Toesies

My littlest (so far), Isabel, and I have this little game we play, called "toesies". How this game works is that she is resting in bed or on her chair eating, and she flashes me her toes. This compels me to stalk these self-same objects ("stalking" meaning "looking in that direction and uttering: 'toes'" or "taking a step in her direction" or, even, "thinking about looking or stepping"). When I begin my hunt, she cries out "NOOOOOOO!" in abject fear (you really need to see this). This halts my advance right away. I back off, simultaneously offering sincere reassurances.

My retreats are more than a balm; in fact, they embolden her to demand my reengagement: "Toesies!" she demands as she wiggles the objects in question. This requires we repeat the game.

If I happen to be sitting next to her (which, I'm happy to report, happens quite often), the game has evolved into a new species. At first it was:

Isabel: "Toesies!"
Me: "I'm gonna get'm!"
Isabel: "NOOOO!" followed by a scrunching of toes into her feet.

But, nowadays,

We interrupt this blog post for a Muppet News Flash!

Dateline: Mt. Laurel, NJ --

A hot-air balloon just lazily passed the office where I'm working; vertically striped orange and indigo, it couldn't have been more than 1,000 ft above ground.

... I wonder if they pick up hitchhikers?

*ahem*

But, nowadays, to minimize the risk of foot cramping, I've explained to the little one that I wouldn't actually take her toes away from her, as they're stuck onto her feet.

Me: "See?" as I gently pull on a toe, demonstrating that it doesn't come off.
Isabel: "It's stuck!", said with wonder.
Isabel: "... try to pull off the other ones!"

So we repeat the game for each toe, as I very gently "try" to obtain a toe for myself, and at each attempt, she explains that I cannot take her toe:

Isabel: "It's stuck! *smirks*"

---

However, she's a delicate one! We'd be playing "monsters" or "giants" or "toesies" or "catch-me-papa", and if there's a bit too much excitement the pretend emotions become real, uncontrollable, ones. We, Elena Marie, Isabel and myself, were playing "catch-me-papa", which is a game where we run up and down the hallway, sliding into home-base (the fireplace -- hardwood floors with gym socks make for some good, long, slides) or leaping onto the big-bed ... don't ask how Diane tolerates this game, because I just don't know. Well, I uttered my battle-cry/warning to start the game off: "I'm comin' for youooouuoooouuuoouoouu!" Elena Marie screamed with excitement and ran off, but the scream frightened Isabel so much that she slumped to the floor, crying.

Oops! Game over, and new rule: "No screaming". Recovery time consisted of consolation hugs, calming, soothing reassurances, and, it now being late, time for their favorite, favorite, activity: Papa reading bedtime stories.

A murder of crows

I don't know if this is an unusual behavior, but I happen to enjoy my kids' quirks. Perhaps because I have such a staid personality, that I can live vicariously through their antics ... yeah, that's it; that's the ticket! *ahem*

Até had taken a fancy to inquiry, of the challenging variety. Whenever I make an assertation, she has the need to check its veracity. I admit, she has good reason to do so: I'm a bit of a storyteller, but the upshot is that now even "real" facts come under scrutiny.

Me: "Elena, did you know that a group of crows is called 'a murder of crows'?"


EM: "Really?"

Me: "It's true! Ask your mother." (It appears that the authority on truth for Elena Marie is her mother).

Diane, up-turns her head away, and snorts: "Hmph!"

... I may have lost good graces with the Lady of the House, after having told her one too many stories. That, in itself, would not have earned her ire, but after she repeated these stories to friends as fact, and having been corrected, certainly caused the kettle to whistle away. But any fan of Sting knows this to be fact:

... Fussing and flapping in priestly black
Like a murder of crows ...

---

Here's another one:

Me: "Elena, when I was doing survival training in the wilderness, did you know I deep fried cactus for food?"
EM: "Really?" (See, look!, there she goes again, my little truth-seeker.)
Me: "Yes, it's true. Do you know what it tastes like?"
Diane: "French fries."
Me, looking dumbfounded: "..." ⁰
Diane: "Oh, come on! Yuca is a common side dish in the Philippines." ¹
Me: "Oooo! That reminds me," as if I needed the prompting, "did you know, Elena, that tequila is made out of agave; which is like a cactus, but it's not." Pause. "Dear, is agave pronounced 'ah-gave' or 'ah-gah-vay'?"
Diane, up-turning her chin: "Hmph!"

