The Compassion of a Child

I try not to let my daughter sit around and watch CNN.  If she happens to be in the room when the evening local news comes on, she’ll walk away, saying “Too much dead and sad!”  But last week she happened to be in the room when CNN aired footage of the women and children starving over in Somalia…and I watched as a small piece of innocence fell away from my child’s heart.  I watched as confusion and worry began to furrow her brow.

In her pure and undiluted mind, babies without food was inconceivable.  I tried to explain it as best as I could.  That some very bad men were keeping the good people from bringing food to feed the mommies and babies.  ”But all they are having is rotten rice!”  I could’ve given her the age-old speech:  You better clean your plate!  See…kids are starving in this world!  But I didn’t think it appropriate.  In five seconds, Cali had formulated a plan that made perfect sense and appeared to be a no-brainer.

“I’ll get a car with wheels that fly instead of roll…and I’ll fly really fast over to that world where those babies and mommies are starving and sick without their food.  Then I’ll hurry up and give them their food and leave very fast so the bad men can’t see me.”

Not once did she say “We should go kill those bad men!”  She just thought of a way to get around them.  This morning on the way to school, she was still talking about getting that flying car put together so she could get that food over there.  ”I wish I could fly”, she said.

And I thought to myself…my child DOES fly.  She flies over the heads of cynical and bitter adults consumed with political ideals and mind-sets, religious dogma and self-righteous beliefs.  She doesn’t see all of the obstacles…she sees the way in…then through…then out.  That void left by lost innocence was quickly filled with pure compassion.

I totally see the Peace Corp in this kid’s future.

Time Flies

As of today, my daughter has wrapped up her first week of Kindergarten.  On her first day, her Daddy and I cried like she was going off to college, never to return.  It seems like yesterday that she crawled into Porterfield Day School in purple pants with ruffles.  Now she wears a uniform (that she hates), has a lopsided haircut and tells us to leave the classroom to spare her from embarrassment and shame.

Truly, I’m trying to keep up…but it’s becoming more and more evident that I’m going to be one of those moms who hide in bushes and spy on other kids so I can know what’s cool, what’s not and everything in between.  I have no shame.  I don’t care if Cali goes to school and hears, “Hey, Cali.  We saw your Mom again last night, skulking around in the bushes with a submarine style periscope trying to read what we were texting.”   I’m sure she’ll reply with, “I’m adopted.”

Anyway…here’s her first day of Kindy-garden….and a slide show of how far she’s come, baby.

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Paper Shoes!

Don’t you just love paper?  I do.  I love paper.  I want to make myself a paper dress.  I’d always thought paper shoes were out of the question.  UNTIL!  Lookie here!  I found paper shews!  The Cinderella princess shoe is actually part of a Glamour Princess printable party pack you can find HERE….for free!

The baby shoe template can be found HERE.  I think they’re a great idea for baby shower favors.  Or cats.  Whatever.  Get some scissors and carry on.

Fairy Houses and Forest Animals

Oh yes I did….zee Fairy House project from days ago.  I couldn’t find real moss, so I bought a bag of moss, mkay?  Mkay…..I opened the bag and (excuse the crassness of what I’m about to say)…but it smelled like pre-packaged poop that had been sitting in a wooden bowl in the middle of the Sahara desert for approximately 10-12 weeks.  It was terrible.  Cali said no fairy in her right mind would live in the place, so I guess that’s why it’s on the sparse side.  Mentally ill fairies don’t need a lot of trivial knick-knacks and whatnot.  I wanted to trick the place out….but that MOSS!

I also whipped up a couple of forest animals…which were immediately swiped and mucked up by the resident short person.  I’m well aware that they look like two unemployed animals who have taken to drinking and eating snacks, but you get what you get.

So that’s it, then.  The kid is passed out on the floor so I’m going to run and drank me some Kool-Aid and eat me some of them Pop Tart mini chip things.

Strange

I came across these pics last night and just shook my head.  They were taken when Cali was about a year old….and I’d noticed her light was still on after I’d put her to bed.  When I opened the door, this is what I found:

Four years later and not much has changed except her shoe size.  God love her….

Hot Coffee. What’s That?

I would love to sit here and sip on my coffee and write a leisurely post on why I couldn’t get in to Vassar college…..but I can’t.  Because I have a naked 5 year old standing in front of me hollering about a house being on fire somewhere in the vicinity because she can smell smoke and will drop dead of smoke inhalation if I don’t get up and do something about it NOW.

So I threw a waffle down the hall for her to chase while I post some pics of what I’ve been making/painting/photographing here recently.  Everything is available for purchase at Whimsy Dreams…except for the photography.

Maternal Sin

Maternal Sin

(Written by April Trice)

One child is born.

A perfect son.

The mother, fractured.

What’s done is now done.

Another child born.

Again, one more son.

The mother, more fractured

Her descent just begun.

Not ready.

Unsure.

The mother, she pauses.

Two children, so pure

A family dissolves.

How could she?

Who does this?

A mother, unresponsive.

The label: Unfit

Motherhood abolished.

She runs, the mother.

No guilt, only sickness.

A prior life lost.

The plot only thickens.

Away, far away.

The postman comes calling.

For you, Bad Mother

These papers need signing.

A feeble hand signs

Confined to her bed.

A soul signed away.

Come now.

Take your meds.

Sketchy Easter Bunnies

You know those people who like to smell feet and pantyhose?  Those were the kids that got forced to sit on a sketchy bunny’s lap.  I might have sat on a bunny lap once.  As I recall, his hands were dirty.  You have to sit and ask yourself: what is the long-term psychological damage of bunny lap sitters?  Perhaps someone should sling some grant money my way and I’ll look into it.  You know…follow some lap-sitters around from the ages of 5 through 50.  Better yet, film it.  As documented proof that sketchy Easter bunnies cause brain damage.

