mrtl

Food Battles

At moments in this life one may pause long enough to be consumed by the thoughts of how life got away or so out of control. Such a moment occurred for me this morning as I found myself starting to pull out the typical ingredients to make the girls some typical scrambled eggs for breakfast. Spying the remains of the onion used for tacos earlier in the week, a half block of cheddar sitting with the processed cheese product slices, and remembering the cache of cooked bacon in the freezer, I pondered the delicious possibilities. But ::sigh:: the children wouldn't appreciate this. They don't like onions.

The internal uproar began. How many sacrifices have I made -- by my own choice -- as a wife and a mother for the sake of keeping peace and eating together? All the ingredients I've forgone, recipes I've skipped over or simplified, meals I've eaten that I'd rather not...

Fuck 'em, I decided. I'd make the eggs the way I like them. This is a battle I'm choosing to fight. As I put it to Bug as she later pontificated to me over the impossibility of eating around the onions on her plate, "You can't avoid onions all your life."

This, by the way, is the quote I'd love to see if I've any future inclusion in quote anthologies.

Surely they will hate me and CPS is going to be contacted before this battle is over. I'll be accused of starving my children. Really I won't be, but to get to the redundant wisdom of, "If they're hungry, they'll eat it," my children will have to be exposed to several meals that they refuse to eat before that hunger will become more important than their stubborn belief that distaste means inedible.

This will be a good thing. The girls will learn to appreciate food, or at least keep their mouths shut and eat politely; the pantry will be cleared of unfavored cereals and the whimsical ingredients for "someday" meals; and Momma may even start to enjoy cooking again.

The Artful Playdate

Over the weekend the girls and I went up to visit my parents, pick some crabs, and meet up with my college roommate Jen and her son, whom I'll refer to as "Art" since he had some mad drawing skills, who is between Bug and Jem in age. We had lunch out, and then -- since we saw that we'd be pressing luck to keep them at the table longer -- took the kids back to my parents' house for dessert.

Art endeared himself to Jem pretty quickly. She ripped her menu opening it, and he didn't hesitate not only to give her his, but to unfold it for her so she wouldn't tear it.

I've known Jen since we were Bug's age. I don't think I ever imagined how she would be as a parent when we hung out. She was the fun friend, the lots of laughs, which may be why it was hard to think of her as one to "settle down." She's still the very laidback chicka, but takes her role as a mother especially seriously. I'm glad we've reconnected, and love seeing that same balance -- being serious but not taking himself too seriously -- fostered in her spawn. He's got a great sense of humor, but drew the line when I called his Mommy a dork. It's funny also that I see traces of his father's goofball personality in him as well.

A funny exchange happened at lunch between Art and our waitress, who had a tongue piercing. Art asked her what was in her mouth. The waitress hesitated, looked to me (I guess because I was sitting closest and Jen was engaged in tic-tac-toe with Jem), and when I gave her nothing, said to Art that it was a mint.

Art blinked at her. You know what I mean? He blinked that blink that a kid blinks when he's on to a lying adult. Besides, he already knew what it was, and in asking her he was doing another thing that kids do, which is starting a conversation (i.e., interrogation).

"Shouldn't that be in your nose?" he asked her.

Our waitress smiled awkwardly, said something about getting that refill for me, and made haste to the kitchen.

Art then looked at me, grinning that grin a kid grins when he knows he won the round. I looked at him in shocking disgust. "What kind of question was that, Art? In her NOSE? Then she'd have to stick her tongue in her nose to lick her mint. That's gross! No one wants to see that! She'd get fired!"

The grin vanished, replaced by the rare look that a kid gets when an adult has surprised him, before laughing with me.

Although he's a smart kid, Art has hidden reserves of energy; this made for a great combination in playing with the girls. After their "ice cream date" as Jem called it, they had time to go "dog crazy," a new term inspired by my parents' insane dog. Going dog crazy meant that they would run around screaming; play hide-and-seek where the first one found would run around screaming till the other one was found; not tire for a second from running up and down the stairs and around the house in races; and create their own private "Dog Crazy Club."

Bug's reaction to Art was the most surprising. She is not one to run around screaming; typically when she and Jem play, she likes to be in charge, which ends up being some type of pretend play where Bug is in charge and tells Jem what to do. If Jem were in charge, there would always be running around and screaming. With Art in the mix, Bug was acting very Jemmish. Very VERY Jemmish indeed.