---

I also have a story to tell above Isabel, Princess Bluebells or Princess Daisy or Princess "Me, too!" -- she's one of those three, or perhaps many others, but, normalment, usually not the one I call her.

She's an eater, that one, but in an odd way: she picks at her food, sometimes losing interest, and sometimes, after "finishing", is coaxed into eating quite a bit more.

One of the coaxing games we play, which I learnt from my dad, is the airplane game. Isabel stops eating, so I grab a spoonful of kanin at ulam [rice and viand [colloquially "meat"]], and "fly" it around the table setting:

Me: "The airplane's flying around the mountain."
EM, waving her hands, making sounds of thunder: "*pa-tchu* *pa-tchu*!"
Me: "Oh, no! A thunderstorm's come up, the airplane's running out of fuel and needs to come in for a landing in a cave!" as I make the doppler roaring sound of a WWI bomber in its descent (preceding a crash) that's taken too many rounds from a Fokker (where's Snoopy in his Sopwith Camel when you need him?)

Here, Isabel smiles and opens her mouth wide, to receive the airplanespoon that I pilot (expertly, I might add) to safety.

... that is, unless she's feeling haughty and unmerciful, in which case she up-turns her chin and snorts: "Hmph!

I wonder where she learnt that?

*cough*

---

0	Mike, when I mentioned a plethora of ellipses in Japanime, went on a 15-minute tirade about his dislike of that convention. We figured "..." translates into something of the form "I am overflowing with one of heartbreak, surprise or longing that my natural reticence prevents me from expressing verbally" ... Yeah ... so Mike's tirade may be justified after all
1	A note to my dear readers -- you may look up Yuca yourself. I'm not going to link to it, and I'm not going to caution you to distinguish it from Yucca -- you can tease that information out of Google yourself.

Two JuicyGoose Stories

Is a goose anything other than a non-albino swan?


I'll need to extend my creativity to explain to Elena Marie why God decided to paint some swans all white and others in greys and blacks, something to the tune of: "The star-bellied sneetches had bellies with stars, while the plain-belly sneetches had none upon thars".

• Once upon a time, a very, very long time ago, before everyone had cellphones (EM, interrupting: "But, Papa, how did people talk to each other?" Me: "Smoke signals." EM: "Oh, how did they make smoke signals?" Me: "They squoze smoke out of the smokey mountain range ... *snigger*" EM: "Really? They really talked with smoke signals and squoze smoke from smokey mountains?" Me: "Well..." EM, wise to me now: "Your telling stories!" -- that girl is onto my antics), Diane and I went for a walk around some of Cameron Run (This was when Cameron Run was still an Army Base, not a housing development with "affordable" townhomes "in the mid 500s" -- Gah! Silicon Valley East, indeed!). We packed sandwiches, eating them on a park bench. This activity attracted a gaggle of geese, and we tossed the yucky, yucky crusts to one goose, Fred, who ate it with much relish (not the condiment!).
  
  We continued our walk, but not unaccompanied: it seemed Fred was hoping for more charity. You can't give what you don't have, but try explaining that to a determined animal who can reach up to your neck. Needless to say, Diane and I picked up our pace and kept a weather eye on our stern.



• Today I was en route to work when I noticed two geese guarding three goslings by the hotel pond. So, I did what any red-blooded Auclair would do (actually, I think we're blue-bloods ...): I pulled to the side of the road, whipped out my cellphone (this is now when everyone not only has a cellphone, but they also have a digicam cellphone), and got just out of range to take a tiny-tiny cellphone picture.
  
  Do you know that geese hiss just like cats? Actually, if you have a cat handy, who also happens to be hissing, listen carefully, as the onomatopoeia is inaccurate. The sound is "Χαααα" -- in the original ancient Greek (barely sounded 'k', heavy 'h' sound in the Χ). After the hiss, the Papa goose advanced on me, and another papa moved in. They had the moral upper hand, so I did a "tactical redeployment". Those goslings were big, too: I think they're related to Fred. (EM: "Papa, how do you know that goose's name?" Me: "That's easy, sweetie: all geese are named 'Fred'" EM: "Really?" ... hmmmm ...).

