There's No Such Things as Monsters:

Giuliana's response when I told her Frankenstein wasn't real: "Carolyn, if the Easter Bunny is real then so is Frankenstein!!!" Not sure about her logic, but she spoke with great conviction.

Education:

I love that Giuliana is still so young. I love how she comes upstairs at night in one-piece footed pajamas with her hair wet from the bath. I love that she wants to sit in my lap while we watch American Idol, and I love that she wants to eat peanut butter toast with Cracklin' Oat Bran for dinner. I love walking upstairs and seeing her Pillow Pets dressed in aprons and chef hats having a tea party on the kitchen floor.

One day, after getting dressed, she asks me, "Carolyn, do I look sassy?" I ask her, "Giuwels, what do you think sassy means?" "Fabulous!" she responds.

We are driving in the car one afternoon, running errands, and she pipes up from the backseat, "Evan wants to marry me!" "Oh really? Do you want to marry him?" She shakes her head, "No." "Why not?" Her nose wrinkles as she makes a face and says, "You know how boys fart? Well, he farts a lot!" Trying to keep a straight face, I ask her who she does want to marry, and she tells me, "Vinny. Because he's so funny! But don't tell him."

One night, after going to see Bugsy Malone and eating at Rocky Cola Cafe, we're driving home, and Vinny is reading the signs off the stores we pass. "Party supply store...music supply store..." he calls out as we drive past. On the corner is a lingerie shop with lots of lacy undergarments displayed in the front window, and Giuwels cries out, "Boob supply store!!!"

The family went to church for Cheryl's birthday on Sunday, and on Monday at lunch Giuwels reminds me that we need to pray. I ask her if she would like to pray, and to my amazement she says yes! So we bow our heads and her tremulous little voice begins, "Thank you, God, for our wonderful food and for the fun I have at Ella's house, and for giving....uhh, I forgot what I was going to say...That's all...Amen." And I am sitting in my chair trying not to cry because I've never heard her pray before, and because even though she's probably praying for the first time in her young life, she's actually teaching me how to pray.

Giuliana is learning not to say "Oh my God." She tells me that "Oh my God" is a bad word, and I try to explain why: Because God is a person and we want to say his name kindly because we love him, we don't want to say his name rudely, as if we don't care. She asks, "Carolyn, do you like God?" and I say, "Yes, I love him." She grins and says, "I bet God is smiling right now up in the clouds at you and me!"

And I know in my heart that Giuliana is teaching me about God in a way that all my Torrey books and theological treatises never could. She approaches God without all the baggage of fear and guilt that I've accumulated over the years, and through her childlike faith, I experience the certainty of God's warmth and love, and the assurance that God, yes even God, likes us and is smiling right now at you and at me.

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.

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!

Sick Day:

Let me start off by saying that I know she's not mine. And yet, in many ways she is mine, because she's been entrusted to my care and responsibility, and because I love her. Because of the time, energy, and love I've invested in her and her brothers, they'll always be mine--not the way my own children will one day be mine, of course, but I will always carry them within my heart, delight in who they are, and be actively concerned for their well-being (to the best of my ability).

Well yesterday, my sweet little charge, Giuliana, woke up sick: cough, sore throat, and fever running at about 101 degrees. This normally energetic, precocious, and talkative child had nothing to say, and felt much too poorly to go to school. She slept most of the morning while I did chores around the house, and then around 11 she woke up and said she felt better. So we colored with our newly minted homemade crayons--which we made yesterday by melting down all the broken pieces of crayons they had in cupcake tins and then letting them cool and harden in the refrigerator. She wanted to copy everything I drew, which was cute and flattering since I'm hardly talented in the area of artistic creation. When we got tired of coloring, I made lunch and she wandered away into the living room. When I went to get her for lunch, I found her laying peacefully on the carpet in a patch of sunlight falling through the skylight. She never did eat lunch, and the avocado, strawberries, and peanut butter sandwich that I'd prepared for her sat untouched at the kitchen table. Instead, she continued to lay on the carpet, long after the sunlight had traveled across the room. Eventually she fell asleep, leaving me to contemplate the wonder and beauty--the sweetness and innocence--of a little girl in pink pajamas, napping on the living room floor.