I’ve compiled a slideshow that I hope serves as a warning to those eager parents out there who force their children into the laps of nasty strangers.

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Reflections on a Broken Relationship

When love was more blind than Helen Keller.

Every now and then…a song will come on the TV or the DVD player that makes my heart stutter-stop-stutter-putter-putter-pfftt….leaving me breathless and gripping my kid’s sippy cup. What really sends me over the edge is when I hear the Phonics chart being recited. A-apple, Buh-ball….

I’m not a freak, okay? I have a perfectly logical explanation. Young love. His name was Craig, we were 5 and nothing else mattered except me, him and chocolate milk. I’m not sure who made the first move…but I DO remember what…or rather who brought us together, like industrial strength magnets. The Glue Sniffer. That’s what we called him. He wore Garanimals and smelled like stale pee-pee and cat food. The wet kind in a can.

We were hanging out at the craft table….me, Craig and a couple of other kids. Cutting, pasting, throwing silver glitter all over the place in the name of creative brilliance. It was at the precise, exact, VERY same moment that Craig and I witnessed what would become the catalyst of our untainted love. The Sniffer. He was all crouched in a corner over by the Puppet Palace with a jar of paste. The kind with the stick attached to the lid. Each time he’d pull the stick up and out the paste, his body would quiver in ecstasy as he’d smear a little on his upper lip…closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.

It was obvious that Craig and I had the same jacked up sense of humor because we fell OWT, ya’ll! Holding onto each other, laughing like a couple of baby donkeys. When we were able to catch our breath, our eyes met. His were brown. So brown that you couldn’t see the black dot in the middle. He said MY eyes were the same color as the underside of a bluegill. That’s a fish. And it was obvious that this pleased him greatly.

We bonded over chocolate milk like miniature crack-heads. Neither one of us was allowed to have the stuff at home because it made us stupid-hyper, so when the milk cart came around at school, we were ignorant and snatchy. When Craig’s birthday rolled around, I was the only girl invited to his party. After everyone else had gone, Craig whispered, “You wanna see my room?”

Oh, did I ever!! He had bunk-beds with matching blue chenille bedspreads. He seemed antsy. I could tell he’d lured me to his bedroom with ulterior motives. I sat on the bottom bunk and started bouncing up and down. He cleared his throat and started fishing around in the pocket of his Sears brand corduroys with double re-enforced knees. He sniffed like Don Knotts and said “C’mere.” So I did. Because how could I resist? Then, like a man holding out a flawless 8 carats, he presented me with my first piece of boyfriend jewelry. A beautiful ring that looked like love and rainbows all braided together. It fit perfectly. Turns out his dad was some type of engineer and had brought home a bunch of multi-colored wires so Craig could construct a token of his affection.

A couple of weeks later, we were busted for kissing in the milk line and given a stern Just-Say-No-For-Jesus speech by our teacher, Ms. Cherry. After that, we were watched like two maximum security prisoners. After graduation, I moved away…leaving a small piece of my heart on the shores of Lake Erie.

I looked him up about a year ago….you know….out of curiosity. He’s in prison now for stealing fish and criminal mischief. I pulled out our class photo, to look at him one last time before sticking him in the attic with the rest of “them”. My god, I must’ve loved the boy. I hadn’t even noticed that half his face was covered with a huge brown birthmark.

So Craig….I’m fist-bumping you through the visitation plexi-glass…remembering my first brush with that wiley, witchy little thing called Love. Up with hope!

My Kid is a Liar

All kids lie.  I know this.  But when it becomes pathological and blatant…it’s disturbing.  For instance:  The pictures above?  Yeah, I found those on my camera after my kid swore on her American Girl’s life and a stack of bibles that she had NOT touched my camera.  Like I wouldn’t find this out?!  And look at her snide little face!  It’s insulting and condescending.

What’s it going to be like when she hits the tweens?  I know I need to prepare for it…but most of my brain doesn’t want to imagine the type of lying scenarios that will likely go down.

“No, mom!  I swear to Granny that I didn’t sneak out of the window last night and go hang out with a homeless man, who was NOT a stranger because he offered me something to drink.”

I take minimal comfort in knowing that I’m smarter than her.  I think.  But will I be one of those Mama Snoops?  The ones who root through their kid’s drawers and pockets while they’re away at school.  I don’t want to be that mom.  But over the weekend, I came upon something while cleaning her room that jarred me to the bone.

She’s a slob.  I won’t deny it.  So I expected to find the usual junk.  Stale cheerios, lip-gloss smeared all over the bookcase, Gushers with no gush in the middle.

What I did NOT expect to find were sugar packets hidden like bags of crack cocaine.  I found close to 15 of them…hidden in the trunk of Strawberry Shortcake’s car, in the Squinkie gum-ball machine, up Tinker Bell’s dress, inside of a Happy Meal toy that was inside an old Christmas tin that was at the bottom of her toy-box.  A few of them were shoved under the flaps of her Fisher Price pop-up book and I found the last few in Polly Pocket’s horse trailer.

I was appalled.  Frightened. Befuddled.  So as I’m standing there waving a sugar packet in front of her face, all I’m thinking is, “In a few years, this sugar packet is gonna be a fat bag of weed.”

Of course, she reminded me that these were mere allegations and ran outside to harass the cat.  I used to worry about her being imprisoned for life due to her committing some whack and heinous crime.  After witnessing her not-guilty plea to Mom vs. Liar, I’m convinced she could hoodwink the most experienced and seasoned prosecutor on the circuit.  With aplomb.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love my kid.  But she’s killing me, people….and there ain’t nothin’ soft about it.