Aargh…
October 31, 2007
G’dammit can something go right today please??!?
My darling daughter, not unlike her mother, tends to pride herself on being somewhat original.
She spent weeks and weeks telling me she was going to be Sleeping Beauty for Hallowe’en, only to suddenly change her mind about a month ago in the Disney store and say “Mommy, I really, really want to be Mulan for Hallowe’en this year… I can be Sleeping Beauty next year,” I was a little surprised, but figured I knew the cause… “Is somebody else going as Sleeping Beauty this year?” I asked. “Blondie,” she said.
Okay, so Mulan – I get it, quirky, kicks butt, and not terribly ‘common’ as princess infatuations go. Sure. Mulan it is.
We get the whole ensemble.
She is excited about it for a month.
Today, I tell her “let’s not do the black hair spray, wig and make-up for school today honey – we’ll save that for tonight,” trying to keep the school vs. ‘costume malfunction’ issues down to a minimum.
She says okay.
So I put her hair up on top of her head with the appropriate Mulan hair-thingy and she is enchanted.
She preens about the mirror and the house. Thrilled.
She insists that the ’special’ Mulan shoes aren’t too small – although they clearly are – damn growth spurts happen at the most inconvenient times.
She flutters about with the ’special’ Mulan fan, telling me “the dog doesn’t even recognize me Mommy, she thinks I’m Mulan…”
We go to school. She’s excited. We are the first in her class to arrive.
Standing outside of the door, we look over the list of what everyone has said they are coming as for Hallowe’en… “there Mommy! See? It says ‘Buttercup – Mulan‘ that’s me!!”
The list contains the usual assortment of other princesses – Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Snow White, Ariel… a smattering of animals, Leopard, Bear… a few fire fighters and pirates and whatnot. There are no duplicates. Apparently it’s a class full of individualists.
Or so I think, until her little classmate Michelle* rounds the corner wearing – you guessed it… a Mulan costume.
I glance back at the list – ‘Michelle – Snow White’ – hrm.
Buttercup’s face falls… she sees that Michelle is wearing elaborate eye make-up… and her naturally long black hair is done up. Michelle looks up at her Mother, who says in Spanish “oh, another Mulan?” and Michelle says in Spanish “yes Mama, but I wanted to be Mulan like her, it’s okay if I’m Mulan too, yes?” Her mother answers “yes, yes, you are both beautiful princesses.”
You see, Michelle doesn’t really speak English. While her mother is fluent in it, she’s not at all. Buttercup befriended her several weeks back – and has tried to overcome the language barrier… often asking me ‘how do you say XXX in Spanish Mommy?’ so that I can translate for her and she can use it later. One of the first phrases she asked me was “how do you say ‘big hug’?” She’s a sweet thing, my girl.
I may look as Caucasian as they come, but I speak enough Spanish and French to get by… something I’ve noticed most people don’t expect of me. It’s amazing sometimes what people will say in front of you when they think you don’t understand the language they are using.
Given the situation and what Michelle said, I suspect Buttercup has been paid an oblique compliment… but she’s 4 1/2, so she sure doesn’t see it that way. I could see as her little gears started turning – assessing her costume versus Michelle’s – which was better despite only minute differences? She said nothing. But I can read my daughter like a book. She liked both dresses equally, but she was envious of Michelle’s hair and of the make-up. She decided it was balanced out by the fact that she had the fan, the hair thing and the shoes Michelle didn’t… but she’s SO not happy about being one of two Mulans.
My poor boo. She’s not yet 5 and she already knows the embarrassment of showing up to the party wearing the same dress as another woman. I suspect it will be awhile before she buys off-the-rack again for Hallowe’en. I guess I’d better get my sewing skills up to par for next year. Sigh.
The list said ‘Michelle – Snow White’… dammit.
*I’m not changing her name, I don’t expect her to be a recurrent player, and besides, there’s about 8 zillion Michelle’s out there, eh?
Annoying Non-post
October 30, 2007
You know those annoying little pop-up ads that now take up 1/3 of the television screen while you’re trying to watch something that are solely there to let you know that something else of interest is coming up later?
Yeahhh.
