I painted my nails hot pink, and it's making me so happy!
New obsession? The show HOARDERS on A&E. Intriguing. Disturbing. So horrible you have to watch.
That's all.
Except that I was having a dream this morning in which I was really mad at Sean (I can't remember why), and when his alarm went off, I woke up and punched him really hard!!!
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
HFCS:
Cheryl is on a campaign against High Fructose Corn Syrup.
The kids know they're not supposed to eat anything with this forbidden substance.
Michael and Vinny eat eggs for breakfast on Friday mornings--extra protein to help them on their tests in school.
Vinny does not like eggs.
So he tells me, "Carolyn! I can't eat these eggs! They give me high fructose corn syrup!!!"
The kids know they're not supposed to eat anything with this forbidden substance.
Michael and Vinny eat eggs for breakfast on Friday mornings--extra protein to help them on their tests in school.
Vinny does not like eggs.
So he tells me, "Carolyn! I can't eat these eggs! They give me high fructose corn syrup!!!"
Fluffy-Face
There's the most adorable little shih-tzu puppy at our local pet store. Sean and I like to stop by there occasionally and visit the dogs and dream about one day having our own pet. We've both fallen in love with the shih-tzu pup we call Fluffy-Face. His face--which is always smushed against the glass of his tiny cage--is so covered with hair that the only thing peeking out is a little black, wet nose.
Yesterday they unlocked the cage and let us pet him. He got so overly excited about his cage opening, and us petting him that he was almost frantic with joy. The image I had to leave with was little Fluffy-face pawing at the glass as we walked away.
Although Sean loves Fluffy-Face just as much as I do, he has to remind me that we cannot afford the upkeep of a dog right now. In my head, I know he is right. But I'm overwhelmed by this deep, primal urge to have something small and helpless and cuddly to care for and lavish my love upon.
Tonight, during our family prayers, we prayed for Fluffy-Face, and all the animals at Pet City, to find loving, happy homes. I just wish Fluffy-Face's home could be with us.
Yesterday they unlocked the cage and let us pet him. He got so overly excited about his cage opening, and us petting him that he was almost frantic with joy. The image I had to leave with was little Fluffy-face pawing at the glass as we walked away.
Although Sean loves Fluffy-Face just as much as I do, he has to remind me that we cannot afford the upkeep of a dog right now. In my head, I know he is right. But I'm overwhelmed by this deep, primal urge to have something small and helpless and cuddly to care for and lavish my love upon.
Tonight, during our family prayers, we prayed for Fluffy-Face, and all the animals at Pet City, to find loving, happy homes. I just wish Fluffy-Face's home could be with us.
Friday, May 13, 2011
A collection of ordinary moments:
Birth
Giuwels asked me on the way to preschool this morning how dogs have puppies. I said, "They keep the baby in their tummy until it's old enough to be born, just like people do." Apparently, this wasn't what was troubling her because she then asked, "But how do the puppies get out? Does the Mommy throw them up?"
Betsy "Rose"
Vinny's flag is almost done. We just need to put a few more stitches in it tomorrow morning, and then he can take it to school with him. In second grade he has to do three enormous "interdisciplinary" projects--all of which involve researching/reading, creating something, writing, and speaking/speech. This last project is in celebration of Memorial and Flag Day and he has to create an American flag out of whatever material he chooses. When he got the assignment, I checked out a bunch of books on American flags from the library, to get some inspiration. I'm not sure how helpful they proved to be, but--aside from the fact that pictures of the American flag flying at Ground Zero prompted me to blurt out the history of 9/11 (which Cheryl then informed me Vinny had never heard about, and in retrospect, he was probably too young to hear about [WHOOPS]), or that a random (read: disturbing) picture of John Wilkes Booth assassinating Lincoln proved a difficult explanation as well (what does that have to do with the flag anyway?), we came across countless retellings of the story of Betsy Ross--which Vinny pronounced (very endearingly, I might add) Betsy Rose. The image of our noble forebear must have imprinted on Vinny's mind because when I asked him how he wanted to make his flag, he said: sew it. So we had a massive expedition to the Joanne's in Torrance, and since then our lives have been an endless repetition of: cutting felt, threading needles, and using yarn to piece together our homemade American flag. It's actually quite exhilarating, making something with your own hands. Vinny keeps telling me how much fun it is, and he really has done his fair share of the work. I've been so proud of him, doing little blanket stitches all around the edges of the flag. Plus it's been very cozy in the evenings, sitting around sewing together. It really takes me back to Little House on the Prairie and makes me feel like I'm snug in a cabin in the woods with Ma and Pa.
