Five-Year Bitch

Augusta, Ga. - While Emerson is visiting with my family, Scott and I take the opportunity to get some things done around the house. I wrap gifts, do dishes and laundry, re-purpose some leftover turkey into a turkey-cranberry-almond salad, and bake cookies. Scott tackles the lawn, the storage shed, and some other manly outdoorsy kinds of things.

Triumphantly, I hold up a perfectly baked chocolate chip cookie. But he scrunches his nose like something smells bad.

"What's wrong?"

"You're baking, I'm working in the yard. it's almost as if we're..."

"Married?" I finish for him.

He shakes his head and grins, faking a shudder of disgust.

I resist the urge to throw a cookie at his head. After all, I hate yard work.

Pre-Thanksgiving Desperation

Augusta, Ga. - Serving utensils. Weeks of careful menu preparation for a gathering that grew overnight from 8 to 13, and it will all be foiled by an inability to get food from cooking container to plate.

"Crap!" I said to my husband. "It was the ONE thing I kept reminding myself to do: Buy the frickin' serving utensils that go with our silverware."

"I'm sure we can find something," he said, mildly amused.

"Well, there's these that were a wedding gift, but I'm just not going to have the time to polish silverware."

Google to the rescue! (Hi, Rupert Murdoch. Hi, Bing. Not falling for your evil plan)

"It says that we boil this together," Scott says, dumping baking soda and salt on the counter, then filling a pot with water.

He stops, his heinie sticking out of a cabinet: "Uh oh."

"What?"

"Where's the foil?"

"Uhhh..."

"It needs the aluminum foil for the elec- elect- for the thing to happen."

Crap. We search. No foil. We think. Heh. Great, now the kitchen is filled with smoke. I begin to pout a little.

"HEY!" I exclaim, and begin to frantically search the kitchen. "How about this?"

Yes. We crumpled a beer can in with this concoction, set it to boil, and laughed heartily. No WAY this was going to work! But it was too funny not to try.

Before: The never-before-polished wedding silver

After: A husband who may be impossible to live with for at least three days.





Do ya see Sir Smug-a-lot there? Yeah, fine, genius-boy. Your plan worked. But it was MY beer can idea!

Publishing Presents a Problem

AUGUSTA, GA. - We're looking over the December issue of Metro Augusta Parent before it goes to press. The cover shot is of a bunch of kids playing with one of Parent's toy picks of the year: Elmo's Tickle Hands.

These furry gloves look just like Elmo's. Put them on, pop the DVD into your player, and put your hands in the air to feel them shake & move whenever Elmo says "Tickle Hand Groove!"    "Wait, they vibrate?" I asked. "Yup," H.O. answered. "Um... someone's going to come up with something dirty to do with these," I mutter, disconcerted. "Oh, you think?" H.O. shot back. "So... we're putting marital aids on the cover now?" I asked A.C. "What? How do you think they got kids in the first place?" she deadpanned.

Paula Deen Halloween Costume for 2010

Augusta, Ga. - From our graphics dept. Only $19.95.

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Willy Wonka & the Weather Factory

"Mama, dat cloud machine is makin' too many clouds today."

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And Educators Everywhere Smack Their Foreheads in Dismay...

Augusta, Ga. - Emmie asked me a question about the sun today, which lead to a discussion on gravity, which lead to some paper plates being thrown across the room (made sense at the time).

Suddenly, she said something genius: "Iss like da plate is da earf, and DAT plate is da moon," she said when one plate did a loop-dee-loop around the other.

"Emmie, you are so smart! How did you get to be so smart?!" I cooed.

"Wull," she shrugged. "I juss fink about smart fings."

I'll have to try that.

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'Tis the Season... For Poopy Attitudes!

Augusta, Ga. - It's a good thing that Emmie was engrossed in the idea that I might not take her to see the gingerbread village at the Augusta Museum of History. She didn't hear the two customers at the Deans Bridge Road Wal-Mart cussing each other out over who's cart had accidentally knocked into the other.

It's a good thing that Emmie was fascinated by the tiny Etch-a-Sketches on display at the checkout stand, so she didn't see the brief but tense standoff between a customer and a sales associate who asked her to abide by the 20 Items or Less Rule.

And it's a good thing the Salvation Army bell ringers were outside to remind me that not everyone is out for number one. Emmie gave them every dime in my pocket, and I was grateful to them for the opportunity. AND they let her ring the bell - bonus!

Thank you, Salvation Army - and thank you, Wal-Mart (ahem... Target...) for letting them collect for the needy on your property.

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This Video Never Fails to Amuse Me (Note: I am Easily Amused)

Is America's Army the Police Force for the World?

Nope. It's just Emmie.

"Honey, get off that and let's go, please."

"Mama!" She scoffs. "I'm tryeend to breetett da world!"

Oh. My bad.

"There aren't any aliens around, darling."

"Dat's cause dey're in space."

"But we're on earth."

"But dey're goeend be here."

"Not today."

"Yeahuh!" she squeals.

"Honey, if aliens reach earth by tomorrow, you can have mommy's car."

She grins maniacally. Uh oh. I turn to the graphics desk: "I might need a ride to work on Monday."

Walking the Social + Emotional Minefield

Em and I are walking out of the schoolhouse door when a little boy in her class stops us.

