Please take good care of Paul while I am gone
For two whole weeks
If you could maybe tone the whole humidity thing down
I think he would like that
Also the thunderstorms
He only has the one umbrella
That he fixed, not very well
With superglue
Just one more thing
If you wouldn't mind relocating
To California
Just for the two weeks so he can come with me
That would be neat
Not to mention newsworthy
It's just that I will miss him while I am gone
For two whole weeks
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
not so fast
I woke up talking.
It's such a weird thing, when your dreams seem a part of reality even when you're still dreaming and then you wake up and you can't quite figure out if you're actually awake and really talking to Paul or if it's still the dream part.
In my dream, Carl and Becca had tickets to Ice Capades, and Paul and I were going with.
Ice Capades.
Awesome.
When I woke up, I was explaining the very important details of our impending activity as Paul listened with a look of amused enjoyment.
Ice Capades, huh? He was totally laughing at me.
Whatever, I said. At least my dream people are real.
Booyeah.
It's such a weird thing, when your dreams seem a part of reality even when you're still dreaming and then you wake up and you can't quite figure out if you're actually awake and really talking to Paul or if it's still the dream part.
In my dream, Carl and Becca had tickets to Ice Capades, and Paul and I were going with.
Ice Capades.
Awesome.
When I woke up, I was explaining the very important details of our impending activity as Paul listened with a look of amused enjoyment.
Ice Capades, huh? He was totally laughing at me.
Whatever, I said. At least my dream people are real.
Booyeah.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
paul sees dream people
Andrea: Paul, do you remember what you said last night, when I was trying to get you to go to bed? Dude, you were funny.
Paul: Well, I'm a funny guy.
Andrea: I know.
Paul: I'm just an exceptionally funny guy, is the thing. What'd I say?
Andrea: Well, I told you we had to go to bed, and you said "mmmuhuhmmm", so then I started saying "Paaaauuul? Paaauuul?" which usually really bugs you but not last night, so then I kinda pulled you up a little bit and then you said that you had to see about the people in your dream.
Paul: I had people in my dream?
Andrea: Apparently. And you had to see about them. Then when I asked you if you were perhaps having a Nyquil night, you said "No. It makes perfect sense."
Paul: Well, sure. I had to see about the people.
Andrea: Who were these people?
Paul: Man, I wish I could remember.
Paul: Well, I'm a funny guy.
Andrea: I know.
Paul: I'm just an exceptionally funny guy, is the thing. What'd I say?
Andrea: Well, I told you we had to go to bed, and you said "mmmuhuhmmm", so then I started saying "Paaaauuul? Paaauuul?" which usually really bugs you but not last night, so then I kinda pulled you up a little bit and then you said that you had to see about the people in your dream.
Paul: I had people in my dream?
Andrea: Apparently. And you had to see about them. Then when I asked you if you were perhaps having a Nyquil night, you said "No. It makes perfect sense."
Paul: Well, sure. I had to see about the people.
Andrea: Who were these people?
Paul: Man, I wish I could remember.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
the forgotten art of childhood
Yesterday, I went to school to learn how to be a kid.
I used to know. I used to really, really know, but I had forgotten a little bit. I used to know the feeling of grass tickling my back, and the way the world looked from upside down, but I had forgotten, a little bit.
So I went to school, to learn how to be a kid.
I didn't have to sign up or anything. That's the good thing about kid school. You can go anytime. The school I went to was outside, in a garden. That's another good thing about kid school. And my teachers were old, so very old....
I mean, Beanie is two years old. I don't even know what that means, to be two years old. Jaz, she's probably seven, or is she eight? Then there's Monster Face, and I think he's maybe four. See what I mean? Old.
There are classes you take in kid school. I took a class from Beanie in Running Super Fast Back and Forth. That's a good class. Important to know, if you ask me. You might think it only involves running, but there's quite a bit more to it. I mean, sure, you can just run back and forth in straight lines, but you can also run in zig- zag lines, and you can even hold your arms out like an airplane at the same time.
Jaz instructed the class on The Proper Technique for Making Rock Cakes, which I found most informative. First, you should make sure that the rocks you are using are really tiny, and then you just scoop up handfuls and make little piles in the shape of cakes. See? Rock Cakes. They're really just meant to be decorative, though. Monster Face told me that.
A thing you should watch out for when you're making Rock Cakes, is banana bugs. Jaz taught me about them. They have eight legs and they can be yellow, pink, green, or brown, and they have stingers with venom, so you have to be really careful. If you can't always see them, it doesn't mean they aren't there, because they can also turn invisible. Monster Face whispered in my ear a secret, that if they sting you, you can die. Sometimes kid school is scary.
Rocks can be used for lots of things, not just making cakes. Monster Face showed me how you can pile them on your sister's back like she's a pick-up truck. You can also put rocks in your underwear, but that's maybe not the best idea.
I took a class in Rolling Around in the Grass. Beanie taught that one. That was a hard one. The grass was just so tickle-y, for one thing. I had to get used to that. You have to lie all the way down, too. You can't just pretend to lie down. Beanie made sure I learned that, quick. So you lie down all the way, on your back. Then you roll over. All the way over, so you end up on your tummy. You can't just roll from side to side. Beanie made sure I learned that, too.