Well, her Jemmishness lasted until they went outside and Art got introduced to the "roller coaster," a ride on toy my parents have set up on the hill outside their house. Why Bug thought she could introduce Art to the roller coaster, then immediately engage him to introduce him to the flower garden across the yard, was silly. She didn't get it, and ended up inside to write letters to Art and Jem to let them know that she wasn't mad at them, but she came inside because they weren't paying atention [sic] to her. Thus began a long series of letters, written between bouts of attempting more Jemmishness, resulting in returns inside for ego-hugs and more bandaids (she ultimately had so many on her that she reminded me of the Kenny Loggins Hyperbole and a Half story). She sneakily tied her letters to the strings of the balloons they got at the restaurant for delivery.

You'd think the kids would have crashed early, or at least as soon as they hit their pillows. You'd think.

Obvious Girl is Obviously Obvious Boy's Daughter

This morning at the breakfast table...

Bug: [looking at mister mrtl's colossal coconut-topped donut] Is that coconut?

mister mrtl: Obviously.

mrtl: mister mrtl! It's obvious it's not obvious to her if she's asking. [As if this weren't obvious to him.]

mister mrtl: You're so right, mrtl. You're obviously brilliant. [I don't remember what he really said, but it surely was something like this.]

A few minutes later...

mister mrtl: [putting second donut on his plate, which he did finish, assuring that he will puke on the golf course today] Do you know what they call these?

Bug: Donuts. [Include sarcastic "DUH" tone.]

mrtl: The obvious girl is obviously the daughter of obvious boy.

mister mrtl: [obviously humbled by his daughter's obvious brilliance] ... Yes. Colossal donuts.

Update: No, her mouth was not big enough. She cleaned most of the chocolate and sprinkles off the second half before seceding victory to the donut.

 

To Parents of Boys

I'm having a moment where I'm coveting the greener grass and know that it's delusional.

I have two beautiful and sweet daughters... most of the time. The fantasy I had of these two girls being closer than close has not fully materialized. They enjoy playing together and typically get along -- I'd hardly say they "tolerate" each other -- but they bicker constantly. Bug likes to be in charge, but Jem doesn't like to be bossed. Bug is a candy ass, easily injured and extremely sensitive to any slight, while Jem is reckless, impulsive, and has limitless energy. This does not make a symbiotic combination.

For example, this morning I was working in the kitchen while the girls played downstairs. I hear Jem's distinct cry of pain, but not of the hair-raising, earth-shattering, drop-everything-and-bolt variety, like the time she fell while jumping on her bed (after just being told to stop jumping on the bed) and knocked her two front teeth out on her wooden endstand (even though within five minutes she was giggling about having a popsicle). I called down to ask what happened.

Bug appeared in the kitchen, standing with her arms akimbo, a stance that said on its own that she was there to defend herself because she's the real victim here. I told her she's not the one crying and in pain. What happened that hurt Jem?

I had to stop Bug several times to just tell me because there were details I just had to hear. I don't care what drama occurred before the pain started. Get. to. the. fucking. point. child! She countered by talking very quickly to make sure she was able to tell me that she was doing a headstand and Jem grabbed her legs and she told Jem to let go and Jem didn't so then Bug fell and accidentally kicked Jem but SHE TOLD HER TO LET GO and to add insult to her sore butt, during the fall Jem stepped on her hair and it REALLY HURTS ::clutch head and cue tears::.

When I say, "I asked you what happened. You should have just said, 'I accidentally kicked her.' If I need more information, I will ask for it. I first need to make sure she's not hurt more than I can help her," she hears, "Mommy doesn't care because you weren't crying, and she must not love you because when you showed her how hurt you were she didn't clutch you to her breast and feel your pain."

Wrong fucking lesson, damn it. But it's lunchtime. Bug decides that none of the options available are suitable.

When I say, "You can make a sandwich, or [insert other options that don't involve cooking]," she hears, "Mommy doesn't love you enough to cook you a burrito."

Wrong fucking lesson, damn it. So she announces that she's going to her room and is not coming back out till dinner.

When I say, "Sure, Jem, I'll open those peaches for you," she hears, "Mommy loves Jem more and will make sure she gets lunch and must not love you at all because she'll let you starve till dinner."

Wrong fucking lesson, damn it. But she reappears in the kitchen a few minutes later.

When I say, "I'm glad you came back," she responds, "I'm only back because I want lunch. Can I have an apple with nutella?" [This is an obvious attempt to extort love by asking for a rare and special treat.] I hold back my AYFKM face and say she can have peanut butter with it. She holds back her protest and asks me to cut the apple up for her, a small request. I do that, a small act of kindness. Drama diffused.

