Now We Are Six

I may or may not have been saving that blog post title for the last five years, one month, and seven days. I can neither confirm nor deny. (But you already know it's the truth, anyway.)

"'What day is it?'
'It's today,' squeaked Piglet.
'My favorite day,' said Pooh."

"'When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,' said Piglet at last, 'what's the first thing you say to yourself?'
'What's for breakfast?' said Pooh. 'What do you say, Piglet?'
'I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?' said Piglet.
Pooh nodded thoughtfully. 'It's the same thing,' he said."

"Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That's why we call it the present."

"If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you."

-- All quotes by A.A. Milne

Pictures of Pickles

My grandfather's funeral is today, and I just can't even, so here are some pictures of my kid eating a pickle on a stick from when we went to Musikfest the other night.

You try and have a good weekend. I'll be drinking myself blind. See you on the flip side, hopefully.

(PS: This is not denial. This is strictly avoidance. I know the difference. I just wish I didn't have to.)

Hoping, Waiting, Wishing

Look into her eyes.

Look at her pout, her raised eyebrows, her expectant cock of the head.

She is silently pleading, waiting for me to tell her that it is okay, that she can go swimming before her class starts.

And up until the moment that the lifeguard blew the whistle and told her no, I was going to let her, because I can't stand it when she looks at me with those eyes.

Party Monster

Since Shae's birthday is so close to Easter this year, we decided against having a big party. It's so much running around in a weekend, you know?

Plus her actual birthday was on a Thursday, and who wants to celebrate on a Thursday? I never could get the hang of Thursdays.

So I got a nice piece of cake from the little café across the courtyard from my office, we stuck a candle in it, and split it three ways.

Then, on Friday, we went to Build-A-Bear Workshop (more pictures later) and then a bunch of us went out for dinner (which reminds me -- leftovers tonight!).

Afterwards, we went to my grandparents' and sang "Happy Birthday" AGAIN and had delicious, delicious Dora cake, which was almost too pretty to cut.

Today we're taking a break, getting in some nap time, watching some movies, chowing down on some popcorn, before we get into all the Easter festivities tomorrow.

Which, incidentally will involve another birthday cake. DQ ice cream cake, this time. For not wanting to make a big deal, we sure have a lot of parties, no?

I will make sure to document any shenanigans, as usual. Can't promise there is going to be any leftover cake, though. Ice cream cake is good stuff.

Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo

It's so cold and gray and blech and disgusting, plus that damned groundhog saw his shadow so six more weeks of this nonsense, and yadda yadda cabin fever fly to St. Somewhere, and so ... hey, look, something shiny!

Well look who it is -- our friendly neighborhood fairy! In a tutu and a crown and her princess shoes and waving around a pinwheel like a wand, even though she really has no idea what she's supposed to be doing, because her mother forced her to do this, because sweet cracker sandwich, there is nothing going on in our house until "Lost" comes on tonight.

We're a little unclear on the actual duties of a fairy, too. Abby Cadabby on "Sesame Street" can turn stuff into pumpkins, but Shae says she doesn't like pumpkins, so ... mostly we just blow on the pinwheel and giggle. Or let Mommy blow on the pinwheel while Shae tries to knock me over. (I wish there was a magical spell I could cast to get us over the hump with the potty training.)

It's a lot of work, being a fairy princess! Don't let the cute crown fool you.

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch ...

Here are some pictures of things that happened while I wasn't busy fiddling with my farm. (And yes, I know it's completely ridiculous to play a game about a farm on Facebook, but in my defense, it's also completely ridiculous to play games about diners, fish, pirates, and the Mafia on Facebook, too, but none of that stops me. Also, it's fun! My little farmer chick is really cute, with her pigtails and her pink tractor.)

You know, I tried to think of some way to explain this, but I kind of can't -- it's just, what do you expect when you're putting your pajamas on and then all of the sudden there is a llama on your head? You would be shocked too, right? I know I would be. Mostly because from what I've heard, llamas don't always smell all that fantastic. Although: diapers. That's all I'm sayin'.

We got this Tinkerbell flashlight for Christmas, and almost every time it gets used, we end up confiscating it, because apparently "Don't shine the light in the cats' eyes!" is code for "DO IT! DO IT NOW!" Which I should totally know, because I don't think I'm a moron, but then again nobody ever thinks they're stupid, and yet I am perpetually surrounded by clueless wonders.

(Oh, and not that you asked or anything, but when I was in high school and college I used to complain that I was a dork magnet, because the #LOFNOTC would, like, stalk me and stuff. I outgrew my distaste for geeks and ended up married to one, but the trade-off was to become a superpowered idiot attractor. "Be careful what you wish for" is the moral of that non-sequitur.)

Uh, yeeeeeeeeeeeeah, I don't know what this face is either. Shae and I were messing around at bedtime, and G took this picture. Maybe there are some rock horns out of frame that we can't see? Dunno. I am just glad that I am not in this picture, because I am having a bad hair life and also I started breaking out again for some reason and I am 35 years old and too old for this crap.

