Monday, October 30, 2006

THE HONEY INCIDENT: IN WHICH IT ENDED UP SCHLEPPED ACROSS THE HARDWOOD FLOORS AND ALL WAS WRONG WITH THE WORLD FOR OH, ABOUT 20 MINUTES OR SO

No, I don't have any pictures. Hell, they're lucky they're still alive to tell the tale.

But in a nutshell...

It's a lazy Sunday morning. We're not really wanting to pop out of bed at our usual 5:45am, but, of course, the dynamic duo began chatting (loudly) before the sun ever even came up. Usually, we'll pick a Saturday or Sunday to sleep in a little, and I'll leave out on the kitchen counter a couple of bananas, some cheerio snack bags, granola bars, etc. and their milk/juice sippy cups ready in the fridge for them to snack on before we eventually roll out of bed to make breakfast. But something caught their attention that particular morning, and neither one of them ever actually made it past the hallway.

Instead, atop their 4-foot dresser and right next to our very tattered and torn copy of Winnie-the-Pooh (which we've been reading pretty religiously of late) is a small plastic bottle of honey (as twisted coincidence would have it) with a very long teaspoon. I tend to keep it on hand for those evenings when one or the other of them is racked with a hacking cough, which, unfortunately, seems to happen more and more with these Northern California autumns, although, thankfully, it doesn't ever seem to turn into anything more, and almost always (not surprisingly) seems to dissipate immediately after a 3am dose of bee poop.

Just as we must have both drifted back to sleep for a few precious minutes, I'm suddenly awakened by the deafening silence (all parents of toddlers know this frightfully well), very shortly followed by pitter-patters past our bedroom doorway, down the hallway, into the bathroom, up onto the step stool, and then the sound of the faucet.

"Saia, is that you?"

"Yes, ma'm," she says. "I'm washing my hands."

"Oh, okay, baby."

"They're sticky," she lets slip.

[Okay. Roll over. Pillow on top of head...]

"STICKY?!?!?"

To their credit, they very clearly tried to NOT make a mess, as it was their very obvious intention from the look of their cheeks, hair and clothes that they meant to devour the entire jar in one sitting, and while I was standing there, mouth agape, processing, they were both on their way back from the bathroom with dripping wet towels (bath towels, mind you; not hand towels) trying desperately to remedy the gooey situation. And I just stood there with my hands on my cheeks looking around for some semblance of the bedroom I'd left the night before as they scrubbed and scoured and tried to sop up all the sweet gumminess from their carpet, the floor, their bed posts, their sheets, the mouths of their babies, their newly painted mini-pumpkins, their stuffed animals, the step stool propped strategically against the dresser, and maybe a book or two -- I really couldn't tell at that point.

But as luck was very clearly on their side that day, I must've stood there just long enough to come down the other side of Mount Eruptus because I really could hardly contain my laughter at the point that I finally was able to will myself into Mama-mode. So, rolling EVERYTHING up into the fly-paper-like rug, I tried my very best to frown and scowl and lecture them all the way to the washing machine as they tearfully dragged their nasty little pillows behind them, but by the time I realized that there were a million little honey-laden footprints covering every square inch of the house I was nearly rolling on the floor in tears.

So, no one got punished. No one lost any animals. Everything's been degummified. And all is right with the world again.

But it's only Monday.

Friday, October 27, 2006

WE ARE NOT A SUBTLE SORT

"One, two, three," she says. "Four, five, six...twelve, thirteen...twenty-one, twenty-two..," she continues.

"Thirty-four, thirty-five...forty-three, forty-four...fifty-nine, sixty," and then she inhales deeply. "Sixty-one..."

"Saia?" he calls sweetly.

"Sixty-two, sixty-three...seventy-seven, seventy-eight..."

"Saaaaaiiiiiiaaaa?" he bellows across the console.

"Eighty-niiiiine, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two..." she continues unaffected.