Do you know how to turn into a Monster, or a Dinosaur? Well, Monster Face knows how. He taught me. He taught Beanie, too. That's another good thing about kid school. The teachers want to learn new stuff, too. To turn into a Monster you need to make your fingers like claws, and then you pull back your lips and show your teeth and you roar, but that doesn't mean that you're not a nice Monster or Dinosaur. That's just what Monsters and Dinosaurs do.
Sometimes at kid school you find things like teensy pieces of broken glass, and when you do, you should put them someplace where no one will get hurt by them, like maybe in the bushes behind the bench, because nobody can get back there. Jaz showed me.
I had been wanting to learn more about General Silliness, and Beanie was kind enough to instruct me. There really are lots of ways, but a good way to just generally be silly when you're sitting down is to rock back and forth really fast. Or, you can hold your legs out straight in front of you, and move them up and down nice and quick like. You can also shake your hands all around. That's a pretty silly thing to do. If you want to get really crazy, and I do mean really crazy, you can do all those things at once, but I'm warning you.....it's really, really silly.
When kid school was over, I said good bye to Beanie, and Jaz, and Monster Face. I stepped out of the garden, into my grown up world. I took the leaves and flowers out of my hair, that Monster Face had given me to help me look even more beautiful. I carried my grown up purse and I wore my fashionably over sized grown up sunglasses.
When I got home, I sang a little song to myself on the elevator. I thought that was kind of silly. My grown up clothes were dirty, but inside I felt clean, and new. I took off my shoes. I wiggled my toes.
Then, I took a nap.
Everyone needs a nap, sometimes.
I used to know. I used to really, really know, but I had forgotten a little bit. I used to know the feeling of grass tickling my back, and the way the world looked from upside down, but I had forgotten, a little bit.
So I went to school, to learn how to be a kid.
I didn't have to sign up or anything. That's the good thing about kid school. You can go anytime. The school I went to was outside, in a garden. That's another good thing about kid school. And my teachers were old, so very old....
I mean, Beanie is two years old. I don't even know what that means, to be two years old. Jaz, she's probably seven, or is she eight? Then there's Monster Face, and I think he's maybe four. See what I mean? Old.
There are classes you take in kid school. I took a class from Beanie in Running Super Fast Back and Forth. That's a good class. Important to know, if you ask me. You might think it only involves running, but there's quite a bit more to it. I mean, sure, you can just run back and forth in straight lines, but you can also run in zig- zag lines, and you can even hold your arms out like an airplane at the same time.
Jaz instructed the class on The Proper Technique for Making Rock Cakes, which I found most informative. First, you should make sure that the rocks you are using are really tiny, and then you just scoop up handfuls and make little piles in the shape of cakes. See? Rock Cakes. They're really just meant to be decorative, though. Monster Face told me that.
A thing you should watch out for when you're making Rock Cakes, is banana bugs. Jaz taught me about them. They have eight legs and they can be yellow, pink, green, or brown, and they have stingers with venom, so you have to be really careful. If you can't always see them, it doesn't mean they aren't there, because they can also turn invisible. Monster Face whispered in my ear a secret, that if they sting you, you can die. Sometimes kid school is scary.
Rocks can be used for lots of things, not just making cakes. Monster Face showed me how you can pile them on your sister's back like she's a pick-up truck. You can also put rocks in your underwear, but that's maybe not the best idea.
I took a class in Rolling Around in the Grass. Beanie taught that one. That was a hard one. The grass was just so tickle-y, for one thing. I had to get used to that. You have to lie all the way down, too. You can't just pretend to lie down. Beanie made sure I learned that, quick. So you lie down all the way, on your back. Then you roll over. All the way over, so you end up on your tummy. You can't just roll from side to side. Beanie made sure I learned that, too.
Do you know how to turn into a Monster, or a Dinosaur? Well, Monster Face knows how. He taught me. He taught Beanie, too. That's another good thing about kid school. The teachers want to learn new stuff, too. To turn into a Monster you need to make your fingers like claws, and then you pull back your lips and show your teeth and you roar, but that doesn't mean that you're not a nice Monster or Dinosaur. That's just what Monsters and Dinosaurs do.
Sometimes at kid school you find things like teensy pieces of broken glass, and when you do, you should put them someplace where no one will get hurt by them, like maybe in the bushes behind the bench, because nobody can get back there. Jaz showed me.
I had been wanting to learn more about General Silliness, and Beanie was kind enough to instruct me. There really are lots of ways, but a good way to just generally be silly when you're sitting down is to rock back and forth really fast. Or, you can hold your legs out straight in front of you, and move them up and down nice and quick like. You can also shake your hands all around. That's a pretty silly thing to do. If you want to get really crazy, and I do mean really crazy, you can do all those things at once, but I'm warning you.....it's really, really silly.
