Friday morning I packed up Vista, made the hour drive into the city, and we went to the zoo with my mom and nephew.
It was nice to spend the day just hanging out, seeing the few animals that could weather the heat, and watching the kids play.
I always find it interesting to watch the dynamic between my nephew, Sheldon, and Vista. He’s a year younger, but physically more coordinated and stronger than V is. While she is far beyond him in the language and communication area.
As they made their way together through the playground, they were always watchful of each other, making sure they knew where the other was at all times. Sheldon would show V how to navigate the playground equipment as they talked back and forth in their own made-up sign language.
As they ran around playing, I had to constantly remind Vista to slow down so her asthma wouldn’t kick in. Of course, that means nothing to a 4yr old, so eventually we had to sideline her as she sat there and did a round of inhalers to stop the coughing. I’m hopeful that one day we’ll have her asthma under control enough that I won’t ever have to tell her to stop playing.
Afterwards we headed back to Mom’s and sat chatting in the shade on the deck while kids ran around the yard (where do they get the energy??).
“I’m thinking of changing my hair style when I go to get my hair cut tomorrow,” my mom mentioned as we sat sipping our coffee.
Me: “Oh? What are you thinking of doing?”.
Mom: “I want something wispy… you know…,” as she feathered out the back of her hair.
Me: “What? Like Farrah Fawcett wispy?”
Mom: “No, no… just something that sort of flips out at the ends…”
I immediately had a idea of what she was describing. I pulled out my phone, browsed and pulled up a picture to show her.
Me: “You mean like this?” showing mom the phone.
Mom: “Yes! Like that. Maybe not that it sticks out quite as much, but that’s the general idea.”
I doubled over in laughter.
Mom: “What’s so funny??”
Me: “You do know who that picture was that I showed you, don’t you?”
Me: “Well, just tell your hairdresser that you want to look like Alice Cullen from the Twilight series and you’ll be fine.”
Yup. My mom wants her hair like this:
So there’s only two real questions…
1) Is she Team Edward or Team Jacob… and..
2) When is she going to start sparkling?
Let me explain…
No, there is too much. Let me sum up.
Your kid takes a teddy bear to bed. Mine takes a flashlight. And yes, she cuddles up with it. Yeah, she’s weird. Really.
Only, the other night, while having a fit, Vista threw her flashlight across the room and broke it.
Now we could have taken the ‘too bad, so sad, sucks to be you for breaking your flashlight’ route. But I prefer to stay sane. So of course we went out and bought her a new flashlight.
And, of course, we couldn’t find the same pretty pink princess flashlight, so she picked out a Buzz Lightyear one instead. (great…my kid as a thing for space cadets)
Anyway… The new flashlight? Blindingly bright. Which is great if you’re looking for something in the damp dark recesses of a crawl space. Not so great if you’re handing it to a 3 year old who hasn’t quite grasped the concept of not shining the bright things in her eyes. What? She’s cute. Back off.
So we did what any parents would do. Tried to crazy glue something onto the top of the flashlight so it wasn’t so bright.
This? Did not work. At all. I may have gotten really high on the fumes produced by the attempt, though.
So, in true MacGyver fashion, we turned to the next best thing. Duct tape. Only…. we couldn’t find any in the house. We think it ran away with the roll of electrical tape that’s also missing.
After some scrambling, we tracked down a roll of packing tape, decided it would do.
Fifteen minutes of digging through all my craft scraps produced some fabric we decided would work just fine as a dimming agent.
So voila, a dim, but still functional flashlight, that would do MacGyver proud.
Now all I have to do is trim it with some pretty pink ribbon so it’ll be a Princess Buzz Lightyear flashlight, as decreed by her highness, Queen V.
Latin names always freak me out. Take rosacea for example. Sounds more like a skin condition than the family of flowers known as the rose.
Oh wait… it is a skin condition too. Well nix that.
But you see what I mean. Latin names are confusing.
You don’t tell a woman she has a nice gluteus maximus. No of course not. You complement her on her fabulously toned ass, which she’s obviously spent hours in the gym for, and isn’t it nice that she has that kind of time, while the rest of us sit around eating bon-bons all day in our muumuus. Pass the chocolate please.
Same as you don’t talk about bumping your ulnar nerve. No, you hit your damn funny bone which isn’t so funny when it’s your own elbow, is it? Ha! Who’s laughing now?
And how many of you pick umbilicus lint? Show of hands? Well there you go. Although apparently some people have a fetish for it.
My point is, Latin is the root of many body parts. But the English language has mangled it or ditched it all together in favor of the comfortable, the known, the easy to pronounce.
Why the hell haven’t we done that for our own vaginas? Oh sure we have nicknames for it.