The Jersey Boys & Peter Pan
Having Michael around is great. He does tons of magic tricks (which are actually really good, although I don't work too hard trying to figure them out because I really don't want the "magic" of it to wear off for me. It's much easier to be enthusiastic and interested when you really DON'T know how he's doing it). He plays fun (if not good) music. He makes me laugh by googling things like "Funny Pictures" or different Disney characters and then showing us the pictures. He googled Peter Pan for me tonight and one of the images that popped up was a couple dressed as Peter and Tink--who were obviously a little socially awkward. "Peter" has what can best be described as a Monstrous Bowl Cut, and as Giuwels remarked so candidly, "Tinker Bell is supposed to have blond hair!"
Michael and I share an undying passion for Jersey Boys, and even though neither of us has actually seen the musical, we know the sound track by heart and take every opportunity we can to recite it/sing along with it. So our evenings go like this: Carolyn and Vinny sitting at the kitchen table playing Rummikube. Michael sitting at the kitchen table listening to Jersey Boys and singing along very LOUDly. "BEGGING, BEGGING YOUUUUU, PUT YOUR LOVIN' HAND OUT BABY...." After listening to "Walk Like a Man" for probably the 7th time, I confessed that this song always made me wish I was, in fact, a man. Why, Michael asks. Isn't it obvious? So that I could walk like a man!!! (And so that I could have my father tell me, "No woman's worth crawling on the earth..." Having been born a girl, that dream will never come true.) There is something truly mysterious and elusive about walking like a man. It must feel good, that's all I can conclude.
Lying about Lettuce:
Giuwels lied to me tonight. I told her she had to eat five more pieces (and they were small pieces, covered in Ranch) of lettuce before she could have dessert. She then switched all the pieces of lettuce to another bowl, and brought the empty bowl to me saying, "I ate all my lettuce, now can I have dessert?" Not surprisingly, I discovered the displaced lettuce, confronted my little sinner, and told her now she had lost dessert and she still had to eat the lettuce. She fell apart. I sent her to her bed, and thought about whether my decision to make her eat the rest of the lettuce was the right one. I decided it smacked of some kind of cruelty or harshness to me. I'm a softie. Also, my childhood years are not so far away that I've forgotten what it feels like to be made to eat something you loathe. Into the midst of my thoughts drifts her voice, calling plaintively from downstairs, "I'm sorry for lying!!!!!" I called her back upstairs and told her she did not have to eat the lettuce, because if she really hates it then she doesn't have to eat it. But I also told her that because she lied and because she needs to learn how dangerous lying is, she will not be getting dessert tomorrow either. It felt good. It felt good to assign a fitting punishment out of a concern for her well-being without being mean or disciplining her out of anger. It also feels good to not be the kind of person who can't change her mind.
Giuwels asked me on the way to preschool this morning how dogs have puppies. I said, "They keep the baby in their tummy until it's old enough to be born, just like people do." Apparently, this wasn't what was troubling her because she then asked, "But how do the puppies get out? Does the Mommy throw them up?"