When kid school was over, I said good bye to Beanie, and Jaz, and Monster Face. I stepped out of the garden, into my grown up world. I took the leaves and flowers out of my hair, that Monster Face had given me to help me look even more beautiful. I carried my grown up purse and I wore my fashionably over sized grown up sunglasses.
When I got home, I sang a little song to myself on the elevator. I thought that was kind of silly. My grown up clothes were dirty, but inside I felt clean, and new. I took off my shoes. I wiggled my toes.
Then, I took a nap.
Everyone needs a nap, sometimes.
Friday, May 22, 2009
denial tastes delicious in mint
It all started with finals. I just needed a little pick me up, I told myself. Just a little reward for the bajillion hours of studying I was about to embark upon.
So, I bought a half gallon of Turkey Hill Limited Edition Junior Mint ice cream. Delicious. Minty ice cream with a fudgy swirl and mini Junior Mint candies mixed in, which provided a lovely chewy texture I found entirely delightful. It lasted about twelve hours.
A day later I burrowed among the ice cream cartons at Associated grocery store searching for my next fix. I bought the last carton and marched home triumphant, my mouth watering in anticipation.
Well, a half gallon of ice cream will only get you so far. In my experience it's good for about one to two study sessions and one final exam, max. Max. So, over the course of the week I purchased about eight cartons of ice cream, each in a varying flavor and texture combination but all involving mint which is my....obsession? Is obsession too strong a word? Love seems too weak, and habit has kind of a negative association and there is nothing negative about my love for ice cream.....I think you get the idea.
I can't stop.
On Wednesday night as I polished off the last of a half gallon of Edy's Limited Edition Girl Scout Thin Mint ice cream I thought, I oughta stop. I mean, my last test was on Thursday. Maybe it was time to scale back a bit. Maybe consume something with the word's "whole" and "wheat" in the ingredients.
The thing is, on Thursday night I just felt so free, so joyful, upon the completion of my last test, I kinda felt like a celebration was in order. I'll just stop by Associated, I thought. Just see what they've got.
Skinny Minty.
Yep. Minty ice cream with Grasshopper Cookies and a chocolate cookie swirl.
I'll just get a half gallon, I said to myself. A half gallon is nothing. I eat a half gallon for breakfast.
It was delectable. Smooth and velvety, the chocolate cookie swirl provided a slightly grainy and crunchy texture that not only satisfied my craving but filled me with a general sense of goodwill towards all mankind.
I ate half the carton.
When I woke up in the morning and stumbled to the freezer for just a couple of spoonfuls (hair of the dog that bit me, you know?) I realized....
Geez. This is almost gone.
I need more. MORE! MORE ICE CREAM!!
I'll go back to the store. I'll go this afternoon.....after I'm done working on my Columbia application! Yeah, like a reward! That's good. They say you need a reward when you're working on something stressful!
Or I could just go now. Yeah, now is good.
So, I threw some clothes on, made sure nothing was growing out of my teeth or stuck to my hair and bolted to the store.
I catapulted myself down the aisle. No one in front of the ice cream, that's good. I scanned the flavors, not seeing it, not seeing it....
EUREKA!!! THREE CARTONS!!! THREE BEAUTIFUL CARTONS OF MINTY GOODNESS!!! MINE, ALL MINE!!!!!!!!! MWAH HA HA HA!!!!!
That last part was all in my head, just to clarify.
I piled the cartons on the checkout desk. THIS IS THE BEST ICE CREAM FLAVOR EVER, I shouted at the checkout girl, and inside my brain the evil ice cream queen whispered but you'll never know that because I just bought the last cartons!!!! MWAH HA HA HA!!!
I really should stop evil laughing in my head so much.
Anyway, walking out of the store with my precious cargo I just felt so happy, so filled with God's love and so happy that God had made someone who had made ice cream that I thought....I could share. YEAH, SHARE THE ICE CREAM!!!!!!!!
So I showed up on my friend's doorstep, greasy and unshowered and beaming like an idiot.
ICE CREAM!! I yelled, holding up my bag of treasure.
She was probably worried that I would harm myself if she didn't let me in, and graciously allowed me to enter. We proceeded to devour some icy creamy deliciousness.
She has a daughter, an adorable pinchable eighteen month old, and being the wise mother she is, has already begun schooling her young ward in the multiple benefits of ice cream consumption, so the little one joined us in our revelry.
It turns out that in comparison to an eighteen month old, I am a mere amateur when it comes to ice cream devouring. I mean, she just stuck her spoon into her mom's bowl when she wasn't looking! How bold, how sneaky, how brilliant!
And when I asked her how she liked her ice cream and she stuck her spoon into my bowl, she was of course shrewdly taking my inquiry as an invitation! Of course, it's all semantics! Oh, to be eighteen months old again!
How about when I asked her if she was all done and she proceeded to place the bowl directly over her face? What thriftiness! What recognization of the problem of wastefulness so rampant in our society!
Clearly I am but a fledgling in my quest to understand the entirety of psycological, spiritual and physiological benefits an ice cream rich diet can provide.
I think I'll do some more research right now.