I'm exhausted.

To note, upon getting to the kitchen and being asked where she was hurt, Jem fell to the floor dramatically holding her aching foot for all of ten seconds while I was telling them lunch choices. She healed miraculously. I'd say that she learned the right lesson from Bug, that the excessive displays aren't effective, but that's not Jem. Jem was hungry. Hunger took precedence. She has my brain.

In the midst of all of this, I started thinking that having boys surely must be easier than this. We haven't even gotten to the hormones of puberty yet! I want to cry just considering how that's going to be.

A reality check is needed. Please provide some insight for me. Comment, please, and share what can make parenting boys mortifying. Thank you in advance!

Having a brother, I'll start us off. I can only imagine the repercussions of these things on parents.

• Boys smell, especially their feet. I can't eat Fritos without thinking of my brother's shoes.
• Boys are annoying and obnoxious. They hit and pinch and poke and stare and breath their yucky breath right into your nose. Worse, they'll hold you down their disgusting Frito-smelling shoes over your nose.
• Boys do their best to torment. Beyond the physical stuff mentioned above, they will tell horrible and scary stories that give nightmares and instill lifelong fears.

I miss my husband. Can you tell?

This morning Steve helped me wake the girls. Bug would later ask me not to use Steve to wake her up. Mental note to clarify whether this was because she didn't like his singing of, "Get up, you sleepyhead! Haul your heiny out of bed!" or being prodded in the side with his head.

She asked me if she could tell Steve what to say. I told her I wasn't ready to share him yet. (Actual answer: MINE!)

She told me that she was going to tell Daddy that I like another boy. I told her he already knew ALL about Steve.

She told me that she didn't think adults were supposed to play with dolls. I told her that was inaccurate.

She told me -- knowing I am a bit annoyed with Big Time Rush (How pretentious of them to think they are bigger than Rush!) -- that Steve looks a lot like the guy from Big Time Rush that sings first in their "Boyfriend" video.

 
She has a point.
How perfect that his name is Kendall!

She told me that she didn't like Steve because I like him more than I like her and started to cry. Real tears. I told her to eat her breakfast.

She wasn't entertained AT ALL when I used Steve as a microphone to sing Dead or Alive's "You Spin Me Right Round (Like a Record)" on the way to school. We even danced for her, in full, uninhibited view of other drivers.

Where did she learn this mastering of manipulation? Of course I was a sucker for it. When we pulled up to the curb at school, I held Steve up and asked her what she wanted Steve to say to me all day. She beamed and told him, "I don't like music." After hopping happily out of the van, she flashed me several signed "I love you's" and an extra wave for good measure.

What a booger.

Steve's batteries were thus saved till tomorrow morning. I can't wait to hear what Jem tells him. She enjoyed her "Gummy Bears!" and "STEVE!!" prods this morning, but anything having to do with butts is a safer bet.

Good thing I have satellite radio, which was turned on the second I got home from dropping off the girls. The classic R&B Groove station is the best, and I knew it'd only be a matter of time before Luther Vandross told me what I wanted to hear.

Teddy Pendergrass beat him to it with "Close the Door." Perfect!

Close the door
Let me give you what you've been waiting for
Baby I got so much love to give
I wanna give it all to you

Close the door
No need to worry no more
Let's bring this day to a pleasant end
Girl it's me and you now
I've waited all day long just to hold you in my arms
And it's exactly like I thought it would be
Me loving you and you loving me

Close the door
Let me rub your back where you say it's sore
Come on get closer
So close to me
Let's get lost in each other
Come here baby

I've waited all day long just to hold you in my arms
And it's exactly like I thought it would be
Me loving you and you loving me

Close the door baby
And let me know you're mine
Plenty good lovin' all through the night
And then again and then again
When the morning comes

My Daughters Covet My Boyfriend

Today the girls and I went on a mission. It was dangerous, considering the peeping squirrel that sat on a high branch and watched me pee last week through the bathroom window was found gnawing and scritching at another bathroom window today. I tried to scare him away by tapping on the window. Impudent little bastard just sat up and glared back at me before resuming his extraordinary efforts to get inside. Surely he would scurry through any opened door to eat me.

 

 

 
He knows I'm nuts.

This extreme act of bravery was to go to Walmart. The girls had unused gift cards to use to each get a toy. Jem, more than a little peeved that Bug was allowed to use her slush fund to buy herself an American Girl doll, wanted to trump it with a pink Power Ranger (Mia, her new imaginary friend and so much better than Bug's doll, which she hasn't even gotten yet since it's being mailed). She soon forgot about Mia when she met Walmart's version of the American Girl doll. She gasped! She swooned! She tossed her unceremoniously in the cart and resumed asking for everything else she fancied (read that: everything else she saw).

