Random Photo:

The T-Bot as “Pierce”. Thought his sister wouldn’t recognize him that way. Strangely, she saw right through this brilliant disguise.

***

Random Clothing Fact:

Baby Sister begged me for Christmas socks. So when I came across a pair at the supermarket, I threw them in the cart. Except when I got them home I discovered they were an adult size 9-11.

I am now the proud owner of a pair of classy Ho! Ho! Ho! socks. And my feet, by the way are a size 7.

***

Random Excuse:

In the Wictor’s world, everything hops.

The ornament hops all by itself from the Christmas tree and shatters.

The T-Bot’s favorite toy hops into The Wictors room.

The plate full of food hops into his lap.

The leaf of the plant mysteriously detaches itself and hops down to a new adventure on the lounge floor.

Oh, and Number 2 hops from the toilet all over the bathroom floor. Hoppity Hoppity Hop.

***

Random Roleplay:

“Curious George, I have cancelled Christmas. Do not celebrate. Do not share it with anybody. Do not get ready. Somebody will be keeping an eye on you so if you do something about Christmas she will tell me about it and I will put you in jail. “

(Baby Sister - and we haven’t even seen A Christmas Carol this year…)

***

Random Conversation:

The Mommy: ... well she cut my hair OK the last few times, who knows what happened here, I am going to have to wear it in a ponytail for months or wear a cap or something, I mean just look at it…”

The Daddy: You need to go to a latino hairdresser. All the latina girls in town have good hair.

The Mommy: I have never seen any. You have been watching too much Cuidado Con El Angel. I have never noticed anybody in real life with amazing hair.

The Daddy: There are. Tons of them.You should see them. Woof.

The Mommy: Well for gods sake, you need to stop one of them and ask her who’s her hairdresser!

The Daddy: Yes of course, I should just stop one of them.

The Mommy: Why not? You should!

The Daddy: OK. I’ll stop one of them.

I’ll say who’s your hairdresser? My wife needs her hair cut and she doesn’t understand me.

One reason for moving to Texas?

I really, really, really, really don’t like the cold.

So I wanted to live somewhere where it doesn’t snow.

Slight fail.

The snow started to fall around 10am.

Real, live snow, just like in books and movies! And then it settled. I was starting to worry we would be snowed in

Remember what I said before. No hats, no gloves, no galoshes. Not that I even have a clue what galoshes are, but I have read about them in books. I know that if you live in America, you need galoshes for going out in the snow. It is probably highly irresponsible to go out without them.

Which is why I preferred to stay indoors. Indoors was warm. Every five minutes I opened the door to take some brief video of the boys frolicking, and every ten minutes the boys would run in demanding a hot bath because they couldn’t feel their hands.

Baby Sister got out of school about 2pm. And then we built a snowman!

I didn’t grow up with snow either. By the time I encountered it I was too old and cool… so this was also my first snowman experience. I remembered how to build one from an old episode of Caillou (sometimes, I amaze even myself…)

Turns out though, there is a limit to how big you can roll a snowball with no gloves.

(The pain! The pain!)

And here’s a shot for perspective:

Awwww…. He’s small, but he’s sweet! And he’s all ours! At least… he was until he melted…

Well, it was great while it lasted. Big plus, the Daddy got to come home early before we would have had to bust out our snow chains. The kids demanded hot chocolate (where oh where did they learn so much about snow? That would be Caillou again. Honestly, does it ever not snow in Canada?) so The Daddy risked his life driving through the snowdrifts to get some.

By 3pm it was all over. And now we are left with only sweet memories.

Oh, and a garden full of dead plants.

Alert! Alert!

Zaburbs have moved to Condition Orange! Severe Weather Conditions are forecast for Friday, and school may be shortened, or even canceled.

Tell me what is better than a White Christmas? A White Christmas, early, with no school.

Yes folks, up to 1 inch of snow should be falling on us by this time tomorrow. How I wish now that I had given in to the temptation to stock up on hats and gloves from the Target $1 section.

Which brings me to something very much related. Does the whole of America give a simple hoodie the very warm and fluffy sounding monniker “Jacket” ? Or is it just Texas? My children have this type of jacket but that is all they got. Also, no hats or gloves.