So, I bought a half gallon of Turkey Hill Limited Edition Junior Mint ice cream. Delicious. Minty ice cream with a fudgy swirl and mini Junior Mint candies mixed in, which provided a lovely chewy texture I found entirely delightful. It lasted about twelve hours.
A day later I burrowed among the ice cream cartons at Associated grocery store searching for my next fix. I bought the last carton and marched home triumphant, my mouth watering in anticipation.
Well, a half gallon of ice cream will only get you so far. In my experience it's good for about one to two study sessions and one final exam, max. Max. So, over the course of the week I purchased about eight cartons of ice cream, each in a varying flavor and texture combination but all involving mint which is my....obsession? Is obsession too strong a word? Love seems too weak, and habit has kind of a negative association and there is nothing negative about my love for ice cream.....I think you get the idea.
I can't stop.
On Wednesday night as I polished off the last of a half gallon of Edy's Limited Edition Girl Scout Thin Mint ice cream I thought, I oughta stop. I mean, my last test was on Thursday. Maybe it was time to scale back a bit. Maybe consume something with the word's "whole" and "wheat" in the ingredients.
The thing is, on Thursday night I just felt so free, so joyful, upon the completion of my last test, I kinda felt like a celebration was in order. I'll just stop by Associated, I thought. Just see what they've got.
Skinny Minty.
Yep. Minty ice cream with Grasshopper Cookies and a chocolate cookie swirl.
I'll just get a half gallon, I said to myself. A half gallon is nothing. I eat a half gallon for breakfast.
It was delectable. Smooth and velvety, the chocolate cookie swirl provided a slightly grainy and crunchy texture that not only satisfied my craving but filled me with a general sense of goodwill towards all mankind.
I ate half the carton.
When I woke up in the morning and stumbled to the freezer for just a couple of spoonfuls (hair of the dog that bit me, you know?) I realized....
Geez. This is almost gone.
I need more. MORE! MORE ICE CREAM!!
I'll go back to the store. I'll go this afternoon.....after I'm done working on my Columbia application! Yeah, like a reward! That's good. They say you need a reward when you're working on something stressful!
Or I could just go now. Yeah, now is good.
So, I threw some clothes on, made sure nothing was growing out of my teeth or stuck to my hair and bolted to the store.
I catapulted myself down the aisle. No one in front of the ice cream, that's good. I scanned the flavors, not seeing it, not seeing it....
EUREKA!!! THREE CARTONS!!! THREE BEAUTIFUL CARTONS OF MINTY GOODNESS!!! MINE, ALL MINE!!!!!!!!! MWAH HA HA HA!!!!!
That last part was all in my head, just to clarify.
I piled the cartons on the checkout desk. THIS IS THE BEST ICE CREAM FLAVOR EVER, I shouted at the checkout girl, and inside my brain the evil ice cream queen whispered but you'll never know that because I just bought the last cartons!!!! MWAH HA HA HA!!!
I really should stop evil laughing in my head so much.
Anyway, walking out of the store with my precious cargo I just felt so happy, so filled with God's love and so happy that God had made someone who had made ice cream that I thought....I could share. YEAH, SHARE THE ICE CREAM!!!!!!!!
So I showed up on my friend's doorstep, greasy and unshowered and beaming like an idiot.
ICE CREAM!! I yelled, holding up my bag of treasure.
She was probably worried that I would harm myself if she didn't let me in, and graciously allowed me to enter. We proceeded to devour some icy creamy deliciousness.
She has a daughter, an adorable pinchable eighteen month old, and being the wise mother she is, has already begun schooling her young ward in the multiple benefits of ice cream consumption, so the little one joined us in our revelry.
It turns out that in comparison to an eighteen month old, I am a mere amateur when it comes to ice cream devouring. I mean, she just stuck her spoon into her mom's bowl when she wasn't looking! How bold, how sneaky, how brilliant!
And when I asked her how she liked her ice cream and she stuck her spoon into my bowl, she was of course shrewdly taking my inquiry as an invitation! Of course, it's all semantics! Oh, to be eighteen months old again!
How about when I asked her if she was all done and she proceeded to place the bowl directly over her face? What thriftiness! What recognization of the problem of wastefulness so rampant in our society!
Clearly I am but a fledgling in my quest to understand the entirety of psycological, spiritual and physiological benefits an ice cream rich diet can provide.
I think I'll do some more research right now.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Edgar Allen Poe's Secret Theory For Reality Show Success
So, you know Edgar Allen Poe? Famous American author, sort of crazy dude, wrote "The Raven"?
Well, we read some of his stuff in my American Literature class, and after the flashbacks from junior high speech competitions stopped and I was able to stop saying "nevermore" over and over again, I thought, huh.
So Poe was really big on technique. I had no idea. He actually wrote an essay on literary composition. He had this secret formula for writing great American literature which of course isn't a secret anymore because he totally published it.
Well, I have a theory of my own:
If Poe was alive today and trying to mastermind a formula for winning the 2009 Eurovision Competition, it would probably look something like this:
First, you should be good looking. Really, really good looking.