"Emmie got a said face," he sneers.

Instantly, her face collpases.

"Em," I warn. She's already had one crying fit over the bad mark, and I'm not looking forward to another.

"I not get a sad face. I got a straight face," she whines.

"Nuh-uh!" the boy protests.

"Yuh-huh!" Em responds.

I can see that exchange repeating for hours, so I lead her away as a teacher lectures the boy with, "Is that your business?!"

"Emmie, the best response would be to trun that into a joke," I explain, as we head to the car. "He wasn't totally serious - I think he was trying to tease you - but it didn't come across well. So you should try to think of a way to make it a joke."

"Ohhhhhh," she says, thoughtfully. "I mate a joke on him..."

"Yes. Laughter diffuses almost any situation," I believe that to the fullest.

"But he mate me angry," she says.

"No, no, no," I say. "You can't let what he says make you feel bad. Then he has power over you."

I wonder if this is too much for her. I wonder if it's too paranoid of me.

"Yes!" She says, her eyes alight. "I gotta keep my own power ober myself! So I mate good choices!"

What the - ... That's exactly where I was going with that! Letting other people control your emotions clouds your decision-making! She got that, instinctively!

"I goeend put my power in a box where nobody can find it," she says, crossing her arms and arching her eyebrows. I am a diabolical genius, the expression says. "I got a lot of powers."

"Um..." I try not to laugh at her literal interpretation of the word 'power.' "Why don't you keep them in your heart and your brain?"

She thinks about it for a minute, and then nods.

"Okay. I keep dem in my heart an' my brain, and den nobody can tate them."

"Not if you don't let them," I agree.

"I won't," she declares.


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Caught!

Em catches me with her butterfly net.

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Morning Routine

Ah, the car line. My old frenemy...

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Do I Look Sexy?

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Song Remains the Same

So, in case YOU missed the very exciting PPA Editorial Roundtable teleconference today (ahem... You know who you are...), here's a wrap-up:

- Deadlines = hard
- Salespeople = evil
- Graphics = whiny misunderstood artists
- Publishers = editors who have sold out to The Man
- Money = scarce
- No one understands the integrity of a journalist
- Everyone is overworked and underpaid

I was sitting there thinking, "Why does this sound SO familiar? And why am I sitting HERE when I could be out working as an evil tool of The Man this very instant?!"

All-in-all, it was very informative.

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Grease is the Word? Or... Maybe not?

"How was school today," I asked Emmie over dinner.

"Good," She replied...

"... And what did you do?"

"Nuffing."

"Did you maybe learn a new song?" I chuckled at yesterday's Eight Days of Monica celebration.

"Yes!" She squealed. "Iss call 'Hand Job!'"

"Wh-what?" I choked on my chicken (hee!).

"Iss call 'Hand Job!'" She repeated.

"Do you maybe mean 'Hand Jive?'"

"No." She was definitive.

"Okay.... How does it go?"

She begins to clap her hands rhythmically.

Ha. It IS a hand jive. I'm so relieved!

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Cultural Awareness: FAIL

Augusta, Ga. - Emmie and I are talking about her music & movement class. She begins to sing a song she learned.

"Light the candle,
Light the candle,
Light the candle,
Monica is here."

"Monica?" I ask, confused.

"Yeah, we habbin a pardy for her."

"Spin the dreidel,
"Spin the dreidel,
"Spin the dreidel,
Monica is here."

... And she's staying for eight days.

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Turkey Daze

Augusta, Ga. - Pre-K students at Monte Sano Elementary School created bird feeders and pilgrim and Indian hats on Nov. 16 to learn about Thanksgiving.

These kids were so cute, and so proud of their accomplishments! I remember doing the same projects as a grade-school student. It's good to know that some things don't change... Although I would prefer that they used the term "Native American." But they're a little young for that kind of overthinking.

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Teachable Moment, or Run and Hide?

AUGUSTA, GA - There are some moments, as a parent, when I struggle between education and embarrassment.

"Loot! Dat lady hab no hair!" Emmie shrieked at Kroger today.

Awesome.

The lady just turned and smiled a polite, tight smile. She was obviously torn between irritation and amusement.

"I'm sorry," I said, earnestly, and guided Emmie away.

Her smile relaxed a little and she said, "It's okay." I think she meant it.

But I was embarrassed. I should have had this discussion with Emmie long ago.

"I sorry, Mama," Emmie said. But she didn't really know why she was apologizing.

"Emmie, you're right that the lady has no hair -" I began.

"Yeah!" Emmie squealed. "I just tell da troof!"

I smiled. Ah, the fine lines of socialization. Sometimes it's hard to articulate why we do things the way we do.

"Yes. But there's something new you should know. It's not always okay to say the truth out loud. Sometimes, we have to think the truth," I tried to explain, sucking at it.

"I fink da troof? In my brain?" Emmie said. "But sometimes my brain just tell me to say dat. An' my brain tell me, and den I say dat! I hab to say dat!"

Impulse control: FAIL. But I understood what she was trying to say.

"Yes, and it's okay to whisper it quietly to mama," I said. "But it's not okay to point out that someone is different where they can hear you. And it's not okay to laugh or make fun of people who are different."

"Oh," she said, and I could tell that she didn't quite grasp it. But she was trying.

And at four-years-old, that's about all I can ask.

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