Cuppycakes

Tonight, La and I baked peanut butter cupcakes with chocolate icing (from scratch) for my boss's birthday tomorrow.

 

La and I are both on the upswing of some nasty colds that overtook both of our bodies last week, so we had to take extra precautionary measures to ensure that the cupcakes did not become contaminated with our leftover germs. I had to wash La's (and my) hands at least 7 times during the baking of the cupcakes. She kept wiping her mouth/nose/eye/face area with her hands and then reaching for the wooden spoon to stir the batter. I would intercept her reach each time (I hope) and pull her over to the sink for some more scrubbing.

The cupcakes turned out wonderfully, and La didn't even get anything on her shirt.

Hopefully my boss will like his little treat ... and hopefully this treat is the only thing we will share with him on his birthday. Now I know why La's school requires that birthday treats be store-bought.

So Long To You, Trusty Window Seat!

... That's only what they called it on the box. I can assure you, a window seat it is not! Nor is it "trusty!" It's a toy box. And a pretty crappy one at that.

Well folks, as you can see, La's toy box has officially bitten the proverbial dust. La and I emptied the entire thing tonight. We filled a bag with toys that we will donate, and we filled a bag with toys we will toss. The "keepers" had to find new homes in various nooks and crannies around La's room. (read: shoved haphazardly under La's bed)

The bidding farewell to this piece of junk was actually a bit hard for me to do. Yes, the cheap metal screw-holder-inner things had long since popped out. And yes, the bottom of the box had also suddenly and mysteriously dropped out of its place, sort of like when a car loses its transmission. (I always thought that was just a figure of speech, like: Oh, I dropped my transmission the other day ... That's going to cost me a dime or two to fix! No, people. The thing REALLY FALLS OUT OF THE BOTTOM OF THE CAR. And that's exactly what happened to La's toy box.)

Anyway, this toy box was one of the first "furniture" items I ever bought for La. I was in my last trimester of my pregnancy when I (my mom) purchased it. I was nesting, as they say. And I was all, "Holy cow! I'm going to have a baby in like A MONTH! And I'm TOTALLY going to need something to put all of her millions of TOYS in! I mean, what ever will I do if I don't have a toy box for her THE MINUTE she is born??!!"

The box cost me (my mom) about $50 at Linens-N-Things, so I don't think I was expecting it to become, like, an heirloom or anything. But still. It seems like just yesterday we were picking it out. It should have lasted at least 10 years. 

The thing came in a tiny box with all its pieces configured in the one and only configuration that would allow it to fit in such a tight little box. We bought it and then I carried it out to the car. Yes, you heard me right. I, as in 8-months-pregnant ME, carried it out to the car. This was the norm back then. I would take my mom and sister to Babies-R-Us or Target and would purchase some ENORMOUS thing and then I would end up lugging it out of the store myself. My mom and sis will not even deny this accusation (not that it's an accusation guys). They would be like, "Oh, we're going to go wait in the car", not realizing that I would be left with the large object. Inevitably, they would remember that I probably needed some help ... but it was usually while I was balancing said object on one knee and tapping on the glass with one finger to get them to "pop the trunk." Aunt M would turn around from the visor mirror where she had been carefully applying lipgloss and my mom would turn and look at me with her cell phone to her ear. Then they would turn to each other with stunned looks of awareness on their faces. Then in unison they would turn back and say, "Oh, do you need some help with that???!!!"

Uh, no. I don't think so.

We brought the window seat/toy box into the house and I assembled it by myself, but with the two of them in the room for moral support. I don't think I wanted any help with the assembly (I may have been a teensy bit of a control freak while I was pregnant. And HELLO! I was nesting) ... And I distinctly remember putting that thing together and chatting with my mom and sis and laughing so hard about something that I thought I was going to go into labor. And that was the best medicine for a stressed-out, single, pregnant college student who didn't have a clue what the future held for her.

So you can see why it's a little bit hard for me to haul that toy box down to the dumpster. It's amazing to me that one of La's furniture items has lived its complete life cycle. This is one of the many signs – real physical proof – that her babyhood has come to an end. 

Yes, dad, I know what you're thinking. She still drinks out of a sippy cup. JUST LET IT BE.

Oh the BOYS.

I dropped La off at school this morning and situated her at the Little Tykes plastic picnic table (just like I do every morning). I opened up her granola snack and her juice box (just like I do every morning), when suddenly, out of nowhere, 3 large boys (well, larger than La anyway) came galloping over pushing each other and FIGHTING OVER who was going to get to sit across from La at the table. 