This is the blog equivalent of one of those stupid ads. Only without the animation or the smiling actor.
I have two posts to get to – one on Hallowe’en and a heavier hitter on Violence in Media (or lack thereof) and how things have changed in the past 30 years and what it means to kids today… but that one requires actual thought and wordcraft – so it’s going to have to wait until after tomorrow’s fun-filled costume-fest candy-orgy day.
I’ve got to get up early tomorrow to take up the hem of Buttercup’s costume. Yep… I may be more at home in front of a computer, but I can still baste a hem when necessary. Watch out Martha Stewart!!
G’night. More later.
Duh Mommy…
October 29, 2007
At bedtime, after the books and the singing and the cuddling, I often end up telling Buttercup a story.
They come out of my head… and I’ll admit they aren’t exactly works of art… but they work for her. This might be due in part to the fact that they pretty much always start with “Once upon a time, there was a sweet, smart, and beautiful little girl named…” at which point she fills in her own name and we’re off.
Every so often – immediately following whatever tale I’ve come up with that night – my daughter comes up with her own story that she just needs to tell me right then. Not too surprisingly, it usually incorporates two things: the major plot points and elements of the story I just told her, and whatever is weighing most heavily on her mind.
We’re about 10 days out from a family vacation on a Disney cruise ship. She’s been waiting, hoping, obsessing and dreaming about it for around 6 months now. But lately, whenever we mention it, she’s been sort of nonchalant about the whole thing. Deceptively so, apparently, that crafty girl-child of mine.
Still, there’s often a small bit of humor to be found in these stories, so I thought I’d share tonight’s.
Buttercup’s Story
Once upon a time there was a little girl named Buttercup.
And she said to her Mommy, “Mommy, I want to go on the Princess Boat.” But her Mommy said “In a week.”
So she went to her Daddy and said “Daddy, I want to go on the Princess Boat.” But her Daddy said “In a week.”
So she went to the dog and said “Dog, I want to go on the Princess Boat…” and the dog said {long pause}
Me: The dog said “woof?” (a running joke)
No Mommy, the dog said “Woofwoofwoofwoofwoof!”
Me: What does that mean?
It means “I’m really excited!!” (how I wish I could reproduce her tone of voice here – inject all the girlish glee you can imagine.)
And then she went to the cat and said “Cat, I want to go on the Princess Boat.” But the cat said “mrrrrowwwwwwww…”
Me: And what does that mean?
It means “Leave me alone, I want to poop in the cat litter now.”
And then the little girl went out in the back yard and stamped her foot.
The End.
And they all lived happily ever after.
But of course. My Felinese is a bit rusty. That’s all.
Thank goodness we all lived happily ever after.
Ew. Ew. Ewwww!!
October 24, 2007
Today’s preschool field trip (yes, they do those, who knew?) proved enlightening on a very interesting front.
First let me diverge by saying I’m pretty carnivorous. Yep. Loooove meat. I’m not ashamed of it in the least. While many of my friends are vegetarian – I’m the gal that thinks that vegetables are what food eats. Oh, alright, I’ll eat broccoli and a host of other veggies too, but if the choice is between animal protein and plants? I’ll take mine medium-rare, thanks. I have no issue with the fact that something on my plate may have once wandered around on two or four feet – the only issue in that vein I’ve ever had is leaving the fish-head on – I want to eat my dead animal, not have a staring contest with it.
Meanwhile, my darling Buttercup is pretty much a self-imposed vegetarian. The closest she comes to eating meat is the chicken soup broth that surrounds the noodles at Sweet Tomatoes. If it weren’t for Boca Burgers, edamame and dairy, I don’t know how we’d get protein into that child.
So now that I’ve thrown in a seemingly irrelevant tangent, let me get back to the gist, shall I?
Today’s field-trip to the Wildlife Center was interesting. We carpooled with Buttercup’s best friend (ooh, she needs a name… hm… let’s call her Blondie – because that kiddo is a serious towhead and I can remember it) and her Mom. We arrived at the center to a handful of preschool classmates and their assorted adult-escorts (parents, grandparents, what-have-you) bipping about playing with the “hands-on exhibits.”