Neverending Story

Okay, now we are starting to approach insanity-pepper-and-space-coyote levels of crazy because holy tomato we are still opening Christmas presents.

We've been working on getting her to be more polite and stop asking "What do you have for me?" the second we walk in the door, but if this keeps up, that's never going to happen. Damn you, generous people, don't you realize you're jacking up our manners instruction?

The gifts were from one of the salespeople at work that I support. I like her anyway, so the bribes are totally unnecessary, but I appreciate them just the same. I have no adversion to other people treating my kid (as long as they don't try to spoil her). Last year she gave us a cute little dress that Shae wore for school pictures. This year, we got two "The Princess and the Frog" themed toys: a tea party set (yay! plastic!) and a Tiana doll.

Now, we haven't seen the movie, so I can't speak to whether it is good or not, or whether I like the character or not, or any of the stuff that my degree in Writing for Television, Radio and Film is good for. (No, really, that's my degree.) As you already know, I think "princess" is the single filthiest word in the English language, so the entire concept kind of gives me the dry heaves. (And no, I will not accept that The Cult of the Princess has become unavoidable in the raising of an American girl -- not on my watch!)

But at the same time, it's hard to be all about diversity when you're deliberately avoiding exposure to certain things, right? Our household is the very model of the modern poly-racial family -- we've got the white mom, the half-Latino dad, the bi-racial daughter, and even the partly Asian cat (Zöe is part Siamese) -- but what we aren't always tolerant of? Is different kinds of femininity than mine.

All of which is to say that it doesn't happen often, but sometimes we let her put on her crown and play princess. Sometimes. But only for a minute or two.

The X-(mas) Files

It's been a long time since I made a proper list for Santa, so the details are fuzzy, but I'm pretty sure there was never a year when I asked for only one thing for Christmas. Even now, in my old age, my list contains multiple items, to wit:

1. New lens for the fancy camera
2. New flash for the fancy camera
3. ???
4. Profit!

So it's something of a shock to me, material girl living in a material world that I am, that my 2½-year-old has been asking for one thing, and one thing only, this year. What she wants for Christmas is ... a camera.

I shouldn't be surprised, I guess -- this poor kid lives her life on film, unfortunately, because I am that mom, and she gets her picture taken at least once a week doing every frickin' random thing she does except pooping. (Oh, c'mon, I do have my limits.) Ever since she got her grubby mitts on the "baby" camera back in August, she's been asking for a camera of her own.

But what does amaze me is how familiar all of this seems. The fixation, the single-mindedness of purpose. The stubbornness. That's how I get when I find something I really want: a cashmere scarf, an iPhone, a baby. I can't talk about anything else. It's all I can think about. Something I can always picture myself being and doing and using. Kind of like with the writing, and why I started a blog in the first place. I've got all this stuff, and I need to get it out.

This is how Shae has been with the camera, and even if there was ever a doubt about what we are getting her for Christmas -- and there wasn't, anyway -- even if G and I could not agree on what the "big" gift would be this year, I would find away to get her what she wants. She has been all-camera, all-the-time since August, so come hell or high water, baby's getting a camera.

And personally, Mommy is thrilled, because it's one more thing that she and I can do together. I don't know and don't really care whether she'll grow up to be a professional photographer, but even if she's just an adventurous amateur, I am all about encouraging that kind of creative self-expression. Especially when it means that we're not going to dye the cats with Manic Panic, or paint on the sofa.

Space Between

We're smack dab in the middle of birthdays -- one yesterday, two today, and then two more next week, with even more coming soon after that. This time of year, as you might imagine, we do a lot of visiting.

Yesterday we went to visit my Nana Haldaman, my dad's mom, who turned 82. Boy, howdy. Eighty-two years old and still going strong, even with 13 kids, 30-something grandchildren, and about a dozen great-grandchildren. She still crochets afghans and goes to doo-wop shows at the Legion. I get exhausted after walking to the kitchen for a cookie. So good on her. Happy birthday, "Nannie Hallman"!

(Oh, and by the way: These are not up to my usual standards because they're iPhone pictures. Deal. I wasn't lugging that giant-ass camera out just to take pictures of the back of my grandmother's head. You want those shots, you call TMZ, you vultures.)

We stopped in to visit my mother-in-law for a little bit, and then it was off to my other grandparents' for dinner and college football (not necessarily in that order). And since tomorrow is my godfather Uncle Quack's birthday, we had some donuts in his honor and lit some candles and sang.

Then came the very best part: the ritual demolishing of the chocolate-frosted birthday donut. Happy birthday, everyone!

The Princess Diaries

So ... these shoes.

My Anonymous Mother picked these up at a yard sale, along with a matching Cinderella ball gown costume. To say I am not a fan of the outfit is probably an understatement -- as far as I can tell, I am one of the least girly moms I know. I own skirts and dresses, but I wear them at most once a month, when I have to go to church or a wedding or something. Company holiday parties. That sort of thing.

