Friday, March 5, 2010
My friend’s son had a huge problem. Every time his little female cousin’s would come over his little sister and they would go in to his bedroom to play and make a huge mess. After warnings, talkings too the girls continued to disobey her and trash the poor kid’s room. She gave him permission to lock his bedroom when they came to visit and he even put a big “No Girls & Cousins Allowed” sign on his bedroom door. This enraged his adorable 4-year-old sister to the point of making her own “No Boys” Allowed sign on her bedroom door. Okay so the sign really looked like a collection of ancient hieroglyphics, but she read it for me. She also read it form my daughter and even made one for her bedroom door as well.
You know kids. Of course Alice came home and loudly proclaimed her new radical feminist revelations to her brother.
“Dylan. Boys are yucky! No Boys my room!” She announced at the top of her lungs as Dylan sat innocently eating his cereal. He whined his familiar whine.
“Mooom.” I replied how I always reply.
“I know honey, just ignore her.” I turn to my little bra burning radical. “Alice wouldn’t you feel sad if Dylan said never let you go into his room again?”
“No! I hate boys!” I glare at Alice as Dylan continues whining louder and much longer. Another typical day has begun.
That night they both have signs on their doors. Alice has the hieroglyphics on hers and Dylan’s sign reads “No Gerlz Ulod! ” They are yelling their proclamations out of their doorways at each other. Neither is allowed in the others room and the threats are flying. Never ever threaten my daughter. She looks like a pocket sized princess, but she has an inner gangbanger always secretly waiting to start a brawl. Alice storms Dylan’s room. She over powers him at the door way and tackles him pinning him on his bed. He is screaming for me to rescue him claiming that he cannot breathe. I run in and drag her off. She immediately runs into her room and barricades herself in. We are talking about Alice here so I mean the child literally shoved all of the furniture that she could move and shoved it against her door. Great for keeping boys out, but not so great when you move the bed and unplug the lamp. The only lamp and you are terrified of the dark. I hear screaming, scratching, and flying obstacles. I wedge open the door wide enough for her to stick her face out of the door. The poor kid is trapped. I push and push. I can’t open the door. Poor Alice gets more hysterical. I call for Dave and after about ten minutes of pushing and maneuvering his arm into the room she is freed.
I sat the kids down and tried to make this a “teachable moment” I explained the obvious metaphor that excluding people from your room based on gender is discrimination. That discrimination is unfairly trapping people into bad feelings. Did I reach too far? Did they learn their lesson? Of course…. not. They both looked at me like I had just beheaded the Easter Bunny and went into the bathroom to brush their teeth. But they did go in there together! Small victories.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
I look at my darling daughter her hands clasped under her chin her head tilted to the side yearning in her eyes. “Oh sweetie of course I love your hair cut.” Her lips spread into a huge smile. “Jasmine did for me.” She says. Jasmine her newly 5-year-old friend. Then I proceed to give Alice the talk about the dangers of scissors and how no one should be cutting Alice’s hair without a beautician license. Alice insisted that Jasmine did a wonderful job then she showed me that she still had both ears.
I called my friend to alert her of her daughter’s new side business. I told her as gently as I could. She took the news very well. She is a chilled out momma. I on the other hand would have packed up my house and moved to Utah.
I took Alice to a licensed hair stylist who had a license and had completed elementary school. Alice comes out and viola! After a little snip here and there Alice’s hair looks awesome. Much better than her blunt bob. I love the new hair! I can really see Jasmine’s vision. She might be 5-years-old but the girl has excellent design sense. Thanks Jasmine!
Monday, March 1, 2010
This from scratch baking is hard. I had to slowly melt the chocolate, no microwave; this was an old fashioned recipe. My old school cake took 30 minutes to prepare and place in the pan. Also I didn’t need frosting because the cake was going to be so moist and delicious. I baked the cake for 30 minutes. The bell went off. Phew! Just in time to pull the cake out and dash out of the door to go pick up Alice. I open the oven door and see a small pond in the center of the cake.
Yeah, so I should have used two small cake pans huh? I put the cake back in for 5 minutes. I am starting to get an eye twitch. Timer goes off. Puddle. 5 more minutes puddle. Now I am late I pull out the cake and run. Literally run up the drive way still wearing an apron and jump into the car. I race to my friend’s house almost killing a few innocent bystanders and a cat.
I miss Alice, my friend has had to take her with them to pick her son up from school. I am so ashamed. Again. My friends are amazing to still associate with me.
After I am home with Alice after picking up my own son at school I have an idea for my mushy cake. I put it back in the over until the pond dries out. Unfortunately that took another 30 minutes, turning my cake into a chocolate brick. I then made frosting to cover up the brick. I cut the cake in layers and applied lots of frosting. Then I finished frosting the cake and put on fresh flowers hoping that making a beautiful cake would camouflage the texture.
A few hours later the big moment comes. I present my cake to “ooos and aaahs.” Then I cute the cake, serve it and you can hear a pin drop. No one says a word. Not a word. They are all too nice. That bad? I wondered. I take a bite. Wow…the texture of hard dry whole wheat bread, but with frosting. Later that night my husband had his piece and said. “This plate is pretty is it new?” I laughed. “That bad?” “Well” he replied. “The frosting is really good.”