One girl-scoutish thing I did do though. I got the furnace checked this fall, for the first time ever. I thought the price was a bit steep but better safe than sorry, after all these things do spew out noxious gases at will if left unchecked. Then, when the technician ascended to the attic to check the thing he announced that the furnace had multiplied. Or invited its friend to the party or something. Our furnace was now two.

And the maintenance bill also. Ouch.

I am smiling about it now though. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Our Tooth Fairy has to be the worst tooth fairy ever.

A few weeks ago, I woke up at 6am with a horrible feeling that maybe she had forgotten my little boy and he would be horribly disappointed. Unfortunately as I was sliding my hand under his pillow to confirm whether or not the Tooth Fairy had, in fact, paid him a visit, he woke up. Briefly. He didn’t seem to remember this in the morning, but if it all comes out later during regressive therapy you know who I will be blaming.

Then - don’t ask me how I know this but I do - last night around midnight the Tooth Fairy was idly browsing Etsy when she clicked on Owly Shadow Puppets (one of my personal faves and obviously she likes them too) and happened to catch sight of the Tooth Fairy Puppet. It was only then that she remembered she was supposed to be at work and flitted off to collect teeth from all the boys and girls. Whew. Close call.

It’s just lucky that our Tooth Fairy is so generous or I would fire her on the spot. You see, it seems other people’s tooth fairies have not been keeping track of inflation and are still giving out 50c coins, which is approximately what I used to get in 1978. If I had known this from the beginning I would probably have hired a cheaper winged wonder but it’s a little late now.

So. A math quiz for you.  Each of my three children presumably has 20 deciduous teeth. Each of those teeth is worth $5.00. How much money will the tooth fairy have to fork out altogether?

*Thunk*  *Crash*

(That’s the sound of the Tooth Fairy fainting).

Yes, apparently time does fly, I blinked twice (or maybe twitched my nose, just a little) and it seems two weeks have passed…

We have been occupying ourselves with the usual things. Playdates, pool, a little TV, the occasional outing, ( plus a fair amount of “Mommy is working, why don’t you kids go and play” ) …

And then, one day there was this:

I bow my head in shame. I allowed all three of my children to watch Coraline.

(Although I blame The Daddy - he paid good money for it and I just wasn’t about to let it go to waste. Was I ?)

I wouldn’t recommend you try this at home. I think something is wrong with my kids. Instead of being traumatized (as I was) all they did was clamor to make dolls with button eyes. I was feeling soft, and also as if - on a scale of 1 to 10 of mothers who keep their kids home all 2.5 months of summer vacation and singlehandedly entertain them -  I probably, at that moment, deserved a 0.

So I gave up a (don’t laugh) whole day of my life (well, I have never made a doll before) in an effort to redeem myself. I truly believe that with this project I did just that. And also, I will be reminding them of it until I am 102.

So. Dolls. Of course, the kids weren’t the ones doing the making. I got out my old sewing machine, which I don’t think has had an outing in a couple of years or so, and got down to it. I gave them old pillowcases to draw on:

and then I just sewed vaguely around the shapes:

stuffed them:

and did my childrens’ bidding as they chose eyes, facial features and hair.

I have been surprised. They made these dolls in their own image (except - I hope - The Wictor) and unlike the hundreds of Barbies and action figures littering the place, they seem to be loving these to bits.

Me? I am still exhausted. Somebody send reinforcements!

Ahh yes, that would be Aunty Natty, who arrives Saturday. I think I will leave her to it, and sleep for two weeks

As my children grow up I am finding myself having to deal with some tough situations. Do children grow old before their time these days? When I was 10 years old my mother was still dressing me in frilly dresses and wouldn’t let me chew bubble gum. Last summer we were at the pool and there was a baby in the pool, chewing gum. A baby, too young to walk! I am not making this up.

So, we were driving along the other week when suddenly Baby Sister announced that I was going to be a grandmother. Luckily I had eaten that morning and had my wits about me so it did not take me long to remember that she is 5. Turned out she was talking about the future, when I am really old (because I am already old), and she will be living in San Francisco, but she will still love me and will send me postcards. And she will have a baby girl.

Phew. That’s OK then.

But the next thing out of her mouth? She wanted to be go to cheer camp and learn to be a cheerleader.

No harm in that, surely? I can indulge my little angel and sign her up for cheer camp right now! But … it’s just … I didn’t grow up with cheerleaders except as the ditzy sidekicks on American sitcoms, and in my mind cheerleading is on somewhere on a par with pageants. Harmless, but … OMG will they make her wear pancake makeup?