One of which was a coyote skin. Well, I guess you’d call it a pelt, since there wasn’t any coyote in it… just the fur, the preserved head, paws, and tail. But it was draped over a 4 year old crawling on the ground pretending to stalk another 4 year old… Buttercup’s first reaction was not unlike mine. Ew. Why is she wearing that?
It got better of course when the grandmother of said pelt-covered-child grabbed the unstuffed-but-preserved carcass of a skunk and threw it on the floor for coyote-girl to pounce on with an encouraging “get it! Kill that skunk!”
There was an entire basket of pelts and other dead furry bits for the kids to play with. That should’ve been my first clue as to what we were in for, but I must be more of an optimist than I realize.
Shortly after we arrived, the aging-goth-chick nature-guide-lady (let’s call her Nature-chick for short) circled the kids on the floor in the other room and told us parents to make ourselves comfortable in the chairs behind them. I’ll spare you most of the details, but the next 30-40 minutes was a lecture involving hand-puppets such as deer, owl, coyote, beaver and prairie dogs, that would then be compared to their preserved skulls and bits and pieces of the dead things – a deer’s antler, coyote skin, etc. brought out for the children to see and ostensibly touch.
It was like a parade of bizarre taxidermy. I wasn’t exactly expecting a disembodied owl’s wing, a detached beaver tail, or a preserved owl’s claw, talons spread. I’m fairly certain the kids weren’t either. Buttercup was the first girl to voice her objections loudly… when Nature-chick said “you can touch it” about the first item up for grabs (a deer skull) she didn’t even hesitate to belt out “I’m not going to touch that!” and was echoed by a handful of the girls who were clearly trying to back away.
I convinced her to touch the deer skin by saying “it feels soft like a kitty, honey” and that emboldened all of the girls to try it – but once the detached beaver tail came out, they were done.
It didn’t help much that Nature-chick’s explanation of why the coyote had such long canines and the owl had such a sharp beak were variants of “that’s so he can go outside, pounce on a squirrel, shake it to death and rip its throat out and eat it…” and “that’s so he can swoop down silently from the sky and seize a bunny with his sharp talons and kill it and rip into it with his sharp beak to shred it and eat it.”
Seriously?
Did you seriously just repeatedly tell my child that nice old Mister Owl and Mister Coyote like to pounce on the fuzzy woodland creatures that Snow White adores so and rip them to shreds and eat them? Because I was thinking I’d like to have your phone number, Nature-chick, so that when she wakes up at 3 a.m. with the “Mommy! There’s an owl in my room and it’s trying to kill me and eat me!” nightmare I can call you and ’share’ the experience with you.
Don’t get me wrong – I think rabbit tastes delicious. I’m just fairly certain that it does me little good to censor what she sees on T.V. when you’ve decided that it’s appropriate to talk about predators and bunny killing with my child before I do…
Oh – and don’t even get me started on telling the kids that a male deer’s antlers are there to attract the ‘lay-dees’ and demonstrating to them how he ’struts’ to show off and trying to get them all to emulate you by wiggling your hips with a horn on your head and telling them “strut!! Strut with me!!” At least none of them went along with you on that, Nature-chick… so you were the only one looking silly.
So now the likelihood that my daughter is going to be eating meat any time in the near future? Slimmer than it was before, if that’s possible. Seriously, couldn’t we have at least pretended that hamburger comes from the store for a few more years?
Ah well. Live and learn I guess. It just makes me all the more leery about the next field trip. I mean, I know we go to Home Depot at some point later in the school year. Do I have to worry about someone showing my daughter how to use a Sawzall to dismember something? Yikes.
Now that I think about it, I wonder if Nature-chick did the taxidermy herself? Hmmm…
Butter – who knew?
October 22, 2007
I was just looking over the referrer traffic – which surprised the heck out of me by existing in the first place. Not many blogs get traffic with only four entries… heck, I didn’t expect any at this point except one or two friends dropping by.
But it turns out that the world is rather interested in butter. Or at least interested in making butter out of heavy cream using baby food jars!
Before last week, I didn’t even know you could do that.
