Invisible frenemy

Helena: I had Penupuh in my dream. She had long brown hair. Like you! Then I hit her. In the face.
 Me: Why??
 Helena: Because she was drawing on my picture. Of a boweena. THEN she frew a fit. But her daddy was on the potty.
 Me: At a party?
 Helena: No, ON the POTTY. Maybe poo poo.

 I think I need to be glad that the invisible friend is getting hit in the face, and not the siblings, n'est pas?

 Yesterday, she wondered what we were getting Jesus for Christmas. I asked what she thought he might want. "A Batman costume," she said firmly, "AND a cool Batman fast car."I thought about gently suggesting that what Jesus might actually want is a little girl who doesn't hit her invisible friend in the face just because she drew on her ballerina picture.

 It is a good thing she is generally so cute, because she is also doing some routinely annoying things. For example, she takes my bookmarks out of my books. This drives me crazier than it probably should. It's just that if I happen to find a few minutes to read, I end up having to sift through the pages to find where I left off, by which time I no longer have a few minutes to read. I just started reading Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. In fact, I am about to read another chapter while I let the kids watch an episode of Shaun the Sheep on Netflix. If you know anything about the book, you will realize that this is ANATHEMA and will probably cause the universe to fold in on itself. Which is actually okay, because isn't the world ending tomorrow anyway?

If it doesn't, I'm planning to post again. Probably some pictures of the multi-generational yearly pilgrimage to "The Nutcracker."

I don't have any words for the terrible deep sadness in Connecticut this week. So I won't even try.

In my pink Cadillac

I just got an email from Toys r Us, and one of the items in the Recommended for You! section was a Power Wheels Fisher Price Barbie Cadillac Hybrid Escalade EXT in Pink for the bargain online price of $359.99.

Toys r Us, you know me Not At All.

There was this kid who would come to a park near our old apartment with her nanny. She had one of those kids-sized battery operated cars (I don't remember if it was an Escalade) and she would come driving up, even though I am pretty sure she lived just a couple of streets away. Sometimes she wouldn't even get out of it, she would just take it for a leisurely drive through the park. My kids would stare at her and probably wonder why they were forced to walk to the park and then play on their actual legs. After a few minutes the little girl (she was actually not at all little, she was alarmingly large for her age--surprising) would whine that she was hot and ready to go. So she would turn for home and the nanny would shuffle along behind her. Is that what her parents picture when, later that evening, the nanny assures them that they got outside and played at the park? It was very much like that scene in "WALL-E" where all the humans have turned into these enormous blobs who ride in electric chairs on moving belts everywhere because they have devolved from lack of work and purpose.

 Helena has been wondering out loud (is there any other kind of wondering at this age?) what life was like for her before she was born. She will ask, "Was I playing with Jesus? Was I in the dark?" and this morning Harper, who is a touch snippy in the mornings (learned behavior from moi) said, "NO! You were an itty bitty thing that didn't even eat!!" Then, because it is entirely appropriate over the breakfast table, we discussed the umbilical cord.

 I've been trying to work with Harper on the volume of her voice. I will dispense little bon mots such as, "if you have something important to say, people will listen even if you whisper," and she will look at me and say something extremely non-important in a very loud voice. We are also working on keeping our mouths closed while chewing. The baby carrots almost did me in at dinner tonight.

I started a new book today. Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death, and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity by Katherine Boo (is that her actual name?) It is really terrific so far. We went to the park after we finished our school work this morning, and after I untangled Helena from a rose bush (painful for me but, thankfully, not for her. She cried in frustration, just for good measure) I decided to walk laps around the park while reading. It went pretty well.

This is the only decorating we have done thus far. I have four yards of felt next to my desk that I have every intention of turning into a one of a kind, extraordinarily beautiful tree skirt. If I could only pry myself out of my metaphorical Escalade.

They shall have music wherever they go

Helena would like to extend her congratulations to Johny Football by showing him that she is cuter than he is in this uniform. Also that she is #1 and he is #2.

I just this minute finished making photo calendars on Shutterfly because I got an email today informing me that today was the absolute last day to get 40% off. It took me THREE hours and FIFTEEN minutes, and at 10:59 pm I had this sinking feeling that the special deal was Eastern time and that I would have done all of this work for no reason. Thankfully, the good folks at Shutterfly seem to be on Central time. I am unsure as to whether or not these calendars are going to be worth the time I spent on them. I am reminded of the utter chaos that is my method of storing the pictures I have taken for the past 7 years. I have eight memory cards of various gigabytes on the table next to me right now. I used only 2 for the calendar. I presume the rest of them have the entirety of the other 5 years of my children's lives documented on their tiny plastic-ness. That seems a touch risky, does it not? Maybe I should do something about that. But good grief, that would entail doing what I just did for the last THREE hours and FIFTEEN minutes, only for much, much, much longer.

