Bon Anniversaire

Fish Heads

Last weekend, Noah and I watched our daughter Ayla pick up a (cooked) fish head and suck out the eyes.

We did not cringe or flinch. Not outwardly. We smiled. We do not wish to teach her fear.

Before the eye-sucking, Ayla had examined the raw fish. Jiggled the jaw open-close-open-close. Prodded the tongue.

It was stiff.

Felt the scales and poked the squishy eyeballs.

Who knew this could be my daughter?

Indy has announced her fear of tigers.

"Tigers angry."

And Ayla has developed a knack for scary story telling.

Just listen to this gem:

"Once upon a time there was a fairy, and she was walking in a tree, and a squirrel POOPED AND POOPED all over it!"

I am not ashamed to say

I laughed quite hard.

May was a prime month for falling asleep in boxes. Indy knew this right away. Because,

as Ayla and I say:

Indiana. Knows many things.

Hush Little Baby

The New Lyrics.

I first sang this song this way for Ayla. Because the original lyrics escaped me. But Ayla hates it when I sing.

Indy, however, asks me to sing it most every night. If I start singing something else, she says "No, bird! Bird!".

This is my version:

Hush little Indy, don't say a word
Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird don't sing
Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring
And if that diamond ring turns brass
Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass
And if that looking glass gets broke
Mama's gonna make you an omelette with no yolk
And if that omelette don't taste good
Mama's gonna make it taste like it should
And if my Indy's still not pleased,
Mama's gonna make it with ham and cheese
And if that omelette still tastes bad,
Then my little Indy be very sad
So hush little Indy, don't say a word
Mama's gonna buy you
A mocking
(kiss Indy)
Bird.



If you ever put Ayla to sleep, this is what you need to do.

You turn off the lights. Make sure she has her nipple (this is our word for binkie, because Ayla's binkie is a bottle nipple). Make sure she has her blankie. She might want her knuffle bunny. Then you stroke her forehead down to her nose between her eyes. And then you say, quietly and rhythmically:

The stars are sleeping.
The moon is sleeping.
The trees are sleeping.
The wind is sleeping.
(the first four lines are always the same. Then it varies every time.)
The earth is sleeping.
The rivers are sleeping.
The lakes are sleeping.
The flowers. Are sleeping.
The fairies are sleeping.
The elves are sleeping.
The gnomes are sleeping.
The trolls and goblins and witches are sleeping.
The pixies are sleeping.
The mountains are sleeping.
The ocean is sleeping.
The desert and plains and prairie are sleeping.
The sun is sleeping.
(next we move on to zoo animals)
The gorillas are sleeping.
The tigers are sleeping.
The elephants and lions and zebras are sleeping.
The wolves are sleeping.
The mice are sleeping.
The penguins are sleeping.
The fish and the frogs and the snakes are sleeping.
(go on until you run out of zoo animals and then go on to farm animals if you're in the mood)
And then, we always end with:
Grandma is sleeping.
Papa is sleeping.
Ferris is sleeping.
Auntie Hoddie is sleeping.
Uncle Justin is sleeping.
Eisley is sleeping.
Grandpa is sleeping.
Grammy is sleeping.
Auntie Mercy and Uncle Trey are sleeping.
Sophie is sleeping.
Zach and Suzy are sleeping.
Carlton is sleeping.
Doodoo is sleeping.
Gingy and Josh and Lucky are sleeping.
Daddy is sleeping.
Indiana is sleeping.
And Ayla. (kiss) Is sleeping.

(the last three lines are always the same too).




I included Ferris because he was always in our recitation before today. Today Ferris has left this earth but he will never leave us. In dog heaven, there are many fish. There are magic tennis balls that allow a dog to fit seven in his mouth at one time. There are grass and rivers until eternity and there is always good company. Always a scratch behind the ears. Always a stick soaring through the air. Always the memory of our love, lingering in the place of a dog's instinct; the place that never leaves. Happy Trails, Ferris. We will love you for always.

Sweet Serenity, Treasured Nooks

A little bird named Dalley A. Galuzzi (ask her what the A stands for and you may or may not get an answer) kindly asked me to post a list of book recommends here. And since I have been meaning to for a long time (because I am fond of a book, here and there, from time to time) here we go:


MY TOP FIVE BOOKS OF ALL TIME (the version that does not include 'To Kill A Mockingbird' although it certainly could)

1) The Time Traveler's Wife, Audrey Niffenegger



This book wins because it's highly entertaining, incredibly creative, beautifully written, and an un-mushy love story. I recommend this book all the time and only once did someone tell me they didn't like. "It was too sad," she said. I think she was missing the point.

2) The Book Thief, Markus Zusak



It could be number one. The story of a German girl growing up in a poor neighborhood in Nazi Germany. And her scrappy, starving, huge-hearted best friend. And a hidden Jew who dreams of birds and boxing. All narrated by Death. Don't worry. Death is not macabre, or giddy. He is poignant and tender and continually amazed by humanities ability to love even under the worst of circumstances. Warning: This book could change you.

