Bye Bye Blogger

Just a quickie to say that I've moved the blog over to WordPress:

http://abonnemation.wordpress.com/

Fish

We found an awesome babysitter, Ashley, for our time in Arizona, and yesterday she watched the girls when we went out for dinner. Before we left, I made them some spaghetti with red sauce, which Ashley served up as we were getting ready to go.

I didn't witness the conversation, but apparently this is what went down...

(The girls are sitting at the table waiting. Ashley gives them each a bowl of pasta.)

Ava: I hate fish!

Ashley: That's not fish. It's noodles.

Ava: NO FISH!!!!!

(Ashley makes her chicken nuggets.)

Desert Creatures

We took the girls into Carefree in search of ice cream. As we were driving...

Me: Isn't the desert sunset beautiful?

Sophie: Yeah!

Ava: We in the desert?

Me: Yes. This is the desert.

Ava: Where the camels?

Me: Well there are other deserts and camels live in those.

Sophie: Ava...camels only live in this desert in the summer time and summer's a long way away.

Duh.

They may not have camels here, but they do have javalinas...

Day 4

It's been four days since we put Hazel to sleep. I can't even write the words without getting weepy, but life goes on.

Anyway, here are some choice moments from the last 4 days...

Friday
I volunteered at Sophie's school and drove her home afterward...

Me: Sweetie, I want to remind you about Hazel.

Sophie: Is she dead yet?

Me: Yes. We put her to sleep yesterday.

Sophie: Hmmm...no wonder I didn't see her.


Saturday
Sophie, Ava and I are in the car on the way to Barnes & Noble.

Sophie: Let's play the name calling game!

Me: I don't like name calling.

Sophie: No...just funny names...

Me: Okay. You go first.

Sophie: You're a slimy limey!

[Ava laughs.]

Me: You're a dinky stinky.

[Ava laughs.]

Sophie: You're a [fill in the blank with nonsense words]!

[Ava laughs.]

Me: You're a schnitzel.


[Ava laughs.]

Sophie: You're a bitchel!

I know, but I'm so much better than I used to be.


Sunday Morning
Sophie has just pooped on the potty.

Sophie: Mom!  I pooped two big round balls!

Me: Great.  I bet you feel better. [She had been complaining about her tummy.]

Sophie: I do...want to know how I did that?

[This is one of those times when I'm not really sure of what's coming next, but it's easier just to go along.]

Me: Sure.

Sophie: Well, I just closed my privates really hard to break it in half.  That's how I made two balls.

Good to know.


Sunday Afternoon
We're in Arizona for a week or so for spring break and it's lovely—a perfectly-timed escape. We're staying in a house with a splash pool in the back yard, and the girls were in it all day long. Naturally, Ava pooped in the pool. She was in a swim diaper, but didn't tell us and by the time we discovered it, she had brewed some nice poop tea.

We evacuated for a while to let the pool filter itself and during that time, our friends Eric and Mike came for a visit. When it was time to go back, we made Ava wear her other swim suit because we wanted to wash the swim shirt she'd been wearing during the incident.

Ava: MAMA!!!!!  WHERE MY SWIM SUIT!!!!

Me: It's in the bag by the door.

Ava: (to Eric and Mike) I poop in my shirt.

Mike: You pooped in your shirt?

Ava: Yes (sounds like "yesh"). I poop in my shirt.

Me: I don't think so. You pooped in your swim diaper.

Ava: I fink so!  I POOP IN MY SHIRT!!!!

Technically, she's right. She pooped...while she was in her shirt.

Farewell, Sweet Hazel

In the beginning

Today is Hazel's last day on earth.  It's been a shitty two weeks or so of trying to figure out what was wrong (kidney trouble), trying to fix it (with medicines and IV fluids) and, finally, trying to make her last days good ones (lots of chicken nuggets and bacon).

Alas, it's time. At 5 o'clock, we're putting Hazel to sleep. Her vet is going to come to our house and do it, which is very kind of her.

When I anticipated this day, I thought I'd be okay with it. In my head, it was the kids who would be sad. Oh man, was I wrong. I'm so sad I can hardly stand it. I know we've had a really good run with her—14 years is a long time—but at the same time, 14 years is a long time, and I can't imagine her not being around.

In the time that I've had Hazel I...

• Ended a long-term relationship, dated some douche bags and then met and married my husband
• Lived in 4 different states
• Bought my first, and second, house
• Held, and quit, a life-changing job
• Started two businesses
• Turned 30 and (almost) 40
• Had 2 children

She's been awesome, and sometimes wonderfully evil, and I'm really sad to see her go. To honor her I'm going to record a few of my favorite Hazel memories. There are tons—Hazel humping Mort (the cat), Hazel's amazing jail breaks, Hazel biting our client—but these are my favorites...