Betsy "Rose"
Vinny's flag is almost done. We just need to put a few more stitches in it tomorrow morning, and then he can take it to school with him. In second grade he has to do three enormous "interdisciplinary" projects--all of which involve researching/reading, creating something, writing, and speaking/speech. This last project is in celebration of Memorial and Flag Day and he has to create an American flag out of whatever material he chooses. When he got the assignment, I checked out a bunch of books on American flags from the library, to get some inspiration. I'm not sure how helpful they proved to be, but--aside from the fact that pictures of the American flag flying at Ground Zero prompted me to blurt out the history of 9/11 (which Cheryl then informed me Vinny had never heard about, and in retrospect, he was probably too young to hear about [WHOOPS]), or that a random (read: disturbing) picture of John Wilkes Booth assassinating Lincoln proved a difficult explanation as well (what does that have to do with the flag anyway?), we came across countless retellings of the story of Betsy Ross--which Vinny pronounced (very endearingly, I might add) Betsy Rose. The image of our noble forebear must have imprinted on Vinny's mind because when I asked him how he wanted to make his flag, he said: sew it. So we had a massive expedition to the Joanne's in Torrance, and since then our lives have been an endless repetition of: cutting felt, threading needles, and using yarn to piece together our homemade American flag. It's actually quite exhilarating, making something with your own hands. Vinny keeps telling me how much fun it is, and he really has done his fair share of the work. I've been so proud of him, doing little blanket stitches all around the edges of the flag. Plus it's been very cozy in the evenings, sitting around sewing together. It really takes me back to Little House on the Prairie and makes me feel like I'm snug in a cabin in the woods with Ma and Pa.
The Jersey Boys & Peter Pan
Having Michael around is great. He does tons of magic tricks (which are actually really good, although I don't work too hard trying to figure them out because I really don't want the "magic" of it to wear off for me. It's much easier to be enthusiastic and interested when you really DON'T know how he's doing it). He plays fun (if not good) music. He makes me laugh by googling things like "Funny Pictures" or different Disney characters and then showing us the pictures. He googled Peter Pan for me tonight and one of the images that popped up was a couple dressed as Peter and Tink--who were obviously a little socially awkward. "Peter" has what can best be described as a Monstrous Bowl Cut, and as Giuwels remarked so candidly, "Tinker Bell is supposed to have blond hair!"
Michael and I share an undying passion for Jersey Boys, and even though neither of us has actually seen the musical, we know the sound track by heart and take every opportunity we can to recite it/sing along with it. So our evenings go like this: Carolyn and Vinny sitting at the kitchen table playing Rummikube. Michael sitting at the kitchen table listening to Jersey Boys and singing along very LOUDly. "BEGGING, BEGGING YOUUUUU, PUT YOUR LOVIN' HAND OUT BABY...." After listening to "Walk Like a Man" for probably the 7th time, I confessed that this song always made me wish I was, in fact, a man. Why, Michael asks. Isn't it obvious? So that I could walk like a man!!! (And so that I could have my father tell me, "No woman's worth crawling on the earth..." Having been born a girl, that dream will never come true.) There is something truly mysterious and elusive about walking like a man. It must feel good, that's all I can conclude.
Lying about Lettuce:
Giuwels lied to me tonight. I told her she had to eat five more pieces (and they were small pieces, covered in Ranch) of lettuce before she could have dessert. She then switched all the pieces of lettuce to another bowl, and brought the empty bowl to me saying, "I ate all my lettuce, now can I have dessert?" Not surprisingly, I discovered the displaced lettuce, confronted my little sinner, and told her now she had lost dessert and she still had to eat the lettuce. She fell apart. I sent her to her bed, and thought about whether my decision to make her eat the rest of the lettuce was the right one. I decided it smacked of some kind of cruelty or harshness to me. I'm a softie. Also, my childhood years are not so far away that I've forgotten what it feels like to be made to eat something you loathe. Into the midst of my thoughts drifts her voice, calling plaintively from downstairs, "I'm sorry for lying!!!!!" I called her back upstairs and told her she did not have to eat the lettuce, because if she really hates it then she doesn't have to eat it. But I also told her that because she lied and because she needs to learn how dangerous lying is, she will not be getting dessert tomorrow either. It felt good. It felt good to assign a fitting punishment out of a concern for her well-being without being mean or disciplining her out of anger. It also feels good to not be the kind of person who can't change her mind.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Night:
I read Elie Wiesel's Night late into yesterday's evening. Understandably, it left me feeling angry and sad. Most of us would probably agree with Dostoevsky's Ivan Karamazov that the suffering of children is the most impossible, unbearable, and unexplainable thing in the Universe. Wiesel writes of his seven year old sister with long blond hair and a bright red coat marching silently off to the crematoria, and one can't help but insert the children in one's own life into that situation. For me it's Camie, my precious little sister with bright blue eyes who loves to read and imagine and dance. It's Vinny, the enthusiastic little boy who tries to outrun the van when I arrive to pick him up for school. And it's Giuwels, who when I tell her it's time to stop playing with her dolls and clean up her room responds, "But Carolyn, I was just about to marry my boy and girl!"