3)The Crimson Petal and the White, Michael Faber



A rolling romp of a good read. Sugar, our heroine, is a prostitute in Victorian London who spends her downtime penning feminist pamphlets. Historical Fiction at its best.

4) Fall on Your Knees, Anne Marie McDonald



Dark and beautiful. Family saga. Incredible writing. Takes place in Nova Scotia. What more could you ask for? (You may never forget "She does! She does!". Just ask me and Hea.)

5) The Road, Cormac McCarthy



Yeah, it was good. There's not much really to say. It's all there in the book.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

6) The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood

So disturbing, in a safe way, because it could never really happen.

. . . Or could it?

Ok. Moving on.

Recommended:

A Thousand Splendid Suns, Khaled Hosseini

The Other Boylen Girl, Phillipa Gregory (book clubby with sex and corsets) (but not a bodice ripper)

The Red Tent, Anita Diamant

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, Lisa See (book clubby)

Plainsong by Kent Haruf and An Unfinished Life by Mark Spragg for a new western

The Gravedigger's Daughter, because you have to read at least one Joyce Carol Oates

The Mists of Avalon, Marion Z

The Russian Concubine, Kate Furnivall (fast 'n fun)


Mysteries:

This is a new genre for me to read. New since 5th grade, that is, when I moved out of my Mary Higgins Clark and Dean Koontz phase.

MUST READ: In The Woods, Tana French.
Note--this book has mixed reviews on Amazon. If you are a typical mystery genre reader and like your endings tied up neatly with a kiss and a bow on top, this might not be for you. That being said, this book got under my skin like maybe nothing else I've ever read and creeped me out and haunted me for days. I read it last October and I STILL think about it. You have to use your imagination. Seriously. Let your imagination run wild when reading this book. If you don't mind shades of gray, you will love this Edgar Award winner.

And if you like that, read The Likeness, her second. It's almost as good. Which is to say, it's really, really good.

I WOULD READ ANYTHING NEW BY:

Margaret Atwood and

Lauren Groff. I got an ARC of her first novel, "The Monsters of Templeton" from Barnes and Noble because I am a special person. Special enough that I once got an email saying "Send us your address and we'll send you a free book!" from bn.com and it was legit. Nevermind that the email went out to anyone who had an account at bn.com. My speciality is not thus declined.

TMOT (the monsters of. . .) was Groff's self-described love letter to her hometown, Cooperstown, NY. I love magic realism. Our hero, Willie Upton, returns home from college to her hometown, Templeton, in mild disgrace. I keep trying to describe this novel and I just can't figure out how. There's a lake with a monster in it. Maybe. A search for the truth about one's past. A group of men who run together every morning. Two women from another century who wrote each other letters and one of whom may have been responsible for a great tragedy. Old-timey pictures of the author's actual ancestors. Natty Bumppo aka Hawkeye? He's there too. And a eerie narative from a Native American girl. Groff makes this all make sense. And you have a lot of fun watching her do it.

Her next was a book of short stories which is normally not my thing. But "Delicate, Edible Birds" is full of delicate, edible stories. Savor them.


And finally, a world on Alice Hoffman:

I discovered her in my teen years and so of course I can't guarantee that anyone will find anything as good as something that meant something to someone in their teens. (There is sense in that sentence somewhere, I swear). Magic realism is her thing too. Incredible and fantastical things, people, and situations presented in a thoroughly real way. Almost all set in New England so they come with a dose of reeds and cranes and early American mythos and blackberries. My favorites were:

Here on Earth
Turtle Moon
Blackbird House
Seventh Heaven
Illumination Night
Property Of
Local Girls

My least favorites were:

The Third Angel
Skylight Confessions
The Probable Future

But that could just be because I had moved on from my dear Alice by the time those books came out.

That's all for now. More to come later. We still have to cover: Fantasy, YA, Vacation books, Memoirs, and Neil Gaiman. Ah, the thrills!

Interim

Easter. One of us had our priorities straight.




The snow of satan:




Chocolate ice cream and the insecure spring.













We bounced on the bouncy castle:







It rained.





Daddy making English toffee:


Indy eating toffee:










Finally, I like this picture Ayla snapped of me whilst I was unawares, because my hair looks brilliantly red:

Desert Bound

Tonight I am headed to Palm Desert.

There are lots of old people there, and golf courses.

There are streets lined with country clubs, hidden behind twin rows of skinny towering palms, one after the other after the other.

Babe's is maybe the best place to eat in town and there's a pool in every yard.

It should be hot, but not too hot.(Not yet).

I am sad to be away from my girlie-kin goblin babes for Easter. Family, I know you will take good care of them, and take many pictures. I will try to call them on Easter.

I have a couple other blogs typed up but they will have to wait til after Easter.

