Snapshot

30 May 2008

To really appreciate the moment, let me explain the proceeding pandemonium:
It was nothing particularly unusual; Lilly threw My First Potty Board Book at Ava because Lilly is two and likes throwing things and that book was particularly handy and also because Ava wouldn’t share the Playskool chicken. So Ava threw the chicken (because four-year-olds like to throw too) at which point Lilly pinched her.

I have found it best to let these tiffs blow over, but Lilly pinches hard and Ava’s screams (of pain unfeigned) were my cue to run interference. I tried a few distractions (“Ava, come show me your dollhouse!”). These were met with shrieks of protest. And my most diplomatic reasoning (“I can see that you’re upset, sweetheart; Can you use words instead of screaming?”) met with similar objection.

Not one to be left out of the fun, Lilly caught the spirit of the thing and began to launch Noah’s Ark&Friends at the closet target- me. Besides strong pinching fingers she has a strong throwing arm and surprisingly good aim.

“Okay, good throwing Lilly; but please don't throw at people”

“NO!” was punctuated with a flying plastic cheetah.


And this is how it started. I can’t now recall just how the hysteria subsided, but somewhere between the hippo sur l'aile and air-born Noah himself, Ava announced she was going to play dress-up and the chaos was suddenly over.

I was still recovering from the flying zoo as Ava helped Lilly into Tinkerbell’s fairy dress, and Lilly helped Ava find her Snow White red hair bow. I was asked to fasten all their Velcro and was given the feather boa as thanks. And also the butterfly wings and the princess hat that matched.

Then we went sidewalk chalking.

I wish I were a neighbor who might have peeked over the backyard fence and seen the three of us scribbling away: Lilly looked the very picture of a fairy with her runaway blond hair of tight, tiny curls and her face crinkled into her gleeful (impish) grin; Ava, herself a blonde Snow White, chattered about her favorite princesses as she minced around in her Plastic Glass Sippers With The Little Pink Bows, practicing her A-V-A in pink and purple chalk. If I had been watching from across the way, I would have taken a picture.

But I wasn’t. Instead, I sat in the middle of it all and drew big flowers in orange and blue.

Dyslexic solution ii

25 May 2008

When setting the table, I recite this rhyme for each place setting:

The fork is bereft on the left,
The cup, knife and spoon on the right,
The plate's in the middle,
The napkin (for spittle)
Beside the fork is polite.

[Credit is due to my mother, whom I love, who helped me compose this as a child. Incidentally, setting the table helps children learn the difference between the two sparkly colors- gold and silver.]

Strawberry poisoning

16 May 2008

We washed them, so it wasn’t the insecticide. It is just this: our stomachs can’t hold that many sweet and cool, soft, California ripe, juicy, red strawberries.

Oh little mouse, What are you doing?

I, for one, was just sampling the available produce. Lemons and lettuce are ready enough, I suppose, but why not strawberries when they are so easy to come by! They sell them here by the double flat; twelve of those little baskets- the flimsy, green baskets I horded as a girl to make dolly-shopping carts and handy treasure keeps.

And they just sat there, plump, on the counter, their seductive smell asking us not to let them go to rot in this record mid-May heat.

So we ate them. All. And now, red-sticky-fingered, we are sitting in a miniature garden of flimsy baskets and strawberry caps. My grin is painted juicy red and you’ve a sticky smudge across your chin—sure signs of strawberry poisoning.

Travel log

10 May 2008

The bit of riding you never forget is the concept of the thing. Pedal, pedal, pedal. That's about it.

Unfortunately, after a eight-year hiatus, it is the 656 muscles of this human body that forgot how to ride a bike.

They remember now, and I rather think they shan’t forget in a hurry.

This week I rode about 46 miles all told. Not a bad warm up for an amateur. Of course, if you know much about biking, you realize this is about the equivalent of running 6.5 miles.

But don't worry, I'm just getting started.

{a little background music, courtesy Yves Montand}

Mad-lib

06 May 2008

“How’re you doin’?”

Spencer first pointed out to me that, in honesty, this question can have many answers—many conflicting and contradictory answers.

In fact, I can think of a hundred honest answers on a day like today.

Out the window is __(weather condition)__—so indicative of my mood. The ___(mood)___ sunlight is unexpected, _(conj.)_ so is every day’s hum-drum, so I guess the fault is my expectation’s.

I’ve been ___(gerund)___ a lot on that. On _(personal pronoun)_ expectations. When do ___(adj.)___ dreams of ___(noun)___ begin to warp reality? __(verb)__ they? Sometimes I ___(verb)___ that I ___(verb)___ too much in my ___(adj.)___ reality. _(interjection)_, Balance, I ___(adv.)___ forget how ___(adj.)___ you are.

The birds are ___(gerund)___. No time for ___(gerund phrase)___.
It's time to ___(action verb)___.