Oh goodness.

The boys proceeded to cram their little rears together onto the bench directly across from La. This bench is roughly 20 inches long, which made for quite the spectacle. Once the 3 dudes were comfortably squished into the bench, La put her elbows on the table and looked at dude #1 and asked, "So, Jason, how is your day going?" He responded by staring back at her in COMPLETE ADORATION.

I looked at the teacher and asked her if she was seeing what I was seeing. She confirmed the scene that was before us and added, "La is quite popular with the boys."

Um ... What?

And then I waved goodbye to La and blew her a kiss (just like I do every morning) and she just ignored me. 

*sigh*

I'm hoping that she will morph into a studious anti-boy bookworm with braces and pimples by the time she starts kindergarten.

Trauma: Life in the ML (mouth of La)

About three weeks ago, La had a close encounter with some pavement and ended up with a set of swollen lips and some blackish-blue gums. This was her second incident of the year involving trauma to the mouth. The first occurred a few months ago when Brody and La were running around the condo like a pair of madmen, when La suddenly slipped on the bathroom rug and smashed her face into our porcelain tub. Oh the blood. And the crying. And the BLOOD. It was everywhere. 

Immediately following each of the two injuries, La experienced general mouth pain (No, duh!) and slightly loose teeth. However, after the most recent collision, one of her teeth - OH DEAR GOD STARTED TURNING COLORS. Note the following photo. Even an untrained eye can clearly see that her one top tooth is practically BLACK. 

As if I need another thing to obsess over. 

I noticed the discoloration about a week after the injury, and immediately knew deep down in my soul that that sucker was going to turn the color of death and then fall out. Or that the dentist will take one look at that thing and yank it out right there on the spot. One of those things was bound to happen.

Which may have been acceptable if we still lived on Spinnaker Run in Aurora Shores. For those of you not familiar with that neighborhood, it's themed, well, ... nautically. As in, every single street is named some cutesy thing like "Regatta Trail" or "Clipper's Cove" or "Pirate's Trail" or "Commodore Cove" or, my favorite, "Spinnaker Run." I used to take La on walks to the lake that was in the neighborhood and we would spend the entire walk home speaking in Pirate talk (I cannot take credit for this ... grandma Linda started the shenanigans). I would close one eye and scrunch up my face and – using my gruffest voice – say, "Shiver me timbers, La ... Land ho! Ahoy! I have spotted our home on Spinnak-arrrrrr through me looking glass. What say we take a ride on your bike or color with some sidewalk chalk? ARRRRR matey!"

It was our thing, people.

So, if she were indeed to – LET IT NOT BE SO – lose her tooth, It may have been okay while we lived in a pirate-themed community. She simply would have looked a bit more piratey and probably would have matched the facade of our neighborhood. 

Over and over I thought to myself, "Self, it would be just fine if La were to lose that tooth. Just fine indeed. Sure, she wouldn't have a front tooth for, say, 4 or 5 more years, but it would be fine. We would get used to it. We would probably even say that she is even cuter now than when she had a full set of pearly whites. That big black gap is very becoming on La, don't you agree, self??!!" 

Today I took a half-day off work and went to the dentist with La. She was a true champ. She bit down on those awful spiky cardboard things and let the dental assistant snap x-rays of her teeth without saying boo. She then climbed right into the dental chaise lounge-thing and waited patiently for the dentist. When he got there he introduced himself as "Dr. CJ" and high-fived La just for being there. I liked him right away, and so did La. He asked me if she had been complaining of any tooth pain. I said yes, but only when she eats something hard or drinks something really cold. He shined his big light on her mouth and pushed on her teeth with her fingers and showed me her x-ray and then declared:

There is nothing wrong with your daughter's tooth.

Bu-bu-but ... what about the pain?! And the tooth was LOOSE, I swear! And what about the sickening color? He of course had an explanation for all of that. Apparently she has a bruise inside her tooth. It's normal for kids who experience oral trauma. He told me not to feed her anything really hard and not to give her any really cold drinks. And the color may lighten, or it may stay the same.

And that was that.

So, La and I walked across the street to enjoy a celebratory bagel in honor of the joyous gift of another day with all of our teeth intact.

Blessed with the voice of an angel.

The Twinsburgers Head Home

On Thursday Aunt M, La and I drove back to Twinsburg for the weekend so that La could visit with her Dad. The drive there was very pleasant, complete with sunshine, a HUGE rainbow that stretched over I-80, some happy little deer in a meadow, and a happy little rain shower. La was in pristine form, riding along pleasantly, singing to herself for much of the way.