Second, you should probably have a violin. If you can dance around while you're playing it, so much the better, but a fiddle should be involved.
Third, make sure you've got some strapping lads wearing suspenders. Have them do gymnastics behind you while you're singing. And push ups... in circles!! Yeah, have them do push ups in circles around you!! Perfect.
Fourth, get a couple of nice looking dames. Stick them in some flow-y pink dresses. Have them sing back up. They can dance a little bit, that's cool. Just make sure they're pretty.
Let's see, anything else? Handsome, got that, violin, push ups, what am I missing?
Oh. Fireworks.
Well, there you go. The complete formula for successfully winning a reality show competition. It totally worked for this dude.
Friday, May 15, 2009
life imitates life (the answer is not mushrooms)
Paul and I got new callings at church.
My church doesn't have a paid clergy, so everyone kinda takes turns at the various responsibilities. Every once in a while you get a call from the bishop or one of his counselors, and then you hyperventilate while waiting to find out what your new calling is going to be.
Nursery. We got called to be in the Nursery.
Can you say.......
AWESOME???!!!!
Greg looked kinda nervous when he told us. Nursery isn't something everyone gets super jazzed about, you know? I guess it's just that being accosted by eighteen month old kids for two hours every week doesn't appeal to everyone. Go figure.
I think he started to relax when he saw us high-fiving and pulling out our marshmallow gun. I mean, come on! Snacks? Toys? Singing time? Playdough? We get to party for two hours with people who share basically all my eating habits, except for some of them will eat raisins, and I won't.
So, it's been fun. Really, really fun. Here's a sampling of a typical Sunday:
Cute kid A takes a toy from Cute kid B.
Cute kid A: MINE!!!!!!
Cute kid B: MINE!!!!!!
Me: Hey, uh, look at this.....weird plastic spinny thing!! Yeah, check this out! You, uh, push this plastic pushy thing and the spinny thing spins!!!!! Wow, don't you love a plastic spinny and pushy thing? I know I sure do.
Cute kid B: Oooooh. (starts pushing the plastic pushy thing)
Another sampling:
Cute kid A: I blow bubbles?
Me: Oh, uh....no, sweetie. Just grown-ups blow the bubbles.
Cute kid A: I blow bubbles?
Me: Right, so it's actually just grown-ups. I personally think it's ridiculous, you know? I mean, so you're eighteen months. Who cares? Do they know how early you were able to feed yourself pureed sweet potato? I'm just a nursery leader. Powerless, you know? I mean, if it were up to me you could blow bubbles all day. What's it to me? It's Roxy over there, she's the one with the power. So hey, you want to run around in circles really fast?
Well, you get the general idea. I may have embellished slightly for dramatic effect.
I really do love it. I love watching their little brains working, trying to figure out this complex grown-up world where snack time requires you to sit in one place and it is generally frowned upon to dump water all over your snack filled coffee filter.
It's good for me to practice being patient, too, you know? I find it helps me in other segments of my life. Take the other day:
I go to the library to study with some people from my Spanish class. Now, I am normally a solitary studier, but on Monday when Shanika asks if I will join her I think....study group. I could do that. That's a college thing, right? Yeah, study group.....cool.
So we agree to meet at 1:00. I mistakenly think that means 1:00. It actually means 1:30 in college time. My bad. I ask Shanika and Dude Whose Name I Have Forgotten what they'd like to study.
Vocabulary, they say.
Okey dokey. I'll quiz you guys first, I say.
Me: Leche
Shanika: Mushrooms?
Me: Carne
Dude: Oh......uh.......
Shanika: Mushrooms?
Me: Lechuga
Dude: Uh......um.......
Shanika: Mushrooms?
You get the idea. I didn't have the heart to tell Shanika that "mushrooms" isn't even in the book. She seemed so excited about them.
My church doesn't have a paid clergy, so everyone kinda takes turns at the various responsibilities. Every once in a while you get a call from the bishop or one of his counselors, and then you hyperventilate while waiting to find out what your new calling is going to be.
Nursery. We got called to be in the Nursery.
Can you say.......
AWESOME???!!!!
Greg looked kinda nervous when he told us. Nursery isn't something everyone gets super jazzed about, you know? I guess it's just that being accosted by eighteen month old kids for two hours every week doesn't appeal to everyone. Go figure.
I think he started to relax when he saw us high-fiving and pulling out our marshmallow gun. I mean, come on! Snacks? Toys? Singing time? Playdough? We get to party for two hours with people who share basically all my eating habits, except for some of them will eat raisins, and I won't.
So, it's been fun. Really, really fun. Here's a sampling of a typical Sunday:
Cute kid A takes a toy from Cute kid B.
Cute kid A: MINE!!!!!!
Cute kid B: MINE!!!!!!
Me: Hey, uh, look at this.....weird plastic spinny thing!! Yeah, check this out! You, uh, push this plastic pushy thing and the spinny thing spins!!!!! Wow, don't you love a plastic spinny and pushy thing? I know I sure do.