- Beaver – my personal Canadian favorite
- For those who don’t wax – Bearded Oyster
- Cooter (I’ve always wondered if this was where the word ‘cooties’ came from).
- And for those who are really fru fru and need to get their heads out of their asses (sorry, anal cavity) – Flower
But we haven’t really come up with one solid, specific name to replace the dreaded ‘vagina’.
And things just go downhill when you start talking about the rest of the bits down there.
Clitoris. Sounds like a celestial body, doesn’t it. You know. ‘Clitoris; second star to the right and straight on till morning’.
Then you have ‘mons pubis’ which I’m pretty sure is a mountain on a moon circling around Venus. (If your first thought was ‘Hey, Venus has no moons’ you are a) TOTALLY missing the point here and b) in serious need of a sex life)
And don’t forget about the two constellations Labia Minora and Labia Majora.
No wonder men are clueless about how things down there work, when WE can’t even pronounce them.
The only word down there that is recognizable to them is ‘hood’, but in typical fashion, half of them these days look under a hood and have no idea what to do with what’s there.
So I vote we rename everything. Start with a clean slate. Something maybe men will relate to and want to play with (I was thinking penis, but that’s already been taken).
Or maybe we just need to start renaming things men like. The Heisman Trophy could easily become the Hymen trophy, right?
So lets hear it. What would your naming theme be? Sports? Women’s Magazines? Car parts (since we’re already started down that path anyway)?
I love how creative kids can be. With just a little prompting in the right direction, their imaginations really take off.
Let me introduce you to Giannia. She may only be 10 years old (yeah, I know she looks more like 16, but trust me on the 10 thing. I was at her birthday party), but this is the future of blogging right here. Quite frankly I know many bloggers who can’t even write this well (I’m often in that group).
So with Gianna’s gracious permission, I’m posting the fake news article she wrote for her class project, for your Monday evening amusement.
*Just a quick pre-note for my American friends: Stephen Harper is our Prime Minister. The equivelent to that Obama dude you guys have down there*
Prime Minister Harper
Written By: Gianna B [untrue story]
Prime Minister Harper has offered $56,000,000 to who ever can turn vanilla pudding into fuel and gas. He announced this on Jan 21st, 2010 in Banff AB Canada. Many thought why? Mr. Harper [quote-on-quote] said “My dear peoples, #1 we no longer have other options #2 this will drastically help our earth, and #3 I hate vanilla pudding, good luck I am off to Italy”. Who knows how? [Who elected this guy?]
Mr. Harper has also decide we are to take over Hawaii. “We will sell it back to the U.S. for $10 so I may get one of those awesome bookmarkers with the fuzzy animal at the top, thank you” Prime Minister Harper says this on a clip after a romantic horror movie. His plan now is to threaten to blow up Mr. Obama’s presidential spa.
Where is the army in this? Asks the press but the army is still no where to be seen. Once again I say who elected this dude.
Get your ballads ready our president is leaving for Mars. He didn’t even bother to announce it this time folks! Is he an alien quiet possibly? He believes that if something is to be done right ask the president! Watch before you ote this time folks.
Watch out world. You’re never going to know what hit you when Gianna becomes a famous writter. But I’m the only one who can say I knew her when.
There is no such thing as a normal conversation around these parts.
Oh, sure. It may start out innocent enough. But somewhere there’s always a divergence and we end up scratching our heads going ‘How the hell did we get here??’
Case in point was the conversation we had last night.
Bil was in the living room and … well, I don’t even remember what Vista said that prompted it, but I told her “Just call Daddy, Obi Wan Kenobi”. If you don’t know who Obi Wan Kenobi is, you are dead to me. Seriously. And seriously consider coming out from that rock you’ve been living under.
Bil responded with “No way. I’m Yoda”. (Vista, of course, is dutifully running around the house screaming “OBI WAN YODA” at this point)
And this is where the conversation went all wrong…
Me: You want to be some wrinkled green mutant?
Bil: What? Yoda is cool!
Me: You can’t be Yoda. He’s got no penis
Bil: WHAT? What ARE you talking about.
Me: He doesn’t. I’m sure of it.
Bil: How the hell would you know if he had a penis?
Me: OK, maybe a penis. But he’s definitely a eunuch
Bil: ….Yoda is a eunuch….
Vista now screaming “YODA EUNUCH” ad nauseum
Me: Totally! You don’t see any little Yoda’s running around. And you totally know George Lucas would have exploited that angle if it was possible. So see… eunuch.
Bil: It disturbs me that you’ve actually thought about this.
Me: So see, you can’t be Yoda. You’re Obi Wan.
Bil: How about I’m Han Solo and you can wear a Princess Leia slave…
Me: Dude, so totally not going to happen…
Bil: How the hell did we get here?