Then we were at the park and mysteriously all my friends had to leave for one fancy engagement or another (or because their toddlers had pooped their pants). And that’s when it all kicked off. First Baby Sister came running up to me, all breathless, to tell me she had a boyfriend, although she didn’t know his name because she couldn’t understand when he said it, she thought it was a funny name! I asked him and his name was Billy. So off she went to play on the big tire with Billy, and Billy’s Mom, complicit in the whole thing, pushing them while they twirled and laughed.

Next the T-Bot came running up chased by two girls who he insisted were called Annie and Oakley and I thought how sophisticated for 7 year olds to give false names. Except that later, as we were leaving, one of them came running up to us and thrust a piece of paper into his hand with her name and phone number and it did indeed say Oakley. Although come to think of it, it may also have been a false number. Sigh. Girls are so worldly wise these days.

So the next morning the T-Bot came to me with his little scrap of paper and asked to put it on the fridge for safe keeping. With an extra strong magnet. I obliged, probing casually, “do you think you might call her?”.

(Not wanting to be an interfering parent here but is seven too young to date?)

Well, Mommy” he said ” It’s just in case I do need to talk to her”. He thought a little more. “Maybe I could call her another day”.

“Yeah T-Bot” piped up Baby Sister “When you get a cellphone!”

The Future. Maybe more than I can handle.

I tried to distract the kids from all the amazing and not-to-be-missed programs on Saturday morning TV by taking them to a garage sale around the corner. The T-Bot got a snorkel. The Wictor got a plastic killer whale. But Baby Sister hit the jackpot. For $3 she came away with a whole box of 1980s and 90s Barbie clothes and furniture. One original owner.

Baby Sister is always asking me to tell the True Story of how when I was little I only had one (1) Barbie, which wasn’t even a Barbie, it was a Daisy doll. But since there was only one Barbie model available and my sister also had to have one… Yes, I was that seriously deprived growing up, so it is no surprise that the moment Baby Sister’s back was turned, I couldn’t help myself:

First I spied a Baywatch outfit and I just had to see what it looked like on.

Oh. Nasty flashbacks to every single time I try on swimwear. Although she looks fairly resigned to having ELEPHANTINE THIGHS.

I am all for the campaign for real bodies for Barbie, but it does raise the problem of what do we do with all those tiny 1970s/80s clothes.

In the end I had to turn to circa 1981 Barbie and her spendiferous figure to model for me. She actually managed to pull it on pull it off.

Wow. Doesn’t she look natural?

And then I spent a blissful 15 minutes picking outfits for these girls. Many are Designer Clothing,  by Ken himself, who was obviously a Fashion Ace for a while before he went back to being a Beach Bum.  Mostly dresses because although some of the pantsuits were rad! and hip! they wouldn’t fit over any of the new Barbies knees.

Ken, you have a lot to answer for.

Now, smile for the camera ladies!

Don’t they look lovely?

The worst part is there is still half a box of clothes left.

And the lime green fluro mini skirts and acid-washed denim jackets are calling to me.

Saturday was The Wictor’s birthday. He turned three.

He was not having a party, so I took my current relaxed parenting strategy to extremes.

As in, we did not tell him it was his birthday until I had had time to go out to Wal-Mart (the only place open at 8am apart from Tarjay whose toy department is getting pretty dire) and grab a few toys and refreshments, come home, blow up some balloons, and throw some Spongebob decorations onto the cake.

I have no shame. But I was also counting on him possessing the esthetic appreciation of a just-turned-three year old:

He loved his cake just fine. And his birthday too. In the afternoon we went swimming, just like every other day, and then had M&M-shaped ice creams (did you know they make ice creams in the shape of M&Ms, The Wictor’s favorite candies?) and cupcakes.

He was the happiest boy in the world.

P.S. Oh, and here’s another thing: those hastily chosen Wal-Mart toys? Also a Big Hit. For the record, the hands-down favorite is Handy Manny’s Fix-It Phone. He spent every available moment in the afternoon “‘pairing the co-pooter” and screaming when his brother and sister got too close.

They were like lionesses circling for the kill, so badly did they want to get their hands on the toy. It made for a pretty noisy afternoon.

And then at some point he must have realized he was now three and so very gwown up and let them each have a turn.

And I swear I heard the three of them purring.