Friday morning, La's dad (in for a visit from Scottsdale, AZ) came in his rental minivan to whisk her off to Cedar Point. The minivan suited him better than I expected. Go dad!

La ended up having an absolute blast!

And I had a whole night kid-free. I got to spend it with my girls (Mom, Molly, Meagan and Mandy). We went to Vito's in Aurora, which is our favorite Italian spot, just outside the back entrance to my old neighborhood. My mom brought her new friend, Julia From Russia (JFR), whom Aunt M and I had never met. Before we met her we were a teensy-weensy bit jealous of she and our mother's relationship. JFR is right between M and I in age, so we thought that our mom buddying up with someone our age meant she was replacing us. Having finally met Julia, M and I are convinced that she remains a total threat to our daughterly statuses, but we just don't care anymore.

BECAUSE THAT CHICK ROCKS.

Her accent is just TOO CUTE. And she's just TOO CUTE. And if she became a pseudo-daughter to my mom, that would make her our pseudo-sis, and that would be great fun.

The six of us laughed a lot that night. It was nice.

The next day, I got La back in the afternoon, and we went for a 4-mile hike around Twinsburg with my buddy Des and her two kiddos. We were all, "Man, this ain't no thang! We should do this every day!" when we arrived at the park 2 miles from Des's house. We neglected to take in the fact that it was ALL DOWNHILL THE WHOLE TIME on the way to the park. Thus, the way back (can you see where I'm going with this?) was ALL UPHILL THE WHOLE TIME. 

It was brutal. Especially for Des who had to push TWO kids up the gigantic hill.

On Sunday, as we were having lunch at our favorite Mexican joint, La noticed a little girl with a painted face. We asked where she had it done, and it turned out to be nearly next door to the restaurant. So, we headed down the stripmall to the Paul Mitchell School. It ended up being my friend from high school, Libby, who was painting faces for a fundraiser benefitting the foundation of the fallen Twinsburg Police Officer.

She did a beautiful job painting a side-view of a butterfly on La's face. So artistic!

And then we were off to Chicago!

But not with lovely songs and rainbows of yore. The only word that comes to mind while reminiscing about the trip home is: problematic. I don't know exactly what happened to La's demeanor in the car, but let's just say IT WENT SOUTH. QUICKLY. One minute she was riding along contentedly, the next, WAILING LIKE A BANSHEE. No joke. And that next minute was the beginning of one-and-a-half hours of straight sobbing from the back seat. 

In all my years of parenting (four), I have learned to tune certain behaviors out. Aunt M, riding silently and patiently along, clutching the steering wheel with all the fervor of a barnacle stuck tight to a buoy, has not developed this ability to turn one's ears off. Poor Aunt M. She's already explained to me (in a nice way) that she needs a 4-day break from us, and I totally understand where she's coming from. Heck, I even need a 4-day break from us. We're obnoxious! 

So, La let up a bit on the wailing while we stopped to use the restroom. Her eyes were red, her cheeks poofy ... and to make matters worse, the butterfly had smooshed into one gigantic blackish-blue mark on her face, thereby making me a certified child abuser in the eyes of all Indiana rest-stop goers. Another thing I've learned in my many, many years of child rearing is that I don't give a rat's behind what anyone thinks of my parenting skillz.

So, by the GRACE OF GOD, we got home in one piece. And without being reported to DCFS. And after Aunt M drove past my house and shoved both of us out of the moving vehicle (tuck and roll La! TUCK AND ROLL!), she put the pedal to the metal and screeched out of my neighborhood to get home and soothe her fried nerves with nature's medicine ... a bottle of Jack Daniels.

(Just kidding. Total joke! M definitely came to a complete halt and waited patiently for the two of us to unload our sorry butts from the car before proceeding cautiously out of my neighborhood ... to get home and ease her nerves with a nice big bottle of Jack)

Creative Genius in the Making

This evening, when I picked La up from school, her teacher pulled me aside. 

Oh crap. 

This is never good.

I think Miss Melissa saw the look of sheer terror on my face, and immediately reassured me that La did not do anything wrong. Phew. She was actually letting me know that she's considering a new job in early childhood education and that she wanted to use one of La's "pieces" as part of her portfolio. The masterpiece that she was referencing is pictured below (right below La's mullet-in-the-making ... mental note ... get La's hair trimmed):

As you can PLAINLY SEE, the drawing is a true-to-life replica of an elephant. Errr ... with 5 legs. Then again, maybe it's just male. Anyway! I, possessing a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree with a career as a Graphic Artist, was overjoyed. I even got a tear in my eye as Miss Melissa gushed over La's work. 