Wiesel's account gripped me on two levels. One--the unspeakable, unnameable, incomprehensible things experienced by real children, just like the ones I love so completely. But I was also struck by the spiritual anguish and pain of the Jewish people in the face of their apparently utter abandonment by God. The sense of desertion and despair overwhelmed me. I found it best summed up in the statement a Hungarian Jew made to Wiesel one evening in the infirmary, "I have more faith in Hitler than in anyone else. He alone has kept his promises, all his promises, to the Jewish people."
I found myself startlingly angry at God after reading this book. There's the million-dollar-question of Why? And then How? And also, Who are you that you could let this happen? That you would sit by and do nothing? Our questions pinpoint the most painful part: our perceived silence on God's behalf. Perhaps more unforgivable than the fact that it happened is the fact that God has remained silent. He hasn't provided an explanation for any of it. That is what we find unacceptable. Yet there is a strange comfort and peace in lobbying all this anger and all these questions at God: He is there. Being angry at him, however miserable, confirms his presence as well as the intimacy of our relationship.
I almost always respond with a burning emotion first, and just as inevitably that emotion eventually cools to a point where I can logically assess the information and make rational judgments. I usually make decisions out of this calm point, base my life on what I know to be true in this purified stillness. What I know to be true manifests itself in the song of Zechariah, which I was memorizing before I ever picked up Wiesel's book: "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel for he hath visited and redeemed his people and hath raised up a mighty salvation for us in the house of his servant David..." The key word there is visited. God was not absent for any of these horrors. And somehow the fact that the Kingdom of Heaven slipped into the world over 2,000 years ago with the birth of a baby means that the Nazi's Kingdom of Night is far from being the last word on God's love, his Justice, or his ability to care his People.
Wiesel's account gripped me on two levels. One--the unspeakable, unnameable, incomprehensible things experienced by real children, just like the ones I love so completely. But I was also struck by the spiritual anguish and pain of the Jewish people in the face of their apparently utter abandonment by God. The sense of desertion and despair overwhelmed me. I found it best summed up in the statement a Hungarian Jew made to Wiesel one evening in the infirmary, "I have more faith in Hitler than in anyone else. He alone has kept his promises, all his promises, to the Jewish people."
I found myself startlingly angry at God after reading this book. There's the million-dollar-question of Why? And then How? And also, Who are you that you could let this happen? That you would sit by and do nothing? Our questions pinpoint the most painful part: our perceived silence on God's behalf. Perhaps more unforgivable than the fact that it happened is the fact that God has remained silent. He hasn't provided an explanation for any of it. That is what we find unacceptable. Yet there is a strange comfort and peace in lobbying all this anger and all these questions at God: He is there. Being angry at him, however miserable, confirms his presence as well as the intimacy of our relationship.
I almost always respond with a burning emotion first, and just as inevitably that emotion eventually cools to a point where I can logically assess the information and make rational judgments. I usually make decisions out of this calm point, base my life on what I know to be true in this purified stillness. What I know to be true manifests itself in the song of Zechariah, which I was memorizing before I ever picked up Wiesel's book: "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel for he hath visited and redeemed his people and hath raised up a mighty salvation for us in the house of his servant David..." The key word there is visited. God was not absent for any of these horrors. And somehow the fact that the Kingdom of Heaven slipped into the world over 2,000 years ago with the birth of a baby means that the Nazi's Kingdom of Night is far from being the last word on God's love, his Justice, or his ability to care his People.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
This little piggy went to the market....
Giuwels and I have been handling the grocery shopping for the past couple of weeks while Nanny Irma (their housekeeper) is in Mexico on vacation. Today I let her push the cart through the store. I also let her fill up our cart with eight ears of corn on the cob. (She finds the process of shucking corn so delightful and desirable that her greatest act of love is telling Vinny that he can shuck some corn with us as well.) As we walked out of Albertson's, she sighed and said, "That was fun." I assumed she must be thinking of her play date earlier in the afternoon, which involved an enormous blow up pool and water slide. "You mean at Ella's?" I ask. "No. In the grocery store." It warms the deepest cockles of my heart to know that this little girl had so much fun on a mundane trip to the market. The realization dawned on me: how much potential there is for glory, beauty, and FUN in every moment of life! Thank God for children and their sparkling, uninhibited enthusiasm. As we walk to van to unload our groceries, she laughs and says, "It was fun when I asked you if we could get more kettle corn [what she calls corn on the cob] and you said no!"