::Beauty tangent::
Beauty (Jem's doll) wears all purple, giving her purple power. She can shoot fire out of her fingers that kills bad guys. She likes Jem to kiss her a lot, but then tells Jem that she's going to beat her up. I don't think I should be letting them sleep together.
::end Beauty tangent::

The toy aisle stands as one of the best indoor time killers. It has mysterious powers, too. Children will forget how hungry they are, or how much their legs hurt from walking, or how they're so booooored of following Mom around, or how annoying their sibling is. Even if there with a guaranteed purchase, behavior will be exceptional in the hopes of possibly getting something more.

I was just grateful the girls were happily distracted while I checked out the creepy Barbies. Some poor kid out there is going to end up with a collection of half-breasted Barbies.

 
 This is worse than my old Tuesday doll, which had a rotating scalp so she could be blonde or brunette. 

 

Averting my eyes from these mutants, I first saw my new man. He came with the name "Ken," but I'm going to rename him. My brain is still chewing on bull penis limericks, so figuring out his new name will have to wait. No offense to any Ken's out there; I have no attached mental imagery, which is just a waste.

 

He had me at "I LOVE pie!" but I didn't tell him to stop.

It's troubling that this toy is recommended for children five and up with the things that come out of his mouth.

It's more troubling that he doesn't run on rechargeable batteries.

::tangent for thought on name::
His voice reminds me a lot of Steve the monkey from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, and it's uncanny that he does love to talk about gummy bears.

Why am I not disturbed that I'm not disturbed at this mental imagery?
::end tangent for thought on name::

In case you're wondering why Steve shouldn't be around small children:

• He enjoys bondage, and he struggled against coming out of the box. I just about cut myself getting him out of there.
• He calls me Miss Jackson.
• He keeps telling me to take his clothes off. To be honest, I don't care much for his outfit and thought I might have to switch out his clothes with Kevin's.
  
   
  On second thought...
• He told me to ignore the choking hazard on his packaging, that I should be careful.
• He wants me to carry him in my waistband, upside down.

---

Update: Jem just came out and asked if she could take Beauty downstairs to sleep. She is scared of her and doesn't want her to shoot fire at her. Beauty sleeps by the back door.

We Do Not Like Green Noodles and Ham

Perhaps it was because I bought the wrong cheese, or that I didn't follow the directions to the letter. I won't blame Rachael Ray for the complete and utter fail of her Green Noodles and Ham recipe.

I can't help but think that even if I did everything correctly, it wouldn't have looked much different.

My stomach was hurting from laughing so hard before I even called the girls down to dinner. I had told them that for dinner we were having noodles and cheese, "just like macaroni and cheese." As I slopped the congealing masses onto plates, it conjured mental images of the mom's cooking in Better Off Dead.

 
::tangent to share scary pie::
Click if you dare. 
::end tangent to share scary pie::

I had the foresight to catch Jem's reaction to seeing her plate. Here's the unsuspecting child posing.

 
Now approaching with the initial WTF?

 
Finally, the shock. Bug is keeping her distance, looking wary.

 
"What is this? What is our food? It looks yucky! Can I have sour cream on it? Can I have some bread? ::insert gagging noise for dramatic effect:: Can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? The green stuff looks yucky."

She totally called it.

I'm still laughing.

A Dinner Date

There's a new pizza joint in town, one that the girls have been Very Excited to try out once it opened. We grabbed a pizza last night since we were close. The manager caught me off-guard while handing me my box in the crazily busy store, which is the only reason why I found myself happily saying, "You, too!" to his, "Have a blessed day!"

The girls hated the pizza, as did I, so I can say that we won't be back without involving God at all.

We usually have pizza on Friday, so this afternoon when Bug asked if we could go out, I agreed. It's been ages since we've eaten out. Here are some highlights:

• Theological discussion with Bug, started by her. She said something about me not believing in God, which I disputed. I believe in some higher power, that there's something else at work here, but have a lot of confusion and questions that I've struggled with. She understood that, wanting to focus on something her teacher wrote on the board. It was along the lines of, "Don't believe anything anyone says except me." I can only assume this is some biblical passage, but Bug thought it was her teacher's words. In the midst of all of this, she showed a complete understanding of what mister mrtl and I have been trying to get through to her in regards to her religion, saying, "You told me that I choose what to believe; that I have make my own path." Momma so proud!
  