Then drawing in a deep breath, he yells, "SAIA!SAIA!SAIA!SAIA!SAIA!SAIA!SAIA!SAIA!"

To which, thank God, she finally replies, "Yes, Santiago, what is it?" although she's glaringly exasperated.

"Aren't you tired of counting yet?"

[By the way, in case you were wondering, you can, apparently, count to 100 TWENTY-FIVE FREAKIN' TIMES between the time we leave our house in the morning and the moment I come screeching into the drive at the school, which, as I may have mentioned once or twice before is FORTY-FIVE MINUTES AWAY!!!!!!!]

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

THIS DAMN WAR!

Being a little crafty over the weekend with our new caterpillar and crocodile scissors, talking about the weather and Halloween and how mine is better than yours, no mine, no MINE, NO MINE!!! And then Chago starts talking about Narnia (his new all-time favorite movie) and he asks me to explain why the children were running into a shelter in the beginning of the movie. So, very carefully, and not particularly liking these waters all that much, I tread through a very vague definition of war (i.e., groups of people who disagree about something so much and have become so frustrated because the other side won't even listen anymore that they don't know what else to do except to fight with each other about it even though there's very little chance that this will actually solve the problem that started the whole disagreement in the first place), which seemed to be satisfactory enough at the time until we're driving to work this morning and I'm listening to NPR and there's some reference or another to the current administration's ridiculous take on "staying the course" (see my other posting) in Iraq to which, in a moment of unreserved aggravation partially due to the sun reflecting directly into my eyes off the shiny new Escalade with the too-dark tint in front of me, and partially due to the fact that NO ONE should be allowed to drive in the fast lane unless your speed is only evenly divisible by, oh I don't know, 50!!! so I furiously punch the button to change the station and mumble something relatively incoherent about "this damn war," and that's when Chago says, "Mama, don't be sad. Saia and I won't fight anymore so you won't have to worry about the war."

[Oh, baby, if only that's all it took.]

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

DON'T QUIT YOUR DAY JOBS!!!

On the way home from school yesterday, the kids decided they wanted to tell jokes. Well, yes, isn't that cute and all that, but what you don't realize is that their idea of a joke is from a Baby Einstein video in which a stuffed carrot appears, and then a second stuffed carrot appears, and then a stuffed parrot appears -- and the whole joke is..."carrot, not parrot!!!"

[Yes. Really. Try to contain yourself.]

This "joke" has been on the top of their list since they started talking. They think it's freakin' hilarious. So, this is how they tell jokes...

"Okay, Mama, are you ready?" he asks.

"Go ahead, boy," I say, bracing myself.

"Dog, not frog!!" and he breaks out into hysterical laughter.

"Cat, not bat! Mouse, not house! Sky, not fly!" and he goes on and on, both of them squealing with delight at each new rhyme, and it's a 45-minute commute home, let's not forget.

And the whole time, in between her own peals of laughter, she's trying to get in there, trying to be heard, trying to do her own set, you know? But her mind works differently than his does, and she comprehends differently than he does, and she interprets things and digests things and regurgitates things very differently than he does. So what, in her mind, was exactly the same kind of joke, actually came out...

"Okay, Mama, my turn, my turn! Are you ready?"

"Go, babygirl," and I glance up at the rearview mirror.

"Pelican.." she says, pausing to build the anticipation, "...not wildebeast!!!"

[Aye, Saita. Thank God she can cook.]

Monday, October 23, 2006

MAMA'S LITTLE HELPERS

It's not really child labor if you smother them with kisses afterwards.


If you can't see the video above, click here.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

BAD, BAD MAMA

"Mama, I want to go back to England," he says a couple of nights ago.

"You do, baby?" I ask. "And why's that?"

"Because you don't yell in England."

[Ugh. Okay, so I may be just a little overdue for a vacation.]

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Friday, October 20, 2006

FULL OF HOT AIR

"Mama, where'd the bouncy house go?" asks Chago as we drive by the pseudo pumpkin patch recently planted at our little neighborhood nursery.