But these shoes kill me. Shae calls them "ballerina shoes," which cracks me right up. Yesterday she wanted to wear them around the house, and once I got her to agree that we don't wear them on the stairs (they're too big, and I don't want her to fall, and yes I know this is maybe a little too over protective, but I don't care), we had ourselves a Dress-Up Situation.

I try to discourage certain kinds of feminity as much as possible -- not really into the whole "damsel in distress" thing, because sometimes the princess needs to save her own damn self -- but really, even to an old-school hard-core feminist like me, what is offensive about a tea party? I like tea parties. Sometimes there is cake.

Everybody loves cake. Even wicked bitter evil queens, like me.

Save the Stinkbug!

I am not sure how other parents do things, but we don't give Shae baths every night. Partly this is because of how bad this is for her hair -- being all coarse and curly, it is also very dry, and washing it every day is not advised -- but mostly it is because Bath Night at Casa Gonzales is a giant big-ass hour-long rigmarole involving approximately seven bottles of stuff, negotiations over types and quantities of tub toys, mud wrestling to get that kid out of her clothes, several fits of tears when I try to rinse shampoo out of that mop, etc. It's kind of a big deal, and when it's over, we're exhausted.

So recently we started a new routine on our off-nights. She gets regular full-on bubble baths two or three nights a week, and most of the rest of the time, she gets what have we been calling "bird baths." We put her Elmo mat in the bottom of the tub, turn on the water, give her some roll-on soap syrup, and let her have at it for about 10 minutes.

It's great, because we are using this as one of those "teachable moments" -- we're trying to get her into the habit of washing herself, and this is a big help. Of course we follow up with a washcloth on all the important bits, but it's fun to listen to her check off all her bits that need to be cleaned: feet, hands, neck, ears. And it's fun for her, of course, because she can kind of make a mess while she's washing up.

But of course the best part of this plan is one that I hadn't even really thought out, and it is that we get to relish in the best part of bath night -- the after-bath snuggling and giggling, when Shae is all clean and smells extra wonderful -- a lot sooner. And for a lot longer.

Eat. Play. Love.

You might remember last summer's marvelous misadventures with Cupcake eating cupcakes ... and you also might have noticed that we have loosened up some since then, regarding food. I mean, we still try to keep her from eating nothing but Jello, fruit snacks, and crackers for every meal -- we throw in the occasional handful of grapes and some string cheese -- but there are days when we will settle for pretty much whatever. It's not worth it to argue. All she wants to eat one night for dinner is applesauce and bread? OK, fine, but then she's going to eat all of it.

Still, cupcakes are one of her favorite treats. And who can blame her, really? Sugar. Butter. Vanilla. Artificial coloring. Sprinkles. Frosting eyeballs. Possibly the world's most perfect food, all in a little paper wrapper.

And when they're decorated like Cookie Monster, and leave a moustache like some kind of grease pencil on acid? All the better.

Shock and Awww!

So, it's possible you might have heard mention of my kid, and how she's part goldfish, and she really likes to swim. Have I mentioned that before at all?

It's going to be a long drive home tomorrow, and we wanted to wear her out before bed so she sleeps well, so we let her run around all day without a nap, and the just before we tucked in for the night, Shae and my sister Shelleybeans! went swimming in the hotel pool.

Of course we're staying at a hotel with a pool. Listen, I know my target deomographic.

And it was a nice chance for my daughter and my sister to get in some quality face time. It's been a busy weekend, a lot of running around and stuff going on, and even though my entire family was together for the last couple days, there really wasn't much time for us to hang out.

Guess it all works out in the end.

3AM Eternal

I feel like I've been doing this blog post for about a million years. It's taken me FOREVER to upload pictures to Flickr and then crop them and remove the red-eye, and plus I have a toddler who REFUSES to go to sleep in this hotel room, and I have heartburn and jetlag and a screaming headache, so you'll have to forgive me if I end up not being funny (assuming that I ever was). I think I'm tapped out at the moment.

Oh: and another thing. There is an age range, probably 18-25 or so, when road trips seem like a good idea. But before age 18 you're probably taking said road trips with your parent(s), which makes them decidedly un-fun, and after age 25 it's just NOT COOL to stay up all night trying not to crash into the rear ends of tractor trailers on the interstate in Indiana in the rain. Which is what we did last night, which is why G and I are pretty much dead men walking right now.

Someday Shae will maybe consider driving to Florida or somewhere with friends from college for Spring Break, and once I take a handful of Valium with a Stoli chaser, and once I check her bag to make sure that she has packed plenty of underpants, I will probably let her. In the meantime, this particular road trip has also wiped her right out of charm and she was just NOT HAVING her picture taken, so I was able to get lots of pictures of my nephew.

I present these without comment, because it's pretty much not needed, except: NOM. Delicious baby!

Shae and G are both asleep, and I will be soon too. Hopefully tomorrow we'll all feel better and we'll get some more adorable snaps of the two of them together, like we did back in June.