Cute kid B: Oooooh. (starts pushing the plastic pushy thing)
Another sampling:
Cute kid A: I blow bubbles?
Me: Oh, uh....no, sweetie. Just grown-ups blow the bubbles.
Cute kid A: I blow bubbles?
Me: Right, so it's actually just grown-ups. I personally think it's ridiculous, you know? I mean, so you're eighteen months. Who cares? Do they know how early you were able to feed yourself pureed sweet potato? I'm just a nursery leader. Powerless, you know? I mean, if it were up to me you could blow bubbles all day. What's it to me? It's Roxy over there, she's the one with the power. So hey, you want to run around in circles really fast?
Well, you get the general idea. I may have embellished slightly for dramatic effect.
I really do love it. I love watching their little brains working, trying to figure out this complex grown-up world where snack time requires you to sit in one place and it is generally frowned upon to dump water all over your snack filled coffee filter.
It's good for me to practice being patient, too, you know? I find it helps me in other segments of my life. Take the other day:
I go to the library to study with some people from my Spanish class. Now, I am normally a solitary studier, but on Monday when Shanika asks if I will join her I think....study group. I could do that. That's a college thing, right? Yeah, study group.....cool.
So we agree to meet at 1:00. I mistakenly think that means 1:00. It actually means 1:30 in college time. My bad. I ask Shanika and Dude Whose Name I Have Forgotten what they'd like to study.
Vocabulary, they say.
Okey dokey. I'll quiz you guys first, I say.
Me: Leche
Shanika: Mushrooms?
Me: Carne
Dude: Oh......uh.......
Shanika: Mushrooms?
Me: Lechuga
Dude: Uh......um.......
Shanika: Mushrooms?
You get the idea. I didn't have the heart to tell Shanika that "mushrooms" isn't even in the book. She seemed so excited about them.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
nightmare
I just had a dream that Paul and I had a child.
That part wasn't the nightmare. That part was actually really nice.
We named him Conan. Pretty bad, right?
It gets worse.
We wanted him to be associated with smarts and not with loincloths and California's governor so we decided to call him....
Conan the Librarian.
AAAAAUUUUUGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
That part wasn't the nightmare. That part was actually really nice.
We named him Conan. Pretty bad, right?
It gets worse.
We wanted him to be associated with smarts and not with loincloths and California's governor so we decided to call him....
Conan the Librarian.
AAAAAUUUUUGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, May 7, 2009
lies i told my mother
I am like three years old, and I am hiding in my closet. Naked.
Are you in there, Andrea?
Uh, yeah. I'm in here.
Are you dressed?
Uh, yeah. I'm dressed.
There it is. The first lie I remember telling my mom. At the time, I feel pretty justified in telling it, because I just love changing my clothes, and there are just too many options to select only one outfit. How could I anticipate, how could I possibly know mom would give me a three time limit on clothes changing for the day? I'm four! It's what I do! Besides telling myself stories in the bathroom, changing clothes is the primary joy of my life!
So, I lie to my mom. She opens the closet door.
Oops. Didn't so much think that far.
Then I am seven, and it is the night before my birthday. There is an unwrapped birthday present under the front seat of mom's car, and I sneak out after dinner for a peek. It's a box set of Little House on the Prairie books. A tiny thrill courses through my body when I see them.
I walk back inside.
Where were you?
I freeze. Covert ops have never been my strong suit.
Uh....there was a big star.
Let's go see it, shall we?
Geez.
I am eight years old now, and sitting at the dinner table, but dinner has been over for a long, long time. I stare at my bean burrito. I attempt to vaporize it using the power of my mind. Unsuccessful, I review the blueprint of the kitchen, looking for somewhere, anywhere, to dispose of it.
Andrea, if you don't eat the burrito tonight, you have to eat it for breakfast tomorrow.
So really, all I hear is blah blah blah don't eat the burrito tonight which is exactly what I am going for, so I congratulate myself for being on the same page as mom, and go to the bathroom to tell myself a story about this awesome fluffy pink satin bedspread I saw in the Sears catalog, and then I go to bed.
When I wake up, a dim memory steals across the back corner of my mind and I realize...... I have to eat a bean burrito for breakfast.
Siiiiiick! Oh holy awful disgustingness!! What in the name of all that is pure was I thinking?
I sit at the breakfast table, alone. I stare at the cold burrito. The cold bean burrito. Overnight it has, I believe, become evil. The burrito is definitely giving off a cold, evil, bean-y vibe. As I ponder my predicament, the solution becomes immediately and beautifully clear:
I dump the burrito in the garbage.
A sensation of supreme relief washes over me upon the disappearance of the bean filled villain, and later when mom asks me if I ate my burrito, I say yes, but that I didn't like it. I think that makes my story nice and realistic like.
Only this time mom doesn't know that I lied. I get away with it. I carry the burrito guilt around with me for a while. For years, actually. It's always there, in the back of my mind. In throwing away my burrito and lying to my mom, I have knowingly sinned. And I really, really don't want to be having my card scanned at judgement day and have an outstanding un-repented burrito sin on my record.
So, I tell her.