Has anyone done any studies to document how it is affecting our kids just how documented their lives are these days? My generation generally had a few poorly focused, poorly lit photos (some of mine were from a Polaroid Instamatic camera) glued into some sort of tweed album to show that we had indeed been infants and toddlers and snaggle-toothed first graders. Some families took a few grainy home movies (not mine). I liked looking at that album. My kids really like looking at pictures of themselves on the computer, and I feel certain they would really enjoy photo books of themselves if I could summon up the will to get them made.

A couple of days ago there was a considerable ruckus coming from the backyard. I peeked out and Hudson had devised a drum set out of plastic buckets and was playing a jazzy beat, while Helena was pounding on the metal hammock stand (where is the hammock? I haven't seen it since we moved) with a metal ladle and singing in a loud, loud voice that wasn't entirely melodic. That will have to be it for today.

A baby for Christmas

Today we passed a fertility clinic on the way to play with the S's, and on the clinic marquee (yes, a marquee. For a fertility clinic. Welcome to America.) it had "IVF HOLIDAY PROMOTION!" and next to this was a photo of a darling baby in a some Christmas pj's and an adorable hat.

 Does this disgust anyone else? Does anyone think that the actual Baby of Christmas might want to walk into this clinic and start knocking over tables? You know, I have been trying very hard to reign in my cynicism, but things like this make it hard.

 Which reminds me of a quote I saw on some blog a few weeks back that made me uncomfortable. I think it was something like, "A woman at 40 will either have become radiant, or she will have become bitter." I am aware that I tend to be generally disappointed and cynical and, yes, bitter. I really want to be radiant instead. It is much harder.

 In other, more peppy news, tonight Helena and I were reading Mirette on the High Wire, and on the first page, there is mention of "Acrobats, jugglers, actors, and mimes from as far away as Moscow," so I mentioned that Moscow was the capital of Russia. Helena nodded and said, "Penupuh has a dog. Named Person. And a sister named Enema. No, Emma. NO, Gemma!" I can't tell you how relieved I am for Gemma that she is not Enema.

 Two other funny things Helena is doing lately, that seem to point to her becoming a professional hillbilly some day:
 1. She says, "these ones"--eg. as she is helping me unload the dishwasher, she will grab the very sharp knives and say, "I can dry these ones!" and I will be very conflicted as to which crisis I should deal with first: the grievous grammar infraction, or the possibility of bodily harm.
 2. She is lately fond of the redundant 'at' at the end of her queries: "Mommy! Where is the brush at?" and I will say, "Oh! Helena, you just need to say, 'Where is the brush?" and she will say, "Yes. But where is the brush AT? I need it." It is APPALLING

 I had my friend Merry's cookie exchange this Monday night, and, as usual, I have been eating so many cookies since then that I am now altogether sluggish and unable to do simple math equations. I think I still have around 10 left and they are starting to get a bit dry. My impaired faculties keep me from making sound decisions about whether or not to finish them off.

We went to Oil Ranch last Friday, so let us document that with a couple of pictures, shall we?

Bird can be a verb

Yesterday, Helena told us that Penupuh lives in Asia!  I asked her which country in Asia. "Actually, she lives in Russia. She speaks RUSSIA." Me: "0h, she speaks RussiaN?" Helena: "Yes, she does speak RUSSIA and also does buhway. She is in the Nutcracker." Then I tried very hard to remember if Russia is considered part of Europe or Asia.

Anyway, Penupuh is shaping up to be a fairly interesting imaginary friend.

I watched a cute movie a few nights ago. It's called "The Big Year" and it's based on a book about a few guys who participate in a birding quest (refered to by amateur ornithologists as a Big Year) in which the goal is to see hundreds of different bird species in the United States in a single calendar year. The quest involves extensive travel (I was very interested to discover that an area near Anahuac, Texas, which is close to where I grew up, is something of a birding Mecca) and a level of commitment that makes a normal life almost impossible. I'm pretty sure I want to try it at some point. Maybe we can take a year off as a family and do it together! The movie, incidentally, wasn't as hilarious as it should have been considering it starred Steve Martin, Jack Black, AND Owen Wilson (add Bill Murray to that trifecta and it might be Comedy Perfection in my world) but it was sweet. At one point, the Owen Wilson character (who is a legend at the Big Year--755!!) says, with a self-effacing shrug, "I just love to bird."