Me: I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure it’s your fault.
Bil and I found ourselves in an unusual position this afternoon.
Vista went down for a nap and so that meant Mommy and Daddy had free time. *nudge, nudge, wink, wink*
So we did what any couple who never gets one-on-one time would do….
We sat our asses on the couch and turned on the TV.
Sunday afternoon boob tube.
It’s been years since we got to do this. I had forgotten exactly what it was like.
Completely crap shows with even worse commercials.
Like that Dollars 4 Gold one.
Let me give you a brief run down of it…
Two women talking about the gorgeous (if you’re a suburban hooker) new pair of shoes one of them got after getting money from sending all her old gold jewelry to this place.
I try to control my eye rolling as I wonder if people actually send stuff to this company. I guess there’s always a sucker somewhere.
Finally our regularly scheduled program resumes before I’m forced to jab an ice pick into my brain. *everyone breath a sigh of relief with me*
And we’re watching…Gene Simmons Family Jewels.
What can I say? We’re high class reality whores, all the way.
I half zone out (come on… it doesn’t take all your brain cells to watch a show like that) until his partner Shannon “I would totally hit that” Tweed refers to Gene as her ‘boyfriend’.
Bil looks at me. “She calls him her boyfriend.”
I give him the eye.
“Fine. Give me your wedding band. I’m sending it in so I can buy a new pair of shoes and then I’ll call you my boyfriend”
“Uh… no that’s OK”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so”
So, now I need a new pair of shoes AND a boyfriend.
Everywhere I look I see color. The vivid green of the spring grass, the deep oranges of fall leaves, the icy blue of the glacier fed lakes as we drive through the mountains.
But what if all you saw was life as a black and white movie? Complete absence of color.
My husband, Bil, is that person. Life is presented to him in hues of gray.
Being with him has made me realize I take what I see for granted.
Me: “Follow the red car”
Him: “*sigh* Which car?”
Me: “It’s the green house here on the left”
Him: “*sigh* What’s the house number?”
Me: “They’re in a yellow bag on the shelf”
Him: “*sigh* Which shelf and what does the bag look like?”
Yeah, as you can tell, I forget about his color blindness… a lot.
It’s easy to forget something we never really think about. Do you ever really consider what color the building you just passed is? Or what color the crayon is that you just handed your kid? Yeah. Imagine not being able to teach your child their colors because you can’t see them.
I’ll let that sink in for a moment.
It’s at weird times, though, when I’m reminded of this fact. Last night Bil was playing the new ‘Scene It’ game he just got for the Xbox. Part of the game, they’ll show a movie clip and then ask questions about it. He had to ask for my help after many of the questions were the “what color was the….” variety. So I’d sit and watch the clip and describe all the colors to him “The actress is wearing a pink shirt and blue pants. Her scarf is blue too. ”
Think about that. What comes to mind when I say ‘pink’ and ‘blue’? What if all it conjured were different hues of nothingness?
It’s not all doom and gloom, though.
This lack of color can make for some pretty funny situations sometimes. Take for example this conversation Bil and I had when V was younger:
Bil: “Jenn, come quick. V’s cut herself on something.”
Me: “What? Cut her self on what?”
Bil: “I don’t know but she’s got a smear of blood on her cheek and some on her hand”
Me (after looking at V): *snicker* “ummmm…hon…that’s not blood… It’s chocolate. “*
It’s easy to take things in life for granted. Seeing colors… seeing at all. But maybe it’s time we stopped and appreciated things now and then.
*In old black-and-white movies they used to use chocolate syrup as blood, because when converted to gray, it has a similar hue to red and a similar consistency to blood. ~ Useless fact courtesy of my husband.
Me: “What are you doing, sweetie?”
Me: “You have wings?”
Me: “I see. And where did you get wings from?”
Me: “Uh-huh. The cats gave you wings.”
Me: “And how big are your wings?”
Me: “Oh, they’re yellow wings?”
Vista: “Yeah! And boo!”
Me: “Yellow and blue wings. Huh. And…uh…what are you going to do with these wings?”
I wonder if this is her way of telling me she’s going to be a Scene Kid?
There are days where having to deal with a kid who doesn’t speak in full sentences is enough to make me want to jump onto the nearest available freeway.
But some days have a 2 year old who doesn’t fully comprehend everything I say (but likes to act like she does) sure comes in handy. Take tonight for example…
Me: “OK, time for a bottle and we’ll go to bed?”
Me: “Yup, it’s time for a bottle and bed.”
Vista: “Mmmmm… Nope.”
Me: *pondering how get her in to bed without a fight* “Do you want some blue coffee?”
So I made her a bottle, told her it was blue coffee, and everyone was happy.
Something tells me that’s not going to work so well five years from now.