The morale to both of these stories is clear:

Don't mess with geese to live happily every after.

Happiness@work: HOWTO

Three stories today about work and happiness:

• I found out today how to put a smile on the boss' face. I walked right up to him this morning and said:
  
  "I feel good about today. I'm going to make some real progress on [...]"
  
  He was surprised into a smile, and said, "That's a good thing for me to hear." and when I laughed, he said, "No, really!"
  
  

  What are you doing? Follow the above ("no really") link and read the article. Don't just skip to the next story; read the linked article, now!

  
  



• You know how to make your coworkers and clients happy? A morning entrance with one dozen Dunkin Donuts (I've found the Chocolate Glazed to be the favored):
  
  "Oooh!" they complain, "I shouldn't be eating this! *munch-munch-munch*"



• You know how the client makes me happy (besides the obvious): the B-50 Keurig with supplied Green Mountain Coffee French roast servings.
  
  Oh. My. Goodness. My entire coffee experience has been rebourne supremacy.
  
  Just as "my younger brother" Mr. Robt Ferrars pronounced: "If I had any money to spare, I would [buy one for myself]".
  
  ... and you should, too: it's that good. Besides, any supporter of the Green Mountain State and its coffees has my vote (for secession from the union? I thought that's been tried already elsewhere).
  

Every Good Deed Deserves a Blog Entry

IT COULDA BEEN WORSE!

Two kids and a tired mom driving down I-66 cannot have their precious Mazda break down at all. So in exchange for our loyalty, the Mazda waits until we pull up on our driveway to bleed blue-green blood and snort smelly smoke from its insides. Thanks, Lauren! (If you must know, this car was christened by its previous owner with this beautiful name.)

Exhausted mom cannot think so she leaves the poor car by itself to solve its problem.

Surprised neighbors drive by and see the car's hood up, and call the now-worried mom. Oh, it just leaked and I don't know what to do ... was what they got.

Super neighbors to the rescue! Oh, it's easy. We'll just pull this out, buy this part, replace it, and voila, no more problem.


Thanks, Matt!

I, Elinor Dashwood

Your husband is like Edward Ferrars of Sense & Sensibility. He is quietly impulsive, with an understated hint of romance. But once you get to know him, he's very affectionate, caring, and faithful. The two of you enjoy a calm, joyful life.


Who is Your Jane Austen Husband?
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Happy Mother's Day!

A perfect woman, nobly plann'd
To warm, to comfort, and command"

That's what my mother sent to me by text message on my cellphone by way of Mother's Day greeting. I posted a blog entry for her as my way of greeting her. As Doug can attest, we're a family with very few obvious demonstrations of affection but with LOTS of words.

But I do know what she is expressing. And I think I learned only after I became a mother. Fancy that! I didn't know what I had in me until then-6-month-old Elena dislocated her elbow, or when I had to rush 18-month old Isabel to the hospital with a gash on her head. I will not even start wondering why I did what I've done--the family bed, nursing on demand, tandem nursing! And now, homeschooling. I'm sure it's the Mother Factor (O.K., I'll just call it that.)

I bet, whatever it is, it's that same thing that inspired my neighbor to work with my girls on my Mother's Day surprise. Picture this: early this week, she comes in with her secret stash, makes me go out for a long-ish walk, and then helps my children do this --



She had the girls dress up, and took pictures of them holding a different letter each time. She even got them to smile so beautifully!





And she also printed them out, glued them on pink cardstock paper, and strung them with ribbon, ready to be hung above my fireplace!

I was touched. Because my girls gave me such a sweet remembrance on Mother's Day, yes. But even more by another mother's generosity and understanding. She knew that Doug's current work schedule doesn't allow for too much arts-and-craft time with the girls, and she went out of her way to help my family remember me on this special day. She knew that certain things do matter. (Oh, like the annual breakfast in bed, wet good-morning kisses, tickle hugs, no-cooking-no-laundry-no-dishes day.) She knew because she's also a mother.

So many thanks, Jen! And Happy Mother's Day to all you mommies out there!