Me: La did that?

Miss M: Yes, I saw her coloring it at the table and couldn't believe it.

Me: La did that? You sure?

Miss M: Of course, I saw it with my own eyes.

Me: La did that?

Miss M: I know. It's so good, especially for a 4-year-old! A lot of 7-year-olds can't even do this!

Me: Was she looking at a picture of an elephant when she drew that?

Miss M: No, it came straight from her head.

Huh.

There's something fishy going on here.

So, when we got home I made her draw the elephant again. This is what she drew:

I tried to find the similarities. I turned it upside down, I flipped the page over, I held it up to the light to see if there was a magical "watermark" elephant hidden within the fibers of the paper.

Nope.

Just a jellyfish-ish creature.

Thus began the interrogation:

Me: La, did you draw that lovely elephant at school today?

La: Yep.

Me: Are you sure? Really? No one helped you at all?

La: Um, no.

Me: Did someone else draw the elephant and then you colored it in?

La: Ummmm ... well ...

Me: WHO DREW THAT ELEPHANT?

La: Carolinka drew it. And I colored it in. (Carolinka is turning 7 on Monday)

Me: And you took credit for it?

La: Yes.

I almost high-fived her for figuring out how the world works at such a young age. But instead, I just told her that it's not right to take credit for someone else's work. 

And then I called my mom. I told her the story, and she laughed. She told me she always knew I was artistic. I asked her what I was drawing at the age of 4. She replied with, "I don't know. I didn't let you draw when you were 4."

Anal-retentive-mama SAY WHAT???!!!

"Oh honey," she argued, "You know how neurotic I was about my house. I was just afraid you would draw on my furniture. I'm always so surprised by how creative you turned out to be!" 

Just goes to show ya that one can indeed thrive in spite of one's TOTAL COMMUNIST UPBRINGING.

All Sorts of Breathtaking Laziness

It was another blissful (and wonderfully slow-paced) Wisconsin weekend. It's great living so close to the Great State. Since I moved to Chicago, I am now getting my recommended yearly dosage of America's Dairyland, and I've noticed a significant change in my health. You should see how shiny my hair is. 

This time, my BFF (Meagan) who's getting married next summer, came along for the ride. For some reason, I didn't take many pictures this time, but you can catch a glimpse of the upper half of the lovely Meag's face in the photo that La took below (second from left). 

We were staying at the palace, and the goal for the weekend was to get some wedding planning done for Miss Meag. It didn't happen. We basically sat on our butts for 2 days doing absolutely nothing. 

What could be better?

... after La took the above photo, she turned the camera around and shot an artsy self-portrait. Just thought I'd share it with ya.

We did manage to achieve one productive task over the weekend. We (as in Molly, Meag and Aunt Kathleen) cooked a to-die-for gourmet meal. 

Check it out ... bacon-wrapped green beans with a whole-grain mustard glaze. These went perfectly with the maple-pecan-crusted pork tenderloin and caesar salads with homemade dressing and garlic-mascarpone stuffed croutons.

And La was a sweet little [slightly obnoxious] angel the whole time.

... and we even got to watch Bee Movie in the fancy theater.

What a ROUGH weekend!

Funny things La has said in the last hour and a half

In reference to a costume magazine La received yesterday, while walking in the front door:

La: 

Mom, did someone buy me that Halloween costume magazine?

Me: 

Nope, no one bought that for you.

La: 

Then how did it get in our mailbox?

Me: 

I don't know how it got there. I guess the company that makes the costumes sent it to you.

La: 

I think Jesus put it there.

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While sitting on the patio at the Soupbox enjoying a cup of broccoli-cheddar, a guy strolls past us wearing a khaki linen suit and square-shaped black glasses. He has poofy light brown hair:

La: 

At the absolute TOP of her lungs: Mom! Look! Is that Austin Powers???!!!

Me: 

Whispering to La as dude SCOWLS in our direction: No. No it isn't. 

That guy was not happy.

But he DID in fact look like Austin Powers.

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Again, while sitting on the patio at the Soupbox with two other groups of people also enjoying their soup, immediately after the Austin Powers incident:

La: 

Suddenly shoots her right arm up in the air and sniffs at it , saying VERY LOUDLY ... Hey! Only mamas have stinky armpits???!!! Not kiddos???