Hazel and the Doritos
I got Hazel in the summer of 1997 when I was working at Camp Thunderbird in northern Minnesota. At the end of the summer, I had to drive back to Kansas City with her in tow. I love junk food, and at one point in the drive, we stopped and I picked up a bag of Doritos and a Hostess pie. Not long after that, we stopped for lunch.

When we got back to the car, all that was left was the Doritos bag. The snacks were gone and Hazel was a living mural of road food. She had Dorito cheese all over her muzzle and a very little bit of pie goo on her ear (she had eaten the wrapper too). 

And so it began...


Hazel and the Running Tights
I go through phases of being a runner. The first one happened at the end of 1997. I was living in a total shithouse in Portland and I used to throw my running tights on the floor and wear them a second time (because I was foul).

On one of those "second time" runs, I noticed how fresh and delightful the day felt—particularly around my nether regions.  'See,' I thought. 'The weather's not so bad in the Northwest!' and I finished my run.

I got home and discovered that Hazel had eaten the crotch out of my tights.


Hazel and the Chocolate Bar
Sometimes, when you're a sad, single girl, you eat chocolate in your bed. On one of those times, I made the mistake of leaving my special chocolate on my nightstand while I went to the bathroom. When I came back, it was gone—wrapper and all. I considered taking Hazel to the vet since dogs can't eat chocolate, but she was sleeping peacefully, so I didn't.

In the middle of the night I was woken up by an epic dog burp. Hazel looked up from the end of the bed, licked her chops and groaned, as if to say, "Oy...I love chocolate, but it doesn't love me..." Then she went back to sleep.

Farewell, Sweet Hazel!

Acceptance, Rejection & the Shittlebury Cake

On Sunday, we went over to my cousin's house for dinner. We love them, but this visit was tinged with sadness because my niece (2nd cousin? cousin once removed?) had just gotten a rejection letter from Middlebury, her first choice. I have many nieces and nephews in the college application age bracket, so normally I'd chalk it up to competition and move on. But this Middlebury thing got my knickers in a knot.

My niece, Ally, is that rare person who is super smart, talented, charitable and wonderfully cynical. (So you don't have to loathe her.) She asked me to edit her college essays and one of them literally brought me to tears (KC got misty too). She got a full ride to St. Lawrence.  The YMCA gave her an award for being kickass.

So my question is this: if Middlebury didn't accept Ally, who got in? I can only imagine the collection of do-gooder-prima-ballerina-found-a-cure-for-cancer-on-the-side-half-cherokee-tight-assed pollyannas that will make up the Freshman class. I knew one person who went to Middlebury when I was in college, and she was a lock-jawed, vanilla, anally impaled by large stick biznatch. Good riddance, I say!

Anyway, I was responsible for bringing dessert. To show my solidarity, I baked the Shittlebury Cake...

Sooooooo tasty.

When Sophie Grows Up

Today, when I picked her up from school, Sophie told me that she wants to be a "firegirl" when she grows up...

Me: You do? Because you want to fight fires?

Sophie: Because I like fire hats and I like to wear red...and sirens don't annoy me.

She does look good in red.

Diaper or Food Storage?

Yesterday, at the end of a long work day, I made my routine trip to the bathroom--my final moments of peace before the evening maelstrom begins. I'm sitting there and I hear the taptaptaptaptap of Ava's little feet and then...

Ava: MAMA!!!

[taptaptaptaptap]

Ava: MAMA!! You in there?

Me: Yes.

Ava: Let me in!!

[I open the door.]

Ava: Mama! You go potty?

Me: Yup. What are you doing?

Ava: I playing.

[She starts to wiggle and make a face.]

Ava: Ow!

Me: What's wrong?

[She reaches into the front of her diaper.]

Me: Is something in your diaper? What is it?

Ava: Ow!

[She digs around and pulls out a piece of something about the size of a nickel.]

Me: What is that?

Ava: Cracker!

And then she put it in her mouth.

I stopped her before she could actually eat it, but if I hadn't been there, she would have had a snack that she found in her diaper.

I like to believe that in the event of an apocalypse, she'd outlive us all.

Pets & Farts

Pets

Last night Sophie watched Beezus and Ramona.  At the end, their cat dies (spoiler alert!!)...

Sophie: I'm glad Hazel's not dead.

[Yeah...about that...]

Me: Me too. But she is very old, sweetie.

Sophie: I know. She'll probably die soon.