"Oh, they must let the air out at night, son. I'm sure they'll re-inflate it in the morning," I reply.

"What's rainflate?" they ask in eerie unison.

"To inflate is to blow something up with air -- like a balloon, or a floatie," I explain. "And to re-inflate is to do it again."

They nod their heads together like little penguins.

The next evening as we pass by the nursery again, he confirms, "Oh, yes, Mom, you're right. They've re-outflated it."

[Such smart kiddos. Too bad the English language sucks.]

Monday, October 16, 2006

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

"Hey, baby, so have you made any friends at the new school?"

"Mm-hmm," she says as she finishes her toast just as we cross the bridge.

"Well," I pry, "so, what are their names?"

"Cake-lyn," she says as she shoves a handful of Kix into her mouth. "She's my favorite." [lick, smack]

"What about you, son?"

"Yes," he says, a little annoyed that he has to look up from his book. "I only have one friend. Her name is O-labia."

[Oh, Freud.]

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Leo, The Veeeeeerrrrry Grateful Lion

On the way home from school yesterday, the kids were telling me about a new story they read called "Leo the Lion" (or some close approximation thereof). Chago (the true Garcia in him shining through) left out no details, remembered everyone's name, and prolonged the punchline to build the anticipation.

[I was so proud.]

"...and then after Leo carried the mouse on his back to his own home, the mouse said 'thank you' and Leo said 'it was my pleasure'." [And this apparently happens throughout the book, Leo helping some stray animal in the jungle and the animal thanking him and Leo saying 'it was my pleasure' because...]

Saia then interrupts, "Okay, Santiago, now it's my turn."

"Okay, Saia," he concedes [more often than not].

"So then, Mama, after Leo pleasured all the animals..."

[WHAT!?!?!?!?!? What exactly are they teaching them at the new school!?!!?!?]

Friday, October 06, 2006

BYE-BYE DAYCARE, HELLO PRESCHOOL

Big, big week for the kiddos. They said good-bye (finally!) to their old, not-so-stimulating, in desperate need of some good teachers, wanna-be-a-real-school-when-it-grows-up daycare that they've attended for the last year, and started on a brand new adventure at a real live preschool with real teachers, real academics, and a real developmental focus (oh, my). They were a little sad saying their goodbyes and got lots of attention from the teachers...on their way out the door. Needless to say, I'm ecstatic. Their first week at the new school has been a pure joy. No tears at all. Not even once. The commute's a pain in my backside -- a minimum of 45 minutes (one way!), but it's totally worth getting up at 5:30 just to hear them so excited, so exhausted, and so eager to go back the next day.The new school has only 4 teachers and less than 30 students, only half of which are full-time like the kids. They get so much more one-on-one attention, and the whole atmosphere is just calmer, more organized, competent, and productive. It's in a renovated old two-story home, so it's got that familiar feel, which I think has made the transition that much easier. The playground is, well...heaven if your a 3 1/2-year old. Swings, jungle gym, pirate ship, b-ball court, and the biggest sandbox you've ever seen. This last picture is their first day. The school asks that they bring their nap things in a pillow case, so that they can learn how to fold and put away their sheets, blankets, and pillows after nap. They've also got gymnastics one day a week, which they seem to just love (Saia, for the activities, and Chago, for the break in the day), and with our new schedule necessitating that we eat dinner on the drive home, we're also actually gaining a little time in the evening and no longer having to rush to get changed, teeth brushed, stories read, songs sung, and off to sleep, off to sleep, I said OFF TO SLEEP! DON'T MAKE ME COME IN HERE AGAIN!!! [ahem] Anyway...all in all, it seems like this was a really great move. It does mean that we live in one place, Mommy works in a whole other town, Mama works in an entirely different city 30 minutes away, and the kids go to school in yet another place. Ugh. How times have changed. But what ARE we gonna do when they start kindergarten???