She's not mad. I don't get in trouble. She laughs. This might have something to do with the fact that I am at the time like twenty seven, and living three thousand miles away, and there's only so much discipline that can be employed at that point, but I still appreciate her forgiving manner.
That was really nice, I think.
Why didn't I try that sooner?
Mom, I am naked in the closet because I wanted to change my clothes six times not the three like you said, and I peeked at my birthday present and threw away the burrito that I was supposed to eat for breakfast because I wouldn't eat it for dinner.
Huh. It kinda sounds worse when you put them all together like that.
But really, why? Mom always knows.
I am like fifteen, and smack in the middle of my angst ridden angry at parental authority figures period. I am lying in bed late at night. I am crying. I am afraid, I am sad. I am lonely and my body is riddled with unfamiliar hormones and I want my mom. I really, really want my mom.
She opens my door. I pretend I am asleep. I don't want to be asleep. I want her to sit down on my bed, and hold me close and tell me the nice things moms say, like those pimples don't look like volcanoes at all, and you can still be a successful adult even though you don't have one of those kilts with the huge safety pins like Tiffany in your English class has.
But I pretend I am asleep. I pretend I don't need her. I lie to my mom.
She still knows. Mom always knows. She walks in. She kisses me on the forehead. She whispers she loves me.
Hey, Mom?
Sorry I lied.
Are you in there, Andrea?
Uh, yeah. I'm in here.
Are you dressed?
Uh, yeah. I'm dressed.
There it is. The first lie I remember telling my mom. At the time, I feel pretty justified in telling it, because I just love changing my clothes, and there are just too many options to select only one outfit. How could I anticipate, how could I possibly know mom would give me a three time limit on clothes changing for the day? I'm four! It's what I do! Besides telling myself stories in the bathroom, changing clothes is the primary joy of my life!
So, I lie to my mom. She opens the closet door.
Oops. Didn't so much think that far.
Then I am seven, and it is the night before my birthday. There is an unwrapped birthday present under the front seat of mom's car, and I sneak out after dinner for a peek. It's a box set of Little House on the Prairie books. A tiny thrill courses through my body when I see them.
I walk back inside.
Where were you?
I freeze. Covert ops have never been my strong suit.
Uh....there was a big star.
Let's go see it, shall we?
Geez.
I am eight years old now, and sitting at the dinner table, but dinner has been over for a long, long time. I stare at my bean burrito. I attempt to vaporize it using the power of my mind. Unsuccessful, I review the blueprint of the kitchen, looking for somewhere, anywhere, to dispose of it.
Andrea, if you don't eat the burrito tonight, you have to eat it for breakfast tomorrow.
So really, all I hear is blah blah blah don't eat the burrito tonight which is exactly what I am going for, so I congratulate myself for being on the same page as mom, and go to the bathroom to tell myself a story about this awesome fluffy pink satin bedspread I saw in the Sears catalog, and then I go to bed.
When I wake up, a dim memory steals across the back corner of my mind and I realize...... I have to eat a bean burrito for breakfast.
Siiiiiick! Oh holy awful disgustingness!! What in the name of all that is pure was I thinking?
I sit at the breakfast table, alone. I stare at the cold burrito. The cold bean burrito. Overnight it has, I believe, become evil. The burrito is definitely giving off a cold, evil, bean-y vibe. As I ponder my predicament, the solution becomes immediately and beautifully clear:
I dump the burrito in the garbage.
A sensation of supreme relief washes over me upon the disappearance of the bean filled villain, and later when mom asks me if I ate my burrito, I say yes, but that I didn't like it. I think that makes my story nice and realistic like.
Only this time mom doesn't know that I lied. I get away with it. I carry the burrito guilt around with me for a while. For years, actually. It's always there, in the back of my mind. In throwing away my burrito and lying to my mom, I have knowingly sinned. And I really, really don't want to be having my card scanned at judgement day and have an outstanding un-repented burrito sin on my record.
So, I tell her.
She's not mad. I don't get in trouble. She laughs. This might have something to do with the fact that I am at the time like twenty seven, and living three thousand miles away, and there's only so much discipline that can be employed at that point, but I still appreciate her forgiving manner.
That was really nice, I think.
Why didn't I try that sooner?
Mom, I am naked in the closet because I wanted to change my clothes six times not the three like you said, and I peeked at my birthday present and threw away the burrito that I was supposed to eat for breakfast because I wouldn't eat it for dinner.
Huh. It kinda sounds worse when you put them all together like that.
But really, why? Mom always knows.
I am like fifteen, and smack in the middle of my angst ridden angry at parental authority figures period. I am lying in bed late at night. I am crying. I am afraid, I am sad. I am lonely and my body is riddled with unfamiliar hormones and I want my mom. I really, really want my mom.
She opens my door. I pretend I am asleep. I don't want to be asleep. I want her to sit down on my bed, and hold me close and tell me the nice things moms say, like those pimples don't look like volcanoes at all, and you can still be a successful adult even though you don't have one of those kilts with the huge safety pins like Tiffany in your English class has.
