First Day Goodbyes Are A Lie
All month long in August, my daughter bounced, twirled, talked, and talked some more. Her eyes sparkled. The smile etched on her sweet face remained stuck even in her sleep. Such abounding joy seemed to know no end. And the reason for this: School.
Yes, you heard me. School. I had never seen anyone so excited about school in my life. She was starting kindergarten, see. We went shopping and picked out her school bag. We laid out the clothes she would wear for her very first day. I set my alarm so I could do this right: lovely breakfast in the morning, the curlers out to curl her hair, her sparkling shoes by the door....
We came early and took pictures outside the school grounds. Her little hand clinging to mine, the smile was still there so I did not worry. The first half hour, the parents were invited to come inside. It was a whirlwind of loud chaotic shuffling, as we tried to cramp ourselves in the busy classroom. There were activities laid out. Handprints, measurements, find the letter of the alphabet written on the paper, test out the toilet and teach your kid how to wash their hands, look for the cubbies, and so on and so forth. By the time we were done, I wiped the beady sweat off my brow and ushered my clunky stroller out the door, waving goodbye to my little girl as I left.
Where was the emotional, teary, "Mommy, stay" moment I heard about on first days? Did I miss it? Am I so kooky this special event was not allowed to me?
The next day, we walked to school. We were early again. There was quiet, with only a few tots scrambling up and down the playground slide. I asked, "Do you see any of your friends anywhere?" She shook her head, her hand clasped tight in mine. I asked again, "Do you want to go in and play?" Another shaking of head no. I said, "Okay, we'll wait for one of them to show up."
It was a Friday, a short day, so the schedule was different. The bell rang and still no sight of her friends anywhere. The parents must have forgotten afternoon kindergarten started early on Fridays. I urged my little silent companion to go on and line up.
She went and came back. "My teacher's not there." A teacher came out. "Go on," I said. She went and came back. "That's not my teacher." She clung to me, a frown marring her beautiful features.
"It's okay, I'll be right here until you go inside." I kissed the top of her head. Finally her teacher came out. "I love you, mommy," she blurted and gave me a hug. Then she ran off before I could say I love you back.
I watched her stand in the line. I watched her as she went through the door. I watched even when I could not see her anymore.
I pushed the stroller, where my little boy sat contentedly, oblivious to the emotions raging inside me. "C'mon, sweetie," I said to him, "let's go home."
I sniffed. I didn't bother wiping the wet streaks on my cheeks. No one would see. The streets were empty.
Yes, you heard me. School. I had never seen anyone so excited about school in my life. She was starting kindergarten, see. We went shopping and picked out her school bag. We laid out the clothes she would wear for her very first day. I set my alarm so I could do this right: lovely breakfast in the morning, the curlers out to curl her hair, her sparkling shoes by the door....
We came early and took pictures outside the school grounds. Her little hand clinging to mine, the smile was still there so I did not worry. The first half hour, the parents were invited to come inside. It was a whirlwind of loud chaotic shuffling, as we tried to cramp ourselves in the busy classroom. There were activities laid out. Handprints, measurements, find the letter of the alphabet written on the paper, test out the toilet and teach your kid how to wash their hands, look for the cubbies, and so on and so forth. By the time we were done, I wiped the beady sweat off my brow and ushered my clunky stroller out the door, waving goodbye to my little girl as I left.
Where was the emotional, teary, "Mommy, stay" moment I heard about on first days? Did I miss it? Am I so kooky this special event was not allowed to me?
The next day, we walked to school. We were early again. There was quiet, with only a few tots scrambling up and down the playground slide. I asked, "Do you see any of your friends anywhere?" She shook her head, her hand clasped tight in mine. I asked again, "Do you want to go in and play?" Another shaking of head no. I said, "Okay, we'll wait for one of them to show up."
It was a Friday, a short day, so the schedule was different. The bell rang and still no sight of her friends anywhere. The parents must have forgotten afternoon kindergarten started early on Fridays. I urged my little silent companion to go on and line up.
She went and came back. "My teacher's not there." A teacher came out. "Go on," I said. She went and came back. "That's not my teacher." She clung to me, a frown marring her beautiful features.
"It's okay, I'll be right here until you go inside." I kissed the top of her head. Finally her teacher came out. "I love you, mommy," she blurted and gave me a hug. Then she ran off before I could say I love you back.
I watched her stand in the line. I watched her as she went through the door. I watched even when I could not see her anymore.
I pushed the stroller, where my little boy sat contentedly, oblivious to the emotions raging inside me. "C'mon, sweetie," I said to him, "let's go home."
I sniffed. I didn't bother wiping the wet streaks on my cheeks. No one would see. The streets were empty.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Sleep Is But An Arm's Reach Away
Until my baby springs up like a tight coil and wails from his crib for Ba-ba. Oh wait, you don't know what a Ba-ba is? This two-syllabic word constantly rings in my ears, to the point that when I am in public and the little one is on the verge of a--dare I say it--a meltdown, I press my face into the stroller and, in an equally high-pitched, high-strung voice, I say, "Do you want a Ba-ba? A Ba-ba? Do you want it? A Ba-ba, yes?" to looks of repressed horror and confusion from onlookers.
A Ba-ba. What the heck is that? Men turn their faces away as if embarrassed to be caught watching a spectacle that has baffled and tweaked their curiosity for centuries. Women scowl, unafraid to show their disapproving visages, which only scares the baby and induces him to shriek some more.
