Momma, what’s goin’ on here?

There are times when I feel like my life is blazing past me. Let me go ahead and utter the age-old parent’s lament, “my kids are growing up way too fast.”

My little ZoZo is loosing her first tooth. She filled the house with joyous shreaks and whoops when she first realized her tooth was loose. The entire house was required to wiggle her tooth multiple times to confirm the fact.

There has been A LOT of tooth wiggling in the ensuing days. So much so that she now has created some discomfort for herself. This morning she came to me, pointed to her loose tooth, and asked with about as sober a countenance as she is able to muster, “Momma, what’s goin’ on here.”

What’s going on is the gum around the tooth is now swollen and sore because she can’t keep her fingers out of her mouth. In addition to the irritated gum, I’m sure there are more insidious forces at work in her little mouth. I shudder to think about the germs her grubby little fingers are transferring into her mouth about 10,000 times a day. If she doesn’t succumb to some horrible illness before the tooth falls out, I feel pretty confident that she will have inoculated herself against most communicable diseases.

Lest you think I’m bemoaning my current state of worry, let me assure you, I’m treasuring every moment. When my body is old and my brain is racked by dementia, I really hope I’m able to remember the “Momma what’s goin’ on here” moments.

A Man to Hear

I have just discovered Paolo Nutini. He’s all of nineteen and, I’m ashamed to admit, his singing turns my insides to jelly. Ashamed, yes, but not enough to forgo trying to get my hands on as much of his music as I can.

Check out some videos of him on YouTube. (I’ve given the links to you!) And once your hooked, hit iTunes and buy this man’s music.

Jenny Don’t Be Hasty

Covering Daydream with Jehro

Covering Crazy (Gnarls Barkley)

While I was playing the video of “Jenny Don’t Be Hasty,” ZoZo climbed up into my lap and sat with me, both of us memsmerized while he sang to us.

If Paolo doesn’t move you, then you’re probably dead.

At Least She’s Honest

When I picked up the kids this afternoon. ARK, my 11-year-old, was in a bit of mood. I suppose in an effort to discourage me from engaging him in conversation, he announces, “I’m going to read during the ride home.” ZoZo, the 5-year-old, quickly chimed in, “I’m going to make a lot of noise.”

Death to Chocolate Bunnies

Brave Little Puddin’ Britches

So we went to my parent’s house this weekend to celebrate three family birthdays.

My Dad and most of the men folk were hanging out on the back porch, grilling, drinking beer, telling manly-men tales.

I was farther out in the backyard with the three-year-old, Puddin’. She wanted to swing. Then, she wanted to climb in the tree house. While she was climbing up the ladder to the tree house, I noticed a bumble bee floating around the door of the house. I pointed this out to her. She decided she did not want to play in the tree house, she’d rather swing.

While the climbing and not climbing were taking place, my five-year-old neice, LoMay, wandered out to the playset and firmly planted herself in the “big girl swing.” The only other swing is one of those molded-plastic, infant swings. Puddin’ is still small enough that I think we could probably squeeze her into it if she really wants to swing. She says “yes.” So, I wedge her in and start pushing.

I notice a large, flying insect out of the corner of my eye. My initial thought is, “that damn bumble-bee followed us over here.” Then, I notice two, three, four buzzing things. And I take a closer look. WASPS!!!!!

Don’t panic, don’t panic.

Puddin’, Mommy has to stop the swing. Don’t move, stay very still, DON’T MOVE! I manage to stop the swing without anyone getting stung. But it seems more wasps are circling, so I take a couple steps back. I say as calmly and as firmly as I can, “Don’t move.”

LoMay asks, “Can I move?” I answer, “No, I think you need to stay still, too.”

The wasps finally disappear. In my panic, I don’t think to look to see where they fly away to. I tell Puddin’ that I’m going to take her out of the swing. I explain to both girls that we need to move away from the swing set until someone figures out where the wasps are coming from. As I’m trying to dislodge Puddin’ from the swing, the wasps start swarming again.

Fear strikes the heart of me. I know where the wasps are coming from…the plastic rim of the swing.

I let go of Puddin’ again and take a few steps back. She’s still trying to wiggle out. I tell her she has to sit very, very still.

My sister, MayLay, has walked onto the back porch. She’s looking in our direction. I can tell by the tilt of her head that her mommy-radar as gone off. She knows something odd is happening over at the playset. I wave her over.

Once she’s close enough I tell her my wasp nest theory. We decide that she will hold the swing as still as possible while I lift Puddin out.

We encounter problems. Puddin is wedged in and the slightest movement sets the wasps in motion.

MayLay and I both step away, again screaming the mantra, “stay still, stay still.”

I try to control my fear. How the hell am I going to get my child out of this situation without getting her stung? I look little Puddin Britches in the eye. I’m amazed she isn’t crying at this point. I’m even more shocked by the expression I find on her face. There is no fear, no look of doom. Just an expectant, almost curious expression. She simply has no clue. I’m scared shitless. Remarkably, I’m managing to NOT frighten my little one.