But I pretend I am asleep. I pretend I don't need her. I lie to my mom.
She still knows. Mom always knows. She walks in. She kisses me on the forehead. She whispers she loves me.
Hey, Mom?
Sorry I lied.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
to paul on our anniversary
Dear Paul,
It's been a good eight years. I would even go so far as to say it's been a really, really good eight years. Good just isn't a good enough word, though. And the words that seem right also seem really, really....gooey.
Yesterday I came home from school and you didn't open the door right away. Sometimes that can be a sign that some illegal dealings are afoot (if you watch a lot of Lifetime television for women), but in this case it was just because you were putting the finishing touches on the Cinco De Mayo themed anniversary decorations you were putting up in our apartment.
They're pretty great decorations, too. I especially love the giant guitar holding mariachi guys who are now flanking the pictures on our big wall, and who look strangely like our friend Doug. I love that you stood in a party store and knew that I would love giant mariachi guitar guys who look like our friend Doug.
I don't know how to say all the things I am thinking. I don't know how to put eight years, eight years that have moved and lifted and challenged and blessed into a paragraph. I think when people do it usually ends up in a card that plays music when you push a button, and I'm just not sure that's what I'm going for here.
Maybe it is, though. I mean, if you can't say gooey words and throw pink marshmallow hearts around and stuff on an anniversary, then when can you?
So, I'm just going to go for broke here. I'm just going to lay my gooey cards out on the table. I think you're awesome. More than that. I think you're awesome times like fifty. I think you are sweet and silly and unexpected in the best possible way and the only person I ever want to throw pink marshmallow hearts at.
Also remember last night when I made you watch Spice World because I just wanted to see if it really was the worst movie ever made (and it was) and you only asked twice if we had to keep watching? Well, I just think that was really decent of you.
It's been a good eight years.
It's been a good eight years. I would even go so far as to say it's been a really, really good eight years. Good just isn't a good enough word, though. And the words that seem right also seem really, really....gooey.
Yesterday I came home from school and you didn't open the door right away. Sometimes that can be a sign that some illegal dealings are afoot (if you watch a lot of Lifetime television for women), but in this case it was just because you were putting the finishing touches on the Cinco De Mayo themed anniversary decorations you were putting up in our apartment.
They're pretty great decorations, too. I especially love the giant guitar holding mariachi guys who are now flanking the pictures on our big wall, and who look strangely like our friend Doug. I love that you stood in a party store and knew that I would love giant mariachi guitar guys who look like our friend Doug.
I don't know how to say all the things I am thinking. I don't know how to put eight years, eight years that have moved and lifted and challenged and blessed into a paragraph. I think when people do it usually ends up in a card that plays music when you push a button, and I'm just not sure that's what I'm going for here.
Maybe it is, though. I mean, if you can't say gooey words and throw pink marshmallow hearts around and stuff on an anniversary, then when can you?
So, I'm just going to go for broke here. I'm just going to lay my gooey cards out on the table. I think you're awesome. More than that. I think you're awesome times like fifty. I think you are sweet and silly and unexpected in the best possible way and the only person I ever want to throw pink marshmallow hearts at.
Also remember last night when I made you watch Spice World because I just wanted to see if it really was the worst movie ever made (and it was) and you only asked twice if we had to keep watching? Well, I just think that was really decent of you.
It's been a good eight years.
Friday, May 1, 2009
i travel back in time sixty years
Andrea: Hey Paul, would you go downstairs and get the laundry?
Paul: What? No! I'm tired!
Andrea: Me too. So hey, could you go get it?
Paul: But you started the laundry. Shouldn't you finish it?
Andrea: Hey, if you get it, I'll fold it. Collaborative effort. Good for marriage.
Paul: Are you serious? I just worked for thirteen hours! I saved lives! I SAVED LIVES FOR THIRTEEN HOURS! I SAVED LIVES FOR THIRTEEN HOURS SO YOU COULD STAY HOME AND DO LAUNDRY!
Andrea: Let's talk about the last half of that statement. After you get the laundry.
Paul: What? No! I'm tired!
Andrea: Me too. So hey, could you go get it?
Paul: But you started the laundry. Shouldn't you finish it?
Andrea: Hey, if you get it, I'll fold it. Collaborative effort. Good for marriage.
Paul: Are you serious? I just worked for thirteen hours! I saved lives! I SAVED LIVES FOR THIRTEEN HOURS! I SAVED LIVES FOR THIRTEEN HOURS SO YOU COULD STAY HOME AND DO LAUNDRY!
Andrea: Let's talk about the last half of that statement. After you get the laundry.
Kittens, inspired by Kittens!
Okay, so I would like to issue an urgent plea to all within the sound of my voice. Or who are posessed of psychic powers and know what I'm thinking just automatically. Or who happen to reading my blog right now. Please, PLEASE watch this. Watch this and then feed your kids a bunch of sugar and see if you can get them to do the same thing. Because that is TOTALLY what I would do if I had a kid. Hey, maybe I'll just feed MYSELF a lot of sugar and see if I do the same thing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)