Okay then!
Okay then!
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
He Likes Me!
Cheryl told me that while I was out of town getting my wisdom removed, she was encouraging the kids for being so self-sufficient one morning and jokingly said, "Wow, we could almost do without Carolyn!" To which Vinny responded, "No! I like Carolyn! I want her to keep coming!"
I will now proceed to live off this compliment for days, weeks, even months.
Innately, I sense that the kids do like me, are even genuinely attached to me, but they are not very expressive or even openly affectionate (being damaged by the abrupt departure of previous nannies is probably the cause of this), and so affirmation like this is in rare supply. (Although Cayla also reminded me that kids don't spend everyday telling their parents how much they love them either. I suppose kids take for granted certain "fixtures" in their lives.)
In conclusion, one of the reasons that Vinny likes me is probably because when he asks if he can throw the hard-boiled eggs that we dyed for Easter (and that have since then proceeded to go bad) off the balcony and into the yard/street, I say "Yes, as long as you pick up all the pieces afterward," and then join him on the balcony to watch the rainbow-colored eggs sail through the sky and splatter on the ground. Later I help him pick up the sticky pieces of yolk and the colorful bits of eggshell littered around the yard and street, and we have much more fun than we ever could have had monotonously eating all those hard-boiled eggs day after day.
I will now proceed to live off this compliment for days, weeks, even months.
Innately, I sense that the kids do like me, are even genuinely attached to me, but they are not very expressive or even openly affectionate (being damaged by the abrupt departure of previous nannies is probably the cause of this), and so affirmation like this is in rare supply. (Although Cayla also reminded me that kids don't spend everyday telling their parents how much they love them either. I suppose kids take for granted certain "fixtures" in their lives.)
In conclusion, one of the reasons that Vinny likes me is probably because when he asks if he can throw the hard-boiled eggs that we dyed for Easter (and that have since then proceeded to go bad) off the balcony and into the yard/street, I say "Yes, as long as you pick up all the pieces afterward," and then join him on the balcony to watch the rainbow-colored eggs sail through the sky and splatter on the ground. Later I help him pick up the sticky pieces of yolk and the colorful bits of eggshell littered around the yard and street, and we have much more fun than we ever could have had monotonously eating all those hard-boiled eggs day after day.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
I've Been Meaning to Post This:
April 4, 2011, Spring Break
Day One: Happiness
Giuliana, hair flying, turns cartwheels in the April wind and sunshine. Her brothers toss a baseball back and forth in the street, and I am curled up in a red Tommy Bahama lawn chair, coloring and enjoying Spring.
April 5, 2011, Spring Break
Day Two: The Monster of Polliwog Park
Tuesday afternoon the sunlight was too beautiful to stay in doors. I packed up a bag filled with the unwanted heels from our past few loaves of bread, the stale remainder of an angel food cake, and two stacks of white cheddar cheese rice cakes which everyone in the house refuses to eat. Armed with our supplies, Vinny, Giuwels, and I set off for Polliwog Park. There are many things we love to do there. We like to see how close we can get to the dozens of turtles sunning themselves on the banks of the pond. We like to run full speed into a flock of pigeons or sea gulls for the sheer joy of watching them all fly away in a whirl of feathers and wings and indignant squawks. We like to feed the polite pairs of Mallard ducks that swim so calmly up for food. But most of all, we love to toss some crumbs out over the water and then stand quietly back as we wait for the Monster of Polliwog Park to surface. A catfish the size of a small dog, with whiskers as big as pencils, lives in the depths of Polliwog Pond, and to see him is almost as grand as seeing the White Whale. He's enormous, mysterious, hideously repulsive and yet strangely enticing. You want to see him, but when he rises to the surface with his huge vacuum-like mouth sucking up all the food in its path, you're completely horrorstruck that such a creature exists. We spent our afternoon tossing rice cakes onto the water and screaming, "It's a BEAST!" whenever the legendary animal appeared. In conclusion, I can only say that I hope the Monster of Polliwog Park likes cheddar!