So, as the wasps settle down again, MayLay and I decide we need another person to help hold the swing still. MayLay uses her banshee-wail-of-death to summon her husband to us.

We decide MayLay will hold the swing still, my brother-in-law will lift Puddin out, and I will guide her legs through the plastic holes.

Success! RUN!

Confusion

So, my three-year old was with me yesterday morning when I found Herb’s body. She was right by my side as I wrapped his body in trash bags and then stored him in the outdoor fridge for later burial. I had to continually explain to her that Herb was dead and what dead meant.
In between finding the body and finally getting her to daycare, I was prone to outbursts of crying. My little princess would offer some sympathetic crying. I don’t think she fully grasped the situation. She knew I was upset. To her this meant she should also be upset. If I started to cry, she’d do what I can only describe as “mock sobbing.”

Anyway, when I dropped her off daycare, the three-year-old caregiver wasn’t in yet, so I had to leave her with the one-year-old caregiver. I was going to write a note to the three-year-old caregiver about finding our cat dead, but I decided all I needed to do was tell the one-year-old caregiver. I should have written a note.

At around 10:30 a.m. I get a call from the daycare assistance director. Here’s how it went:

Me: Hello.
AD: Hi, this is “Sarah” from daycare. Sorry to bother you at work.
Me thinking: Crap, she’s going to tell me I have to pick up little princess.
Me saying: No problem. Is something wrong.
AD: Actually, I feel kind of weird asking this, but is everything okay at home?
Me:Well, actually, we found one of our cats dead this morning. And little princess was with me when I found him.
AD: Oh, thank goodness. Not that your cat is dead. But she has been telling everyone that her Daddy is dead. That he’s in heaven with the angels. I kept telling her teacher that she has to be wrong, you wouldn’t have just dropped her off.

So there you have it. In less than a three-hour period, my “grief-stricken” child turned our cat’s death into her father’s death.

Weekend Recap

Stayed pretty busy this weekend.

Friday night TKs played, so I stayed home with the kids. I helped ARK with his research project on Rhode Island. I think pulling my eyelashes out, one at a time, would be a less painful undertaking. Lefty came over, and we crammed for our karate test. If I pass the test tomorrow, it will be because of Lefty. ZoZo stalked Lefty while we practiced.

Saturday I spent the day at the do jang for testing. I was quite disappointed in my performance. I made stupid mistakes on continuous form, parts of basics and hol sin sol. I think I did okay on terminology, bong form, and il soo sik. I hope I didn’t screw up enough to fail, however I won’t be surprised if I don’t advance. After testing, I came home, ate an eggo, helped ARK some more with his project, put a cartoon on for ZoZo, and took a power nap on the couch. I know it was a good nap because I woke up with my face in a puddle of drool.

After nap time I had to hurry up and get ready for a big night on the town with TK. We went to Ninfas for dinner. I had two ninfa-ritas and three cheese enchilladas. Yum. Then we went to see The Life Aquatic. Willem Dafoe is a comedic genius. I so wish I could own a pair of Zissou Adias.

After the movie we went and crashed the E-Dan celebration at On the Border. The group was just finishing up with dinner as we arrived. TK went to the bar to get me a margarita and himself a DosEquis draft. Some folks at the table were lamenting the fact that the waitress was a complete moron. She proved this only moments later when she whined because she didn’t know which tab to put mine and TKs drinks on. Of course the obvious reply is “no one’s stupid; we paid for these at the bar.”

At some point the group started talking about who would play each of us in a Tang Soo Do movie. A young Kirstie Alley and Bridget Fonda were suggested for my part. I’m not sure I see either of them, but at least no one suggested Martha Plimpton or Kathy Bates play my part.

Crummy Day

I have a migraine. It started around 9:30 a.m. It’s now 8:45 p.m. I’ve taken three different pain remedies…I threw-up one…so I guess I’ve only taken two. Why blog if I’m feeling so crappy? I’m at the second job until 11 p.m. I need to do something to take my mind off myself. The probablity of actual work surfacing is slim to none. Perhaps if I’m lucky one thing will come in that will take all of five minutes to complete. I have a lot of time to sit and feel sorry for myself. I thought I’d feel better if I shared my misery with the keyboard. So far, I don’t.

If I were at home, right about now I would be snuggled-up with my two-year-old, ZoZo, reading books. Our current selections are Alpha Bugs, Ladybug on the Move, Elmer (stuffed Elmer must sit on lap for this one), Wide Mouthed Frog, and Tails. The order changes, but the titles have been the same for more than a month. Skipping a story is taboo. In fact, don’t even think about sneaking past a few pages. Some times she “reads” to me. I think tonight I would have asked her to read to me.

9:10 p.m. Still have a migraine but it seems to be letting up. Vomiting isn’t always a bad thing. I think the latest purge may have done the trick. I’m beginning to suspect the steak and cheese Cruncheros I had for dinner last night and lunch today. They’ve surfaced in every purge.