  One of her classmates lost his uncle this week. She had questions about death, and in particular, the comfort that her classmate and his family find in knowing his uncle is in Heaven. We spent the rest of the conversation talking about what happens after death, and how other religions and cultures approach the afterlife. In talking about reincarnation, I told her about the donkey (maybe it was an ox - memory lapse) in Amy Tan's Saving Fish from Drowning. As I remember (*haha*), the animal is being beaten for not doing what its master wanted. Some of the travelers are disturbed at the cruelty, but their guide explains that the animal should not be pitied. It is what it is as punishment for a previous life's faults. Bug pondered that and said that the Golden Rule applies no matter what or how many Gods people believe in. People should be kind to others and treat them as they want to be treated. Momma even prouder!

::bee tangent::
Bug told mister mrtl the other day about an injured bee on the playground. The other kids were trying to squish it, but she was trying to keep them from stomping on it. It wasn't even trying to hurt anyone. This is her heart.
::end bee tangent::

Then she started talking about how she had trouble believing in some of the stories, too. Like it's so CRAZY to think that this Jesus guy could just say a few words and make a person rise from the dead. Or how it's unbelievable that people nailed Jesus to the cross. [inside voice!! gads] We discussed showing respect for others' beliefs, and how words like "crazy" aren't the best choices when talking about religion anytime. Still, she's showing that she's thinking about these things, and is curious about working out her beliefs and not just taking what she hears as fact. Momma proudest!


• Jem got in on the theological discussion as well. She told me, "Mommy, I want to pray to God." I asked her what she wanted to pray for. Her response, "I want to pray for a person, for [I - her friend at school], to come to my house and sleep with me every night." She then solemnly pressed her hands together and repeated the same words. Then, with a heightened sense of peace about her, she said something along the lines of getting what she wants now that she has asked God.
  
  I just told her the other day that she won't be having a sleepover till she's older. We'll see how she resolves that.


• On the way out of the restaurant, we encountered an elderly couple getting into their car. The man was sitting in a wheelchair. As we walked by, Jem beamed at him and hollered in the sweetest possible way, "Hellllloooo, Old Man!"
  
  I tried so hard not to laugh. Fortunately, his response wasn't, "I'm 37; I'm not old!" (That's another Holy Grail reference, mister mrtl)
  
  We've talked about this "old" bit of Jem's with her so many times. Someday she'll understand the concept and avoid using it on people. ::sigh:: Once back in the van, I addressed it... again... offering her the alternative phrase of an enthusiastic, "HAAAAAY, baby!" Unfortunately, when tested as I type this, she prefers, "HEY GRANNY!" ::sigh::

Swan Lake ~ May 2, 2009

 

It's a beautiful park with a path around the lake. Jem is sporting her "bear ears," a hair style that is no longer requested but used to be an everyday fashion. They've grown so much in the last two years.

Tonight Bug is having her first sleepover. They just finished watching Snow Buddies and are playing hide and seek while pretending to be dogs. Have I mentioned I gave up alcohol for Lent? Serious headache from the howling, but at least they're having a blast.

Abnormalcy

Mister mrtl told Bug the other day that she is not normal. It's really not a good idea to be pointing such things out to Bug; she almost lost it. "I AM normal!" she said. This exchange occurred because, in response to mister mrtl's query about Bug's bike-riding progress, Bug informed him that she was doing well. She said she's currently on Level 6.

Bug is seven, and until last week still hadn't learned how to ride a bike. Being hopelessly-albeit-hysterically clumsy as well as anti-wrong, she has been very resistent to direction in this skill. Last week I caved and took Bug into the back yard to give her some lessons. This didn't last long since she was resistent to direction in this skill.

::tangent for historical references::
Ballet Bug:
 

Gymnastics Bug:

::end tangent for historical references::

Bug has come up with her own training program for learning how to ride a bike. This morning she provided details on the levels determined thus far.

::tangent for small reminder and disclaimer::
As far as Bug is concerned, this is completely normal. The language used below is Bug's. She thinks that's normal, too.
::end tangent for small reminder and disclaimer::

Level 1: Learning the basics, like the rotation of the pedals and steering and balancing.

Level 2: Going downhill and into the grass.

Level 3: Distraction going downhill.

Level 4: Singing about you going downhill. [This is a different type of distraction she said.]

Level 5: Going uphill.

Level 6: Don't hit the dummy.

Level 7: Don't hit the human dummy.

Level 8: Don't hit the dog.

Whatever. She's riding a bike now.