I think it’s rather cool that there are other folks out there who want to teach their kids how to do this. It tells me there are other parents and teachers out there who think that stuff like this is important to do with kids. It’s a happy thing.
For those who got here looking for the howto on that here ya go:
Supplies
Baby food jars – the standard 4 oz. size
Heavy Whipping Cream
Salt
Strainer
Directions
Pour cream into jar(s) about 4/5 full – leave room for shaking – add 1 pinch salt (about 1/8 tsp), reseal jar with lid securely – shake! Shake, shake, shake!! The mixture will get thick first, after much shaking, you will see small holes in the liquid starting to appear as the butter starts to form. You’re almost there! Shake more and you will see within a couple more minutes that the butter separates out from the buttermilk. When the butter has formed a little clump/ball in the bottom, remove the lid and use strainer or just carefully pour off the milk – you can save it if you want, or just pour it off. Then rinse the butter with water to make sure you get the layer of milk off, so that it doesn’t turn the butter sour. Refrigerate.
And by the way? Yeah, it’s really good butter!
What did parents do before computers?
October 22, 2007
I know, I know… before there were computers, there was TV… and before that Radio and before that… Dinosaurs and banging rocks together, right?
See, the reason I’m asking is that I feel guilty when I let Buttercup watch television.
Even if it’s educational TV like Sesame Street, and I know she’s learning something (and it’s amazing, she does learn from Sesame Street, I’ve watched it) I feel guilty. Yes, I always watch with her. Yes, I’m 100% aware of what is on there and I make parental choices. No adult television when the kidlet is around, with the occasional exception of a football game or very tame Food Network show.
It’s just that I grew up being inundated with the media message “watching television is bad for kids and you’re a bad parent if you don’t believe that.” Seriously. I mean, it’s been called the “boob tube” and the “vast wasteland” and there are 8 zillion and three articles on how television ruined the minds and imaginations of every generation since I Love Lucy… (Yeah, that’s a totally made up statistic. I love hyperbole.)
So deep down, I feel lousy every time the television goes on when my daughter is around.
But not so the computer.
Buttercup has had her own computer since before she could walk. As befits the child of geek parents, she’s had her own domain name since before she was born… registered once we decided what we wanted to name her and all.
Her computer sits at its own desk in our office… alongside GeekDaddy’s and mine… and is has a custom children’s keyboard and mouse perfect for little hands. This one to be precise:
Buttercup has taken to computing like a fish to water. This is a happy making thing in our house.
It was a big day when she ‘got’ the mouse thing down. You probably don’t think about it, but developmentally, the concepts that moving something away from you translates as ‘up’ on a screen and toward you translates as ‘down’ and that what you do with your hand can impact that little arrow on the screen? Those are huge cognitive leaps.
Now, it’s aiding in her learning to read and spell before she’s even in Kindergarten. She takes pleasure in being able to type out her name on the keyboard – and in being able to read simple words that help her do what she wants to do in a given program. Sure – most of those programs involve princesses and children’s characters from *cough* TV shows – but there’s learning hidden in most of them. Math, reading, colors, shapes, file manipulation.
So when my darling daughter says “Mommy!! I wanna play on the computer now!” I don’t even feel a twinge as I do when she says “let’s watch a show…” Because no one has inundated me for more than 3 decades with how awful the computer must be for my child.
Yes, of course she likes to go out and play in the back yard, too. I’m only talking about the computer vs. the TV right now. It’s just that I can actually see the learning processes happening with the computer and so I think to myself “where is the equivalent of that prior to the advent of the PC?” Because while Sesame Street might teach her letters and numbers, the computer is also teaching her dexterity and hierarchical thinking.
GeekDaddy mentioned to me the other day something he observed. She was playing in MS Paint (yes, so sue me, it’s easier to clean up than real paint) and asked him how to ‘get a new picture’ – and he showed her File/New and off she went. Today, she asked me ‘what if I want to keep it?’ and I showed her File/Save and typing in a name (gibberish is just fine for that, y’know) and clicking on okay… and voila! Saved pictures of preschooler drawings of cats in snowglobes. (Yeeeeeah, I said she was getting the computer down, not necessarily turning into Van Gogh.)