Girl sitting next to us: 

Chuckles audibly and almost spits soup out of her nose.

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I'm telling you, I cannot take this girl anywhere!

Know-It-All

This video was shot immediately after La wiped out on her skates and I told her to "shake it off." 

I really can't remember what I did with my time before I had La. Whatever it was, I'm fairly certain it wasn't NEARLY as fun as arguing with her over having paint (pain) on her bottom. 

... Or as fun as arguing with her about where I work (While we were driving down Lakeshore Drive past the Loop I said, "Look La! That's where mommy works." She replied with, "No it isn't")

... Or as fun as arguing with her about whether or not Gatorade is good for her and whether or not it will make her big and strong (It's not and it won't).

... Or arguing with her about the upcoming presidential election. 

Man, ever since today's announcement from Paris Hilton, La has switched her allegiance entirely. So fickle. That whole "painting the white house pink" comment like, totally, had her at "hello."

Project of the Hour

Tonight, I was in the mood for a project. At this moment, there are many projects to be done around my home (including painting my living room for the 4th time since I moved here. Why can't I get the color right?) 

We got home from work/school tonight and La started coloring in her princess coloring book and I started taping off a rectangle on the kitchen wall. 

Let's backup. I've been wanting to buy a chalkboard that's about 13 x 10 inches to hang horizontally underneath my kitchen windows. I could use this chalkboard for oh so many things. It could function as space for grocery lists or reminder notes or as a tic-tac-toe playing board. Plus, then La could color on the "wall" without sending me into cardiac arrest.

Yeah, a chalkboard would be nice.

But, I searched everywhere and I couldn't find a chalkboard that fit my rigid specifications and also looked halfway decent. So I bought some Krylon chalkboard paint and a "distressed" empty white picture frame at Michael's ... So I could make MY OWN DANG CHALKBOARD.

But, before I started spraying, I took some precautionary measures (DUH).

I am what you would call a UFSN (Unofficial Fire Safety Nerd). This is a learned trait that has been passed on to me by the OFSN (OFFICIAL Fire Safety Nerd) Himself; my father. Ever since my childhood, I have been absolutely sure that my home was going to catch fire. My phobia may have been perpetuated by my father's occupation/obsession. He's a fire safety specialist. His job is to make sure that large paint storage facilities do not catch fire. And if they do perchance catch fire, his job is to make sure that the extinguishing systems in the facilities actually extinguish the fires.  

Talk about stress.

When I was a kid, our family would routinely conduct "fire drills." These drills would take place in the middle of the night, without warning. My dad would set off the smoke alarm while we were sleeping, and we would have to file out of the house and rendezvous in the tree-lawn near the maple sapling.

Oh, and my 8th grade science fair project? Funny you should ask. It was titled, "The Use of Aqueous Film in Fire Prevention."

Yeah.

Total nerd.

So, to prepare for my trained use of a combustible solvent this evening, I got out the fan. I also opened every single window in my house. I then opened the back door, being sure to open the storm door as well. Why would I open the storm door even though it has a screen? Because I know from my years of living with the Fire Patrol that the hazardous flammable vapors contained in spray paint are actually heavier than air itself. They sink. Thus, they may not make it through the screen of the storm door. 

I aimed the fan toward the floor and begun to spray.

Oh goodness. 

It seemed so ... well ... BLACK coming out of the can! And on my beautiful Sherwin Williams "Sea Salt" kitchen walls!

Scary.

It still looked a bit daunting when I removed the tape. But then I pounded the frame into the wall using finishing nails.

Magnifique!

The only bad thing is that I have to wait 24 hours before I can color on it. It's taken all the power within me to resist running into the kitchen and scribbling "K Wuz Here" on my new chalkboard. In bubble letters. With peace signs and butterflies all around it.

I have a feeling it will be a while before La gets a chance to use it.

GET DOWN with your bad self

My favorite part of this video is when she punches the ottoman.

Little La. So HARDCORE.



The best part about La singing and dancing to pop music in the living room is that her performance is never the same twice. She comes up with different moves EVERY TIME. I also love that she never knows the actual words to the songs, but she doesn't let that stop her. Nope. She just rocks on anyway. Belting out gibberish at the top of her little lungs.

You should hear her rendition of Alanis Morissette's "Not As We" ... You'll laugh, you'll cry. You'll never be the same again. I'll try to post it soon.

Gifted, I tell ya.