Here are some birds I have painted for cards lately. Harper calls them my Fat Birds and they are, perhaps, a bit too plump. As I get more skilled, perhaps I'll try for more authenticity. I ordered Harper a miniature Audubon folio for Christmas, which I will probably enjoy as much as she does.
 
I actually had great aspirations of painting all of our Christmas cards this year, and then I came to my senses and realized it would take me approximately 150 hours, so instead my dad took a picture of us in their backyard on Thanksgiving (Hudson looks a touch peaked because of the vomit) and I used a 75 % coupon for cards printed on a machine. As usual, I have fallen short of my ideal, and am reconciled to Just Fine.

Now we are going to walk to the park because children are starting to tackle one another, and that rarely ends well. 

Post thanks

Helena has a friend that only she can see and her name is Penuhpuh (pronounced PEN-uh-puh). We don't know much about Penuhpuh except her name, and that she might have a sister named Penuhpee. The other day we were at Target and we walked by a little girl who looked to be around 2 and she said, in a loud clear voice from inside a rack of coats, just as we walked by, "PENUHPUH!" Helena, who was riding in the cart, looked at me with delight and said, "Did she just say Penuhpuh??" and I laughed and conceded that it had certainly sounded like it. Perhaps it is a fairy world visible only to the very young.

We read Mary Poppins a month or so ago, and there is a chapter in which Jane and Michael's twin baby brother and sister (they don't make it into the movie) are able to talk to animals. Then the day they stop being babies (maybe on their first birthday? I can't remember exactly), they aren't able to do it anymore, and they have no memory of ever being able to. It made me a little sad, naturally.

We got to do this last Tuesday. That furry bit of adorable in Harper's lap is Gracie, who belongs to The B's grandmother Mrs. Y (who is already very beloved by my kids because of her generous nature, her lovely swimming pool, and her two parrots):

We got all packed up to go see the Grandparents Pate bright and early on Thanksgiving day, and after about 15 minutes on the road, Hudson threw up. Thankfully, he gave us some warning AND the always prepared husband had stuffed a garbage bag between the car seats, which I managed, with my extensive Krav Maga training, to get under Hudson's chin just in time. We came back home to clean up, waited a few hours, then tried again. We made it sans puke, but ended up staying only about 24 hours because Hudson got punier and punier (more throwing up and a fever) and the girls got a touch of it as well. Though I still think Harper mainly just wanted to eat saltines and have an excuse to watch movies. We found out later that it was actually a good thing we'd had to go back home Thursday morning. We were spared the horrific traffic after a terrible wreck on I-10 that was directly on the route to my parents'. See? Sometimes we can even be thankful for a vomit episode in the car.

And I will close with the first in a photo series I call Not the Christmas Card Photo:
 

Choosing a bride

I saw this headline on the local news web page this morning:

Man who kidnapped girlfriend had ring in one hand, Taser in the other.

I laughed, then realized that might be how we've gone about looking for a church this time around. We are realistic in our expectations, I think. We tell ourselves that there isn't going to be a perfect place, and if there were, they certainly wouldn't want any miserable sinners like us to join up. Even with realistic expectations, I've still been disappointed. BUT I've also been encouraged--the church is diverse and wide and (hopefully) deep. It's all very confusing. We can't even decide on a denomination!! Or a style of worship! I mean, I know what I would prefer, but I wonder if God is altogether impressed with my preferences factoring into my decision. The husband and I pieced together an Ideal Bride (teacher from one church, pastor from another, music guy from yet another, weekly communion service from here, embracing kids in the worship from there, attitude towards the least from there..) and laughed at the implausibility of all those disparate elements ever joining up in one Body. It would likely require both a ring and a Taser to get that bride to agree.

Okay then. I think that is it for today. I'm going to let the kids help me make a pumpkin pie to take to Grandmother Pate's house. Here's a poorly lit picture of those three one night last week, the first night they thought it might be cold enough for fleecy footy pj's. I don't want to forget that this is where we end most nights, in Helena's room. We turn on her cd and sing "The Grand Old Duke of York" with hand motions, because it is the song that comes just before her lullabies. She hops in her bed and the other two march upstairs for their big kid read aloud time.Pleasant little routines. There is much for which to be thankful.