Life has been fairly rollicking along here, with “First!s” coming thick and fast. And yes, most all of them are fairly unimpressive but in our family we are backward and never do the things we are supposed to do in the order we are supposed to do them.

First!: It all kicked off with Baby Sister’s pre-k graduation, which was actually the first in our family. The T-Bot was never in a pre-K class. Because it was very hard to understand much of what he was saying when he was four, we had been advised to place him with children a year younger, who would be closer to his communication level. That totally made sense, and worked out very well. But it did mean no practise at field trips, behavior traffic light charts. … and no pre-K graduation. (It also meant he was subsequently thrown in at the deep end but then hindsight is 20/20).

First!: Not actually a first but the first for such a long time that I had to (ahem) buy a new dress. An actual real to goodness semi-formal party which did not call for the wearing of jeans! And not a costume party, either… I do love the casual style in these parts so I surprised myself with how relieved I was to get a chance to scrub up.

First!: Only a week later, and Baby Sister had her first sleepover. This was a momentous occasion for us, but she took it totally in her stride. Totally. While we were wandering around the quiet house wringing our hands and getting a taste of Empty Nest Syndrome (guess who makes all the noise around here?), she was experiencing something which by all accounts must come close to Disneyland. Her friend’s Mommy was nice and never yelled and also didn’t sit in front of the computer to work all the time! Baby Sister swam! Played with Princesses! Went to the park! Watched a cool movie we don’t have! Requested cereal and ice cream for dinner and they gave it to her! Swam again after dinner!

And was returned to us the next morning, beaming.

First!: That very night we were invited out with childless friends, so it was time for another “First!”. This time? We hired a babysitter who was not a friend or family member. A real babysitter, like in movies! (Although thankfully not like in “When a Stranger Calls“,  which I never saw because just the trailers gave me nightmares).

Actually that’s a lie. Baby Sister hired her. She came home from school one day saying that Miss Angela had agreed to be our babysitter. So it was kind of out of my hands.

Remembering the dismal babysitters of my youth, I had warned the kids that Miss Angela might be one of those people who just sat around making sure they didn’t chop their hands off with the kitchen knife and could reach the door handle if they happened to set the house on fire … but it turned out to be the Disneyland experience all over again. Miss Angela arrived at exactly the appointed time and within two minutes was painting Baby Sister’s nails while giving The Wictor a horsey ride and fixing the T-Bot’s Lego creation. All more or less at the same time. It seems she kept the pace up for four hours straight, and we returned to find her dancing around the house singing just a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down reading stories while the kids ate apples. And the house wasn’t a mess. And the children didn’t want her to leave so we had to promise she would come back really soon. So I think that was a success.

First!: While Miss Angela had everything under control, The Daddy and I took his zippy little car to get to the restaurant. No sooner had we sat in it than we realised that in over a year of ownership, we had never been in his car together.  There is no room for three kids in the back, you see. For five glorious minutes we pretended we were young and childless, and then we got to the restaurant and I pulled a muscle in my leg getting out of the car and had to hobble into the restaurant and that was the end of that fantasy.

First!: The T-Bot, encouraged by an older boy, jumped off the diving board at the community pool.

First!: This week was relatively firstless, although you could count not losing any children at the brilliantly redesigned Childrens Museum as a “First!”. Until tonight, when the neighbor’s kid shot our house with a BB gun. Which was the “First!” time we had ever been shot at.

So, somebody in this house graduated last night.

I’ll give you a clue : it wasn’t me.

I have never lived in a country which takes the transition to Big School so seriously. Pre-K Graduation is a truly American rite of passage. I have European friends who have refused to take part in the past, on the grounds that it is ridiculous,  to which I say:

Piffle!

Lighten Up!

LOOK HOW CUTE SHE LOOKS IN HER PINK GOWN AND CAP!!!

The Ceremony was mercifully short (considering that it consisted mostly of out-of-tune singing in english and mangled spanish) and as a family we managed to get through it without major incident, which was amazing, when you consider this:

Her teachers even gave her a “Class Ring”.

So Baby Sister had her day and was happy as a clam and you know what? She also made up for all those years I would fume at the back of the class after yet again getting the award for ” Little Miss Brainy” or “Teachers Helper” or “Book Worm”.

She won “Little Miss Sunshine”.

She has achieved all my dreams for her. I can die happy