Yesterday I was brushing Ayla's hair as she stared at herself in the mirror. She didn't want me to pin her bangs off her face. "Because I don't look like me," she moaned. She pulled her bangs down across her left eye and asked me to pin them there.

Wtf?

So I did. "Look at you," I said. "You're beautiful."

"No I'm not!" she said, tearily.

Oh no oh no oh no oh lord lord lord.

She is too young to be telling me that.

It made me pretty sad. I wrapped my arms around her from behind and rested my chin on her shoulder and told her how pretty she is. "Pretty" is a tricky concept for me. How do you assure your 4.5 year old that she's beautiful without placing too much emphasis on looks?

Disney doesn't help. Ayla wants bright red hair like Ariel. Long hair like Jasmine. Blonde hair like Cinderlla. She's too young to dislike her own looks. I watched Disney when I was young, and I don't ever remember feeling inadequate to those cartoon women-children.

But Ayla does. And it breaks my heart. I try to tell her princesses are brave and kind and rule their people justly and with love.

She doesn't buy it.

The Moody Blues

This is what we do when it snows:






They are like this all the time, just hugs and kisses non-stop, I swear:

I Will Not Say This On Record Again

Dear Noah,

You were right. I left the coffee pot on for four hours and then came back for a second cup.

Sludge.

Love,
Vesuvius

The Fears of Ayla

1) That her teeth will all fall out and she won't be able to eat anything anymore.

2) That her skin will wear off and she will become a skeleton ("I don't want it to", she says plaintively).

To be continued. . .

Princess Brittany

Boy did we have one crazy weekend.

First, we were piling into the mini on Saturday for a trip to the movie store when I was calmly informed by my daughter that a seven foot, ninety pound fairy with giant, fragile wings was lurking right behind me.

"Mom," Ayla said. "You need to get out of the way so Mariposa can get in."

I obliged, because that's what one does when being stalked by a giant, invisible, agitated member of the fae.

I did, however, risk an eternity of compulsory underground dancing and reveling subject to the whim of the Fairy King by telling Mariposa to put on her seat belt.

"She can't," Ayla told me. "It will break her wings."

Mariposa: 2. Mommy:0.

Things with Mariposa went downhill quickly when we learned what a knack she has for narrowing in on one's insecurities. "Mariposa doesn't like Daddy," Ayla informed us. "She doesn't like his hair."

Then she said, "Mariposa thinks mommy is a terrible writer and even Stephanie Meyer has better skills than mommy AND Mariposa thinks mommy could stand to lose ten pounds and her homemade cookies suck."

(Just kidding about that second part).

We pulled into the left turn lane, a motorcycle roared by, and wouldn't you know: that hoity-toity Mariposa saw fit to vanish herself right out the window.

"Brittany," Ayla said, in the superior tone of those who can see the fae, and know their ways, and are immune to their enchantments, "You have to call Mariposa back or she won't come. The noise scared shes and you have to call shes back." (Aside: Ayla still occasionally switches 'her' and 'she'). (And yes, she called me 'Brittany').

I leaned my head out the window and summoned the blue-winged witch back. She came to my beck and call.

Mariposa: 2. Mommy:1

We went into Blockbuster and Mariposa flew to perch herself atop the giant orange building across the street. (Like cats, the fae enjoy looking down on humans). She came back when we were ready to drive home without much fuss. Until daddy dared to ask:

"What do Ayla and Mariposa want for lunch?"

Utterly sure of herself, Ayla answered: "Mariposa doesn't eat anything at all."

Mariposa: 500,000,000,000,002. Mommy:1

Mariposa left after nap and even though she can fly and doesn't eat anything, I wasn't too happy to see her go. You never knew what she was gonna do next.

Without the company of the fairy, and thus without the fear of the Will-o'-the-wisp, we set out to the park. Not the Orange park, or the Joker park, but the Blue park. Where I learned this: Turns out all a mommy has to do to get a little respect is don a princess crown.

For the next hour, I was Princess, daddy was Prince/Monster, Ayla was Mariposa, and Indy was Dragon Slayer. Apparently Ayla's main impression of Princesses is that they can't do a damn thing themselves. She spoke gently to me. Calmly she would take "Princess's" hand and say "C'mon, Princess, you have to hide over here now", or "This way, Princess, hurry up now, so the monster won't get you." Monster Prince chased us around the monkey bars. Indy was terrified and clung to me until I thought to arm her with a sword.

She knew exactly what to do.

Promptly, she whipped Monster Prince across the back.

Later, at dinner, Ayla told Princess to tell Prince to fetch Us Our royal mangoes.

I told Prince that We do not hold to insubordination and that a disobedient Prince should not be suffered to live.

Ayla said, if Prince does it, we won't kill him. But if he says no, we will.

Prince fetched Our mangoes.

Then Princess decided We shall have dancing, but Ayla could not be obliged. So Princess herself gave a demonstration.

"That wasn't very beautiful dancing," sniffed her royal heinous Mariposa-Ayla.

And that was the end of that.