Le Weekend

If you happen to be in the bay area this weekend, you might see me climbing up out of the car to surf on the roof, a la Teen Wolf.

Or maybe I’ll be reclining on the beach somewhere, reading a book.

Whatever I’m doing, I will be SLEEPING IN. Husband, too, so I won’t even have to feel guilty about sleeping in!

Yes, our daughter just turned three, and this is our first weekend alone together. We’ve had some dates, and I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything, but I think I can count them on my fingers and toes. So this, a whole weekend?! Two nights?! I can barely stand it.

I thought, surely, we are the last of the parents with kids Z’s age to embark on the Big Weekend Away. However, Husband has shared with me tales of parents with six-year-olds and eight-year-olds who still haven’t escaped. If I had one word of advice for those parents, it would be this: Run. Okay, actually, it would be Plan. And have a sucker grandparent nearby to take over. Even the simple act of planning this (and believe me, our planning hasn’t gone very far – we’ve reserved a room and that’s it) has done wonders for my morale.

Some other day I will have to post about my blatant and joyful misuse and overuse of parentheses.

Right now I wanna get on the road.

Babar, Celeste, Cannibals, and Death

The Censor Mommy Strikes.

I have a beef with Babar. Specifically Jean de Brunhoff’s, “The Story of Babar, The Little Elephant,” and later, “The Travels of Babar.” In the former, this page raised some concerns:

[Insert photo of the elephant king turning green and looking all sick & wrinkly. I had an actual image of this before, but just read something about a blogger getting sued for copyright issues. Copyright paranoia, c’est moi.]

The next lines of text say, “It poisoned him and he became ill, so ill that he died. This was a great calamity.”

When he’s “sick,” the elephant king turns green, and then Babar shows up on the next page, wearing a green jacket, so Z thinks the king comes back to life again. She’s had some questions about it, and it’s been a little difficult for us to decide what to tell her without freaking her out too much. It’s a teaching moment, we recognize that. But how much to teach?

One of her questions was, “If I die, will I be alive again?” (like the elephant king, I think) and we said, yes, she’ll be alive with God. She asked if it hurt, and we said that God would take care of her. Those are both things that we believe, and we kind of glossed over the hurting bit, because she’s already worried enough about every little scrape and fever. And remember, she just turned three.

I think we did the right thing, not going into too much detail, but answering calmly. I just think she’s a little young to be thinking about death, that’s all. Maybe I’m not right about this, but it’s how I feel.

Then we took that Babar book and put it away! It’ll come out later. I don’t know when. Like so many things with this parenting gig, we’re wingin’ it.

Another book on the Censor Shelf is “The Travels of Babar.”  Some “fierce and savage cannibals” tie up Celeste and hope to eat her. They’re depicted as dark-skinned men wearing little grass skirts, and as I have yet to see a positive depiction of dark-skinned people in any of the Babar books, this story will also wait until Z is old enough for us to discuss how people talk about and write about people of other races.

[Insert photo of dark people in grass skirts, holding spears, dancing around the tied-up elephant royalty. See above re: copyright paranoia.]

I loved Babar when I was a little kid, and I still love Babar. Luckily for Z, Husband’s Babar collection is at least ten books strong, so the disappearance of two or three books will by no means give her a Babar-less life.

If you have kids, are there any books you put away to read and discuss when they’re older?

17 Days

On August 22nd, I hope to begin a new morning routine. It will go something like this:

6:30. Start to wake up.

7:00. Be out of bed (or else). Begin fixing breakfast.

7:45. Finish eating breakfast (at this point, I will have been finished with my peanut butter on toast and will have been avidly watching Z eat her two eggs, toast, bowl of yogurt and fruit, and glass of orange juice) (whoops, no I won’t. I keep forgetting I’m going to have to pack a lunch for her. Weird! So I’ll be throwing wholesome, handcrafted cuisine into a lunchbox). Brush teeth, wash faces (mine & Z’s). Get Z dressed.

8:05. Leave house.

8:15. Here’s where it gets interesting. Drop Z off at preschool. She will either a) cry or b) completely ignore me. I will either a) cry or b) speed home, shouting Huzzah! at every corner. Maybe it’ll be a little of both.

8:30. Hop on the elliptical trainer. (Or do Just Dance on the Wii, or, ugh, the 30 Day Shred.)

9:15. Shower.

9:30. Write!

Now, 9:30 needs some classifying. It isn’t as easy as it sounds. Because the world is full of distractions. So, at 9:30 I will write fiction. Not blog posts. Not emails. Not letters to friends. Not Twitter or Facebook updates. Not treatises on how I am going to write just as soon as I X, Y, Z. And Definitely Not Play Mahjong Titans.

11:15. Email, blog, Twitter, Facebook.

11:45. Leave to pick up Z at school.

Believe me when I say I am very much looking forward to letting the world know how this works out. Only 17 days!

Dollhouse

Z’s birthday is this Sunday, so I’ve been working on a secret project. This is a dollhouse my grandmother made for me when I was a kid. After a few years in our (now rat-free!) garage, it was filthy and needed a facelift.

Before:

After:

When she’s older I’ll tell her how I slaved over this. For now I’ll just let her enjoy it.

She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain When She Comes

Z has this great little distractor, an old Leap Frog alphabet thingie. Z calls it her “Letters.” She spells her name on it, which was kind of cute the first hundred thousand times.

It looks like this:

It sounds like this:

“Try pressing a letter!”

“Press a letter to hear music!”

“Press any letter to hear its sound!”

“Z! says Zzzzzz.”

The music thing is, I think it goes without saying, highly irritating. And LOUD. No volume control. I keep meaning to give it my duct-tape fix (something I heard from another parent). The Duct-Tape Fix is a highly effective, low-cost way of lowering the volume on annoying toys (cheaper, even, would be removing the batteries). What you do, is find the blasted speaker, and slap a piece of duct tape over it.

The funniest aspect of the Letters is that occasionally, Z argues with the overly-friendly voice.

Letters: Press a letter to hear its name!

Z: I don’t want to!

Letters: Try pressing a letter!

Z: I said I don’t want-

Letters: Try pressing a letter!

Z: Oh! You interrupted me!

I love hearing those arguments. So maybe I shouldn’t smash the toy with a splitting maul just yet.

What I’m listening to now, though, is the tune to “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain” over and over and over and over (keep going) again. It sounds like it was recorded in a windy field with my second-grade flutophone and our out-of-tune piano.

Where’s that duct tape?