My favorite eating is pickles and olives.
My favorite seeing is that book (Nursery Rhymes. She's a regular Run DMC these days).
My favorite hearing are stories (our oral tales at bedtime).
My favorite rhyme is Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Peppers. Where are the Pickled Peppers Peter Piper Picked?
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Rites of Passage
In a move parallel to my own preschool stylings, today Ms. Ana got a bead stuck up her nose. She was "trying to show Gabby a trick." Some trick. It reminded me so much of the popcorn kernel I got stuck up my own nostril at Kiddie Kollege, I don't even think I responded with the appropriate alarm.
I could touch it from the opening, and imagined it being a small Mardi Gras beading number. She was squirming and panicking. What could I do? Thinking of calling her pediatrician, I thought about our Abeona expertise, and deferred to Gwen.
Ms. Gwen seemed hesitant to share her problem solving method, but then said it plainly. "Just blow into her mouth. That will get it out."
Sure enough, I laid Ana down on the floor, covered her mouth with mine, and with one strong puff of air, an enormous pink pony bead flew into my cheek with a sting.
Ana's nose no worse for the wear. But I believe that her eyes grew two-and-a-half sizes from watching this all happen.
That Ms. Gwen. What a gem.
I'm quite certain that my mom had to pick me up and bring me to Dr. Casey when this happened to me.
I could touch it from the opening, and imagined it being a small Mardi Gras beading number. She was squirming and panicking. What could I do? Thinking of calling her pediatrician, I thought about our Abeona expertise, and deferred to Gwen.
Ms. Gwen seemed hesitant to share her problem solving method, but then said it plainly. "Just blow into her mouth. That will get it out."
Sure enough, I laid Ana down on the floor, covered her mouth with mine, and with one strong puff of air, an enormous pink pony bead flew into my cheek with a sting.
Ana's nose no worse for the wear. But I believe that her eyes grew two-and-a-half sizes from watching this all happen.
That Ms. Gwen. What a gem.
I'm quite certain that my mom had to pick me up and bring me to Dr. Casey when this happened to me.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
The Best Gifts
Yesterday was Kevin's birthday. With him working at night, we tried to make the morning before school feel extra-special. Frantic shopping trips, midnight cake-baking, morning icing & sprinkling...picture flour in the hair...all unnecessary. Elliot gave his papa the simplest, most beautiful gift he would receive:
On Kevin's birthday morning, after hearing Ana and I discuss this special day many times, Elliot looked at him and said, "Happy Birthday."
Tears in cake, on rainbow-colored tissue changing its color...
Happy Birthday, Kevin! Your love inspires ALL of us to be our best selves.
On Kevin's birthday morning, after hearing Ana and I discuss this special day many times, Elliot looked at him and said, "Happy Birthday."
Tears in cake, on rainbow-colored tissue changing its color...
Happy Birthday, Kevin! Your love inspires ALL of us to be our best selves.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
The Betrayal
How can I tell him? My husband (whose birthday is tomorrow) who envisions this romantic, fun and relaxing kid-free weekend at a friend's wedding in Mississippi...
How can I tell him that I long to be with Harry? That after this weekend, I am ending it with Harry, and that he will never come between us again? But that he must allow me this one indulgence, and then it will be over.
Yes, I know, it's pathetic. But what can I do? I'm smitten.
How can I tell him that I long to be with Harry? That after this weekend, I am ending it with Harry, and that he will never come between us again? But that he must allow me this one indulgence, and then it will be over.
Yes, I know, it's pathetic. But what can I do? I'm smitten.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Ralph Brennan Restaurant Group Annual Company Picnic
I'm not sure how much of this I saw, what with chasing "El on wheels," who was running all over Audubon Park, but here' s the picnic from Ana's point of view:
Upon arrival: Daddy, I don't know all of your schoolmates, so I may be a little shy, OK?
At the egg toss: We cracked the egg! After managing four rounds throwing the egg to daddy. Not such a disappointing event, if cracking the egg is your objective.
At the fish throw (yes, there is a contest to see who throws a large dead fish the furthest), to the leader of the activity upon being handed the fish: This is heavy, and I'm little. Yes, she was the youngest contestant. Her fish flopped a foot forward. She said she didn't like this event so much.
On our way to the pie eating contest: (screaming) Mommy, Mommy, where's the POTTY CONTEST??? I'm sure she would have entered. And won.
To new mom, Jenna: I like your little baby.
On seeing a flock of birds, flying in formation: Look, Mom! The letter T!
Upon leaving the three-hour extravaganza in the heat of summer: Is it time for gymnastics now?
* On that note, I am off to bed.
Upon arrival: Daddy, I don't know all of your schoolmates, so I may be a little shy, OK?
At the egg toss: We cracked the egg! After managing four rounds throwing the egg to daddy. Not such a disappointing event, if cracking the egg is your objective.