A Ba-ba. Here? In the mall? In the middle of this traffic of moving, aimless bodies taking shelter under the bright lights of a building that seem to offer so many enticements--bold red ads screaming SALE 50% OFF, because in truth the store would close give or take a few weeks if no customers come their way.
I take out the diaper bag. I rummage inside. An old woman frowns, thinking, What is she doing? In the old days, all it took to feed a baby was a hungry mouth, a nursing bra, and maybe a blanket for a little privacy, inside the comforts of a bedroom in their own homes.
I take out the Ba-ba. Ah, the onlookers disperse. My baby grabs the bottle, a happy smile on his face. He says, "Ba-ba", for good measure, and leans back on his stroller. His eyelids flutter and close.
A Ba-ba. What the heck is that? Men turn their faces away as if embarrassed to be caught watching a spectacle that has baffled and tweaked their curiosity for centuries. Women scowl, unafraid to show their disapproving visages, which only scares the baby and induces him to shriek some more.
A Ba-ba. Here? In the mall? In the middle of this traffic of moving, aimless bodies taking shelter under the bright lights of a building that seem to offer so many enticements--bold red ads screaming SALE 50% OFF, because in truth the store would close give or take a few weeks if no customers come their way.
I take out the diaper bag. I rummage inside. An old woman frowns, thinking, What is she doing? In the old days, all it took to feed a baby was a hungry mouth, a nursing bra, and maybe a blanket for a little privacy, inside the comforts of a bedroom in their own homes.
I take out the Ba-ba. Ah, the onlookers disperse. My baby grabs the bottle, a happy smile on his face. He says, "Ba-ba", for good measure, and leans back on his stroller. His eyelids flutter and close.
Kooky Cookies: Let’s hear you say that fifty times really fast
It is true. I don’t bake cookies. Why bake’ em when you can buy ‘em is my motto. Actually, it’s one of many. One other is: You do what you can do. But I digress.
Cookies, yes, we’re talking about cookies. My personal favorite is the snickerdoodle. My little girl adores chocolate chips, but then again, she is a chocoholic. Case in point: She once downed a couple’s portion of a dark chocolate cake all by herself. Mind you, I said dark. And chocolate bars that are 80% dark cocoa? Yes, she can eat those too. In a mouthful.
Now, my little boy—he can live without chocolate. He likes a bite here and there, but that is all. He is more of a sugar cookie connoisseur. Gooey frosting and all. With sprinkles, please. It gets in his hair, behind his ears, inside his shirt, on his pants, the tips of his shoes, between the toes if he is barefooted at the time of his indulgence, and all over his cherubic little face. After I finish cleaning him off, it is on MY shirt, on MY pants, on My hair, on My nose…you get the picture.
My hubby cares for peanut butter cookies. He likes all kinds of cookies of course, but anything with peanuts lights up the boyish glint in his eyes. When I find the ones he likes, I treat it with reverence. No one else can have these but Daddy, I say to my angel who is reaching a crumb-encrusted hand into the paper sack.
Since my family cannot come upon a general consensus as to what kind of cookie we should bake, I grab my keys, head to the store, and buy the cookies instead. Less messes, less tantrums, less kitchen wares, equipments, and utensils to use. I smile as the cookies disappear under my nose. Nobody has to know that I don’t know how to cook.
Cookies, yes, we’re talking about cookies. My personal favorite is the snickerdoodle. My little girl adores chocolate chips, but then again, she is a chocoholic. Case in point: She once downed a couple’s portion of a dark chocolate cake all by herself. Mind you, I said dark. And chocolate bars that are 80% dark cocoa? Yes, she can eat those too. In a mouthful.
Now, my little boy—he can live without chocolate. He likes a bite here and there, but that is all. He is more of a sugar cookie connoisseur. Gooey frosting and all. With sprinkles, please. It gets in his hair, behind his ears, inside his shirt, on his pants, the tips of his shoes, between the toes if he is barefooted at the time of his indulgence, and all over his cherubic little face. After I finish cleaning him off, it is on MY shirt, on MY pants, on My hair, on My nose…you get the picture.
My hubby cares for peanut butter cookies. He likes all kinds of cookies of course, but anything with peanuts lights up the boyish glint in his eyes. When I find the ones he likes, I treat it with reverence. No one else can have these but Daddy, I say to my angel who is reaching a crumb-encrusted hand into the paper sack.
Since my family cannot come upon a general consensus as to what kind of cookie we should bake, I grab my keys, head to the store, and buy the cookies instead. Less messes, less tantrums, less kitchen wares, equipments, and utensils to use. I smile as the cookies disappear under my nose. Nobody has to know that I don’t know how to cook.
Who, me?
In real life, I am the mom you see dragging a wagon with two passengers—one, a chatterbox, the other, a demolition ball (who, at the moment, resembles a sweet, sticky, and cuddly boy pointing at the construction trucks nearby) as we walk our way to school. At first glance, I do not, in any way, embody kookiness or any of its affiliations. Of course this is my disguise. I slip among the normal beings, undetected and unnoticed in my dark denim wash, ballet flats, and chocolate cardigan. Very un-kooky. After all, I cannot risk my children’s social lives by appearing to be someone that all the other moms pretend to not see. Selfishness is not one of my virtues.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)