So her little mind has already absorbed the underlying structure of most modern computer programs. She may not always get the days of the week in the right order (Tuesday and Wednesday are pesky, but she’s getting them) but she does know how to open programs using desktop icons, use the CD-Rom/DVD drive, use a browser, navigate thru links, open new files, save files, and alter tools inside of them. I think that’s more than my grandmother can do.
So do I feel guilty about letting her ‘play’ on the computer?
Well, duh. Of course I do to a point – or I wouldn’t have written this long justification for it, would I? I mean, I’ve just spent several paragraphs being defensive and yet self-righteous while extolling the virtues of something I’m doing. Doesn’t that just scream ‘in denial and feeling a tad guilty’? Yep. To me too.
So I’m feeling a little guilty – but it’s really cool at the same time. PC’s weren’t around when I was a kid. I had to learn all of this as an adolescent and even then, I was an adult before such a luxury as a mouse was accessible. I’m the product of the generation right *before* the revolution. I had Kermit and Big Bird teaching me to read and speak basic Spanish and all… but I didn’t even begin to dream of a world like my daughter faces. I can’t see how it can be a bad one – at least on that front.
So maybe a tad guilty, but also happy it exists for her and that I can help her to learn it.
Slow Down
October 20, 2007
There I was, checking my email this afternoon, for the first time in 4 hours… which, if you’re like me is an inordinately long period of time without at least scanning the inbox.
*heaaaavy sigh from the kidlet*
“What’s up, Buttercup?” (where her nickname comes from, by the way…)
“I’m sad. There’s no mommies around to play with me…” she said in that heartbreakingly forlorn way.
“No mommies? What am I?”
“Well, you could play with me I guess.”
“You just said there were no mommies to play with — and I’m pretty sure I’m a mommy. Does that mean I can’t play with you?”
“No… it means you’re more than my Mommy — you’re my friend. Let’s play!” she said, as she launched herself in my general direction.
I suppose it’s a sign of security that she had such blind faith that I would and could stop her 33lb self from plummeting to the floor at gravity’s insistent beckoning — especially given that jumping isn’t her strong suit and she was a good 2 feet short of getting there on her own.
Ahhh parabolic trajectories and analytical calculus — not the native domain of preschoolers.
I grabbed my girl and managed to keep her from *ker-thumping* face first into the floor by means of the Mommy bear-hug… and we collapsed into the easy chair laughing.
“Hey,” I said, “I know… would you like to help me bake some pink cupcakes?”
Like she’d say no.
So we adjourned to the kitchen, where there was measuring, pouring, mixing, etc.
Baking. It’s just a sneaky way of getting science in early, you know.
Fast-forward to the part where the cupcakes come out of the oven, but the 9″ round cake needs a few more minutes. I remove the perfectly brown (yet somehow still pink) cupcakes from the oven and put them on top of the stove. I rest the oven-mitts on the side nearest the sides little hands might get to and admonish my child to ’stay away from there until they cool.’
This isn’t the first time we’ve done this. She knows the routine. Cupcakes come out — cool on the stove-top — then the messy frosting application commences.
As Alton Brown says, cake is simply a frosting delivery system. Buttercup subscribes whole-heartedly to this theory as well.
So I took a minute, since I figured I had about 8 before the remaining cake had to come out… and I ducked into the bathroom, thinking my child busily occupied with her toys. (You do know which direction this is headed, don’t you?)
Just moments after I had entered the ‘Room of Rest’ but had yet to complete my entire errand there… the door swung open suddenly to reveal my dog and my daughter — both very excited — and said daughter had upon her hands (and most of her arms) the very same oven-mitts I had left upon the oven ‘guarding’ the still scalding hot muffin pan.
“Look Mommy! Now I will bake for you! What do you want? Purple cupcakes?”
At this point, both Buttercup’s first and middle names came out of my mouth in the most shocked, disappointed, concerned, and yeah, pissed off of GeekMommy tones.
That’s all it took.