At the fish throw (yes, there is a contest to see who throws a large dead fish the furthest), to the leader of the activity upon being handed the fish: This is heavy, and I'm little. Yes, she was the youngest contestant. Her fish flopped a foot forward. She said she didn't like this event so much.
On our way to the pie eating contest: (screaming) Mommy, Mommy, where's the POTTY CONTEST??? I'm sure she would have entered. And won.
To new mom, Jenna: I like your little baby.
On seeing a flock of birds, flying in formation: Look, Mom! The letter T!
Upon leaving the three-hour extravaganza in the heat of summer: Is it time for gymnastics now?
* On that note, I am off to bed.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Another reason why McDonald's is dangerous
For those of you with sensabilities about children watching TV and fast food, you may want to skip this...
For the rest of you, you may need to be in PBS Kids viewing public.
Have you seen the new McDonald's commercial with the 5 year old girl building up her courage (and earning her Happy Meal) to hang from her knees on the monkey bars?
THis commercial has Ana riveted the two times she's seen it. And yes, today my little daredevil ventured it herself, hanging from Ms. Mary's Monkey Bars with such delight and revelry, that I thought her tummy muscles would bust.
She was so proud. I was too. But alas, we did not celebrate with a burger.
What a brave girl you are Ana.
For the rest of you, you may need to be in PBS Kids viewing public.
Have you seen the new McDonald's commercial with the 5 year old girl building up her courage (and earning her Happy Meal) to hang from her knees on the monkey bars?
THis commercial has Ana riveted the two times she's seen it. And yes, today my little daredevil ventured it herself, hanging from Ms. Mary's Monkey Bars with such delight and revelry, that I thought her tummy muscles would bust.
She was so proud. I was too. But alas, we did not celebrate with a burger.
What a brave girl you are Ana.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Advice to the Angry New Orleanian
And let's face it. Who around here isn't secretly or overtly pee-od about somethin'?
I feel like my daily life involves some kind of search for a reason. Anything to rationalize our choices to stay here, and do what we are doing in this crazy place and time. It's pretty tiring, this silver-lining search that is often time fruitless, and still, many times yields an opportunity to be grateful.
For whatever reason today, there was just pissed-ness. Followed by the perfect therapy.
All you out there struggling with your feelings, I tell you to buy yourself a piece of rusty wrought iron. The flea market on River Road just across from Jefferson Playground is crowded with metal forms twisted into animals, welded into garden decor of towered trellises and weathered window boxes. I found two such boxes for a recent project, not knowing how they might affect my psyche.
I spent the better part of the morning scraping the rust of the two windowboxes with a wire brush. Never mind that the thought of scratching metal on metal usually give me goosebumps, I proceeded with great energy. After about 10 minutes, I stepped outside myself, and could see the intensity and anger that was poring out of me as I furiously moved over the metal at lightning speed. I don't think it wouldn't have been surprising to hear me cursing next at the metal thing. But I scraped and scratched, and felt like a Tazmanian devil twisting out of over the box, peppering everything around me with the dust, and possible lead, poisoning my veins, and I LOVED it. It felt damn good.
I watched myself, and puzzled at the stark contrast of my approach to Kevin's: tenderly exfoliating the offending rust from each little spire or wisp of iron, while I was clearly at war. I'm not quite sure who won, but afterwards, I felt a tremendous relief, and snickered at the IRON-y with which I gingerly dropped the plants into the windowboxes ala Stepford wife...and thought, "Well, now. Doesn't that look nice?"
I feel like my daily life involves some kind of search for a reason. Anything to rationalize our choices to stay here, and do what we are doing in this crazy place and time. It's pretty tiring, this silver-lining search that is often time fruitless, and still, many times yields an opportunity to be grateful.
For whatever reason today, there was just pissed-ness. Followed by the perfect therapy.
All you out there struggling with your feelings, I tell you to buy yourself a piece of rusty wrought iron. The flea market on River Road just across from Jefferson Playground is crowded with metal forms twisted into animals, welded into garden decor of towered trellises and weathered window boxes. I found two such boxes for a recent project, not knowing how they might affect my psyche.
I spent the better part of the morning scraping the rust of the two windowboxes with a wire brush. Never mind that the thought of scratching metal on metal usually give me goosebumps, I proceeded with great energy. After about 10 minutes, I stepped outside myself, and could see the intensity and anger that was poring out of me as I furiously moved over the metal at lightning speed. I don't think it wouldn't have been surprising to hear me cursing next at the metal thing. But I scraped and scratched, and felt like a Tazmanian devil twisting out of over the box, peppering everything around me with the dust, and possible lead, poisoning my veins, and I LOVED it. It felt damn good.
I watched myself, and puzzled at the stark contrast of my approach to Kevin's: tenderly exfoliating the offending rust from each little spire or wisp of iron, while I was clearly at war. I'm not quite sure who won, but afterwards, I felt a tremendous relief, and snickered at the IRON-y with which I gingerly dropped the plants into the windowboxes ala Stepford wife...and thought, "Well, now. Doesn't that look nice?"
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