April 6, 2011, Spring Break
Day Three: "Even at Our Swiftest Speed, We Couldn't Break from the Concrete"
Yesterday afternoon as the kids were wheeling their bikes out of the garage, I noticed a white beach cruiser parked in the back of the garage that looked to be just about my size. Vinny said it was Michael's, so I dashed upstairs and interrupted his tutoring session to ask if I could ride his bike for awhile. Having obtained permission, I ran back downstairs, cleared away all the junk piled around this beautiful but hardly-used bike, and hopped on. I think Vinny and Giuwels were just as delighted as I was because they immediately began clamoring to go for a real Bike Ride--which is different than their normal experience of riding up and down the street in front of their house. So we set off on our grand avdenture Around the Block. Manhattan Beach is full of hills, which makes for some challenging biking conditions--especially when riding with a 5 year old who's still got training wheels. Of course, the downhill part is everyone's favorite. The exhiliration and delight on Giuliana's face as she raced down the slope of 27th Street was worth the more arduous trek back up 25th Street. She was reduced to walking her bike up the hill, and I joined her in her plight. The uphill work builds character and determination. The downhill rides remind us that our souls can fly.
Day One: Happiness
Giuliana, hair flying, turns cartwheels in the April wind and sunshine. Her brothers toss a baseball back and forth in the street, and I am curled up in a red Tommy Bahama lawn chair, coloring and enjoying Spring.
April 5, 2011, Spring Break
Day Two: The Monster of Polliwog Park
Tuesday afternoon the sunlight was too beautiful to stay in doors. I packed up a bag filled with the unwanted heels from our past few loaves of bread, the stale remainder of an angel food cake, and two stacks of white cheddar cheese rice cakes which everyone in the house refuses to eat. Armed with our supplies, Vinny, Giuwels, and I set off for Polliwog Park. There are many things we love to do there. We like to see how close we can get to the dozens of turtles sunning themselves on the banks of the pond. We like to run full speed into a flock of pigeons or sea gulls for the sheer joy of watching them all fly away in a whirl of feathers and wings and indignant squawks. We like to feed the polite pairs of Mallard ducks that swim so calmly up for food. But most of all, we love to toss some crumbs out over the water and then stand quietly back as we wait for the Monster of Polliwog Park to surface. A catfish the size of a small dog, with whiskers as big as pencils, lives in the depths of Polliwog Pond, and to see him is almost as grand as seeing the White Whale. He's enormous, mysterious, hideously repulsive and yet strangely enticing. You want to see him, but when he rises to the surface with his huge vacuum-like mouth sucking up all the food in its path, you're completely horrorstruck that such a creature exists. We spent our afternoon tossing rice cakes onto the water and screaming, "It's a BEAST!" whenever the legendary animal appeared. In conclusion, I can only say that I hope the Monster of Polliwog Park likes cheddar!
April 6, 2011, Spring Break
Day Three: "Even at Our Swiftest Speed, We Couldn't Break from the Concrete"
Yesterday afternoon as the kids were wheeling their bikes out of the garage, I noticed a white beach cruiser parked in the back of the garage that looked to be just about my size. Vinny said it was Michael's, so I dashed upstairs and interrupted his tutoring session to ask if I could ride his bike for awhile. Having obtained permission, I ran back downstairs, cleared away all the junk piled around this beautiful but hardly-used bike, and hopped on. I think Vinny and Giuwels were just as delighted as I was because they immediately began clamoring to go for a real Bike Ride--which is different than their normal experience of riding up and down the street in front of their house. So we set off on our grand avdenture Around the Block. Manhattan Beach is full of hills, which makes for some challenging biking conditions--especially when riding with a 5 year old who's still got training wheels. Of course, the downhill part is everyone's favorite. The exhiliration and delight on Giuliana's face as she raced down the slope of 27th Street was worth the more arduous trek back up 25th Street. She was reduced to walking her bike up the hill, and I joined her in her plight. The uphill work builds character and determination. The downhill rides remind us that our souls can fly.
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