You could see the gears turning as her little brain calculated the use of two names, the tone of voice, the realization that on her hands were the tell-tale signs that she had really messed up… Her face fell. Her hands fell. Her voice quivered with the beginnings of some attempt to temporize her way out of this…
But c’mon – what 4 1/2 year old can temporize her way out of anything? 4 1/2 year olds are only really good at rationalizing themselves into something.
I cut her off — I said “please go put the oven mitts back where you found them. Now.”
She headed to the kitchen as fast as her little feet could carry her and put them right back — and then, as I was coming around the corner into the kitchen (having washed up and all) she looked up, saw me, and burst into tears.
Now, if this were most kids, I would assume that this was the ‘hmmm… how am I going to get out of punishment here’ ploy of crying for sympathy. But not my kiddo, that’s not how she’s wired and I already know that.
She was heartbroken. She was devastated. She wasn’t thinking about being in trouble or getting out of it. She was wrapped up in something else entirely and it started her little body shaking and heaving with heart-wrenching sobs.
I swooped my girl up and cuddled her over to the sofa… trying to bring her back down enough to get words out of her.
“What’s up with the tears Buttercup? Why are you crying? I know you didn’t burn yourself or you would’ve yelled first, so what’s the cause of all these tears?” I asked.
“I don’t want to be little any more — I want to be an a-a-aaa-dult just like you-hoo-oooo-oo! *sob* I want to bake for you all by myself. I don’t wanna not touch the oven-mitts. I wanna be grown up NOOOOooowwwwWW!”
See? Told you it wasn’t about getting in trouble.
I cuddled her closer.
“Oh honey… please don’t grow up yet!! I want you to be little for a little while longer…”
“Noooooooooo!!! I wanna be big now!!” she wailed.
“Sweetie, if you were bigger, I couldn’t cuddle you close like this. Someday, you will be grown up – and you will be able to do all the things you want to do now then, but you won’t be able to do all the things then that you do now. You won’t be able sit in my lap and let me kiss your tears away… You’ll get big enough soon enough, but for now, be my little girl?”
Three deep breaths. And then the sobbing resumed — at twice the volume and insistency.
“Mommy!!! I don’t wanna grow up. I wanna cuddle with you foreh-eh-everrrrr! Don’t let me grow up! Please? Please??!!”
More hugs and more kisses later, we agreed that she could wait a bit, and we’d both be okay with that.
Geek Moms Like Science, Honey…
October 19, 2007
I didn’t mention that the other day when I was “helping” out in Preschool, there was an activity going on that the teachers were thrilled to have my assistance with.
See, being ambitious sorts, they had come up with a baking project for the kids – whereby neat little hedgehog shaped rolls with raisin eyes were created and baked by the kids.
Sure, sure, that part’s normal enough. It was the part where they said to me “oh we’re so glad you’re here to help with the shaking… see the kids are going to make their own butter to go on the rolls using heavy whipping cream and jars… and our arms are tired from doing most of the work this morning.”
Now, in grade school, I was the kid paying attention during “Prairie Week” when the strange adult outsiders came in with their nifty “How the Pioneers Did It” exhibitions… so I can tell you exactly how a lead musket ball is made by melting down scrap lead in a crucible and pouring it into a bullet mold (despite not having seen it in 30+ years, it’s still vivid) and I can tell you how freaking sore your arms get trying to churn butter the old fashioned way. Because I was one of the 2 kids who didn’t lose interest in that in oh, 30 seconds, after seeing that it mostly consisted of slamming a pole up and down inside a thin upright barrel-thingy.
So I was a bit dubious of this “preschoolers making their own butter” experiment, but more than excited to be allowed to help out.
Here’s what happened…
Ms. M took four well-washed baby food jars. She poured cold Heavy Whipping Cream into each one… about 4/5 full. She poured a tiny amount of salt in her hand – roughly 1/8th of a tsp I’d guess – and dumped it in. She sealed the jars. She handed one to me, kept one for herself, and handed two girls (one of them Buttercup) the other two jars and said “okay, now we shake!!”
For the first couple of minutes there was me shaking furiously, Ms. M shaking half-heartedly, and two girls shaking like preschoolers do – with great enthusiasm but not much rhythm or effectiveness. Then the girls started getting bored, so the jars got passed on to the next victims helpers and we moved on. Ms. M tried valiantly to make it interesting by singing little “shake shake shake your butter” songs that she had made up for the morning class.
I sat there trying not to burst into either “Shake shake shake, shake your booooooty, shake your boooooteeeeh” or “Shake, shake, shake Senora, shake your body line…” neither of which is appropriate for a Catholic preschool room, nor something I want to have to explain to another parent where their child learned that song, thank you.
After much less time that you’d think, it devolved down to me and the three boys at the table. Fortunately, the boys were having a bit of a competition to see who could “turn it into butter first.” The answer of course was – me… I could. Because I’m the adult with the actual ability to shake the crap out of the silly baby food jar in the hopes that it might suddenly decide to do what abused cream does and chunk up.
However, I also know that the best method to keep the boys “helping” me was to suddenly shout “annnnnnd TRADE!!” every few moments so that I would be able to slide further progressed jars to each one. In the end, it took us maybe 10 minutes? I’d get the jars to the point of “a few more shakes and it’s butter with skim milk on top” and pass it off to a boy… then when it clumped up, tell him to run give it to Ms. M for draining and processing.
I really wanted to grab the jars and poke and prod them to see the consistency and taste the fruit of my GeekMommy labor… but you know, trying to provide a good example and all… So I waited.
You know what? It’s pretty cool. I got to eat a hedgehog roll (note: fun for the kids to make, not so much on the eating part) with butter that came from my own sweaty, hyperactive labor. I kept telling myself that since I ‘churned’ it, surely I burned off a comparable amount of fat and calories to what I was eating. (I know, I know, but I wanted to fool myself, thanks.)
I figure this will be fun if and when Buttercup ever hits that Girl Scout phase… so I’m storing it away in my brain for future “what to do that will either make your daughter roll her eyes at you OR say ooooh cool!! how do you know how to make butter?” reference.
I will say that I wonder what they’re making Catholic Preschool teachers out of these days though… both Ms. M and Ms. L were astonished that we had 1/2 the number of kids in the afternoon class but it took us less than 1/3 the time to make the butter. I guess one determined GeekMommy is worth two ‘why did we think it was a good idea to shake butter?’ preschool teachers any day.
Now, in the event of a butter shortage at the store – I am fully prepared. As long as there is Heavy Whipping Cream and baby food in jars.
So Let’s Start With Today… Anubis Disapproves.
October 16, 2007
I should be asleep. I’m sick, I’m achy, I’m shaky and I’m exhausted.
But I just have to share this one before I can let the mad stew of pills I had to take earlier overcome me and send me off to disturbed slumber.
Today was the first day that I got to go “help” out in Buttercup’s new preschool. I’m sure I made an interesting impression.
In the old preschool, parental presence in the classroom was verbotten… I assume that was really due mostly to the fact that none of the trophy-wives wanted to have to spend their time in the class with all of those annoying kids, so the made it against the rules. That way they didn’t need to feel guilty when some parent who actually wanted to be involved with their offspring’s education showed up regularly but they didn’t. Seriously – those of us without au pairs picking up the kids regularly were looked at as potential enemies on that front.
So I was all kinds of giddy about being able to come help out in the classroom this year whenever I wanted!! We had to wait until October – to give the kids the chance to get used to just being with the teachers – but there were several of us chomping at the bit. Last week, I signed up for today – forgetting that Tuesdays the class has less than half the component (unrelated long story) but fortunately, it was baking day, so the teachers were happy for an extra set of hands.
Hands.
That’s where this is going, you know… Hands.
See this?
That’s Anubis.
Anubis is an inside joke in our family… and a joke we’ve shared with so many for so long that it has spread across the country to other circles of friends.
See, if I weren’t just using an old photo I already had up on the internet of it to illustrate, I’d probably add one from the head on position – so that you can see that extending the 1st and 4th fingers, while resting the 2nd and 3rd on the thumb gives an uncanny resemblance to the Egyptian god Anubis.
Animated gifs could show you the wide variety of emotional expressions Anubis has, if I weren’t too lazy to make them.
Anubis does many things. Anubis approves. Anubis disapproves. Anubis blows chunks. Anubis will help you find your keys or something to eat in the fridge. Anubis will make your toddler laugh hysterically.
So I suppose it’s only natural that our 4 year old daughter can and regularly does utilize Anubis as well. No, of course she’s not up on the mythos… but she can roll right along with the rest of us, thanks.
So now, take yourself back with me to earlier today. We’re at preschool. Buttercup’s Roman Catholic Preschool. You know, the kind where the preschool teachers are there because it’s what you do when you’re a good Catholic and a teacher? The kind that asked us if we were in the parish (we’re not, we get charged extra) and made sure we knew ahead of time that God/Jesus etc is mentioned there (duh, it’s a Catholic preschool…) but are willing to educate our heathenish child nonetheless.
Not nuns, mind you. Nuns-as-teachers aren’t really shockable (trust me on this one.) Nice Catholic preschool teachers? That’s a different matter.
We’re sitting in a circle. Ms. M (one of her two teachers) sticks up her index finger, not unlike this:
And launches into that old Christian classic children’s song “This Little Light of Mine” – Ms. M gets just a few words in when my child, sitting next to me says loudly for all and sundry to hear “Hey Mommy!! That is almost just like Anubis!! See?” and proceeds to throw up the ears.
Ms. M lurches to a halt. A silence descends over all the children. Creepy that.
“What’s that Buttercup? What does it remind you of?”
My hand shoots out to cover my daughter’s trying desperately reconfigure it back to the little make-believe candle the rest of the preschoolers have up… Ms. M looks directly at me and says “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that… what did she say?”
Could it be possible? Or is she just giving me an out?
*Cough* *Cough* “I’m sorry for the interruption Ms. M – it’s an inside family joke… please continue with the song, I just love this song!” whilst still attempting to wrangle my small child’s wriggling hand back into conformity.
Buttercup mumbles something else about Anubis thinking that I must not have heard her – and I lean over and whisper “not now Buttercup, we’ll talk about it later…” and launch into that godawful Little Light song as lustily as I can without seeming too weird. And to her credit Ms. M only looked askance at me once more during the song.
When we got home – I explained that Anubis was a family thing – we didn’t share it with outsiders… certainly not with teachers. Buttercup corrected me that we could share it with family and some friends, but only friends of the family – and I agreed. Seriously.
We are going to be known as “that” family if we stay with parochial school… you know?
Well I suppose it could’ve been worse. She could’ve flipped off the teacher and said “hey, that looks like the symbol for Fuck You!!”
I’m still laughing about it…
But Anubis? Anubis disapproves.
First Things First
October 16, 2007
If you haven’t read the “About Me” section through the link on the main page, please do.
You might want to know what you’re dealing with!
That said – this isn’t my first post on the Internet, nor even my first blog. It is, however, a new start here… but rather than trying to play catch-you-up, I’m just going to dive right in. Somewhere along the way, I’ll probably back-track to cover pertinent things… but for now, let’s just get started, shall we?
Oh, and to preserve my privacy and that of those around me, I’m going to be using a lot of psuedonyms. I haven’t decided yet whether to disclose my daughter’s name here, since this is a public forum, but for now I’m just going to call her Buttercup, as it’s a nickname I use for her in real-life, and I love the Princess Bride, so there ya go.
Starting cast of characters then:
GeekMommy – me. A 40-something Mommy to one adorable girl. Happily married. Trying to balance being a geek, an older mom, a wife, and everything else at the same time.
GeekDaddy – the husband. Occasionally known as M, my husband, or something less palatable when I’m tired and cranky. He’s younger than I (still in his 30’s – I robbed the cradle!) but just as big a geek (if not bigger.)
Buttercup – the daughter. Born January 2003, as I start this blog, she’s 4 years old, going to preschool and already smarter than I am. But still smaller and as yet unaware of the fact that I am not omniscient, so I mostly win any battles… we’ll see how long that lasts. She’s my princess and a girly-girl. But she’s had her own computer since before she could walk, and she’s already got the keyboard and the mouse down cold. She’ll be the geekiest girl in pink at Prom, that’s for sure.
I’ll introduce others as it becomes necessary.