Me: She might, but she's had a really long, good life.

[a long pause which includes some dancing and then...]

Sophie: Mom, when she dies, can we get another pet to replace her?

Me: Well, we can't replace her, but we'll get another pet eventually.

Sophie: When?

Me: When mom's not so sad about Hazel anymore.

[Yes. I talk about myself in the 3rd person.]

Sophie: Well when we do, I want to get a hamster...or a puffer fish.

Me: A puffer fish?

Sophie: Well, maybe 2 puffer fish so they can play together.


Farts
Later, at bedtime, Ava refused to let me put her pajamas on.

Me: Ava, I'm getting angry...

[Okay. I say it a lot, but at least I warn her.]

Ava: NO!

Me: Yes, I am. Now get over here and let me put your jammies on.

Ava: NO!

[Finally, she gives in and I put her on the changing table.]

Ava: Mama...you getting angry?

Me: Well I was because you wouldn't cooperate.

Ava: (with a devilish smile) You not angry.

[She lifts her bare tush up, screws up her face and cracks a giant fart.]

Ava: Mama...you hear my toot?  That funny.

Of course, she's right.

Melon Squeeze

It's been very quiet on the Bonnem/Friedman home front. The weather has been halfway decent; the children have been sleeping...sort of; not much to report, except...

Yesterday I made my quarterly trip to Costco. I used to go more often, but I can't handle it anymore.  Plus, small, rambunctious children and Costco do not mix. But yesterday, I broke down and took Ava because I needed huge amounts of meat and I'm cheap.

It was a very pleasant trip.  Ava sat in the cart and ate animal crackers almost the entire time...miraculous. We got snack foods, matching dresses for the girls (a thing I swore I'd never do and yet...), huge amounts of meat. I was getting ready to change my mind about Costco and small children, and then...

We had just finished up in the cold veggies section. Ava leaned over the front of the cart, gave me a hug and said, "I love you, mama."  So sweet.  Then, out of nowhere, she reached her little hands out and grabbed my boobs.  And not just a little pat.  I'm talking full bore, honk honk, melon squeeze in the middle of the cold cuts in Costco.

I said something about not touching mommy's boobs in public, which I later realized sounds like I permit her to squeeze them in private (I don't).  Then I hauled ass out of the cold cuts.

Why?

Mojo, Worried Presidents & Egyptian Leprechauns

Mojo
Last night while I was cooking dinner, Sophie asked KC what "mojo" means...

KC: Mara, explain to your daughter what "mojo" is.

Me: (thinking hard) It's like your special energy, or your spirit. It's sort of like good luck, but...

And then I went on for a little, trying to define "mojo". I used it in a sentence. I thought about mentioning the guy on our block who has vanity plates on his Range Rover that say "GR8MOJO" (more like "MEDI0KRMOJO" but that's another story). Anyway, Sophie listened patiently and then...

[pointing at the bottle on the counter]

Sophie: No...what's that Mojo?

Me: Oh. That's just a wine label. Mojo is the name of the brand.

Sophie: Oh.


Worried Presidents
Sophie is a Harry Potter addict.  We read it every night; we've been to the exhibit, and she's now on the 3rd movie. It's very cute and nerdy. 

This morning, we watched some Harry Potter: Prisoner of Azkaban which we started last night.We got to the part where Scabbers turns into Peter Pettigrew and Harry learns the true story of Sirius Black and his unfair incarceration. Interestingly, Sophie laughs through most of the movies. I'm not sure if that's because she doesn't understand what's going on, or because the acting is so hideously bad.  On the way to school, she wanted to talk about it...

Sophie: Peter Pettigrew was funny looking wasn't he?

Me: Yeah. He was a rat face, just like Scabbers.

Sophie: Yeah. He was funny with his teeth and his nails. He looked like a worried president.

I have no idea what she meant by that. When I asked her to clarify, she said, "You know, like George Washington," and then made a weird face.

I was just impressed that she knows who George Washington is.


Egyptian Leprechauns
After we talked about worried presidents, we saw a woman wearing a giant green felt top hat.

Sophie: What's that hat?!

Me: It's for St. Patrick's Day.

Sophie: Oh man! We didn't catch any leprechauns.

[Earlier in the week, she and Tyler made a leprechaun trap so Sophie could steal some gold and buy, "3 kinds of soda."]

Me: Oh well.  Maybe next year.

Sophie: Did you ever try to catch leprechauns when you were little?

Me: No. I wasn't smart enough to figure that one out. I did try to find the end of the rainbow so I could have the pot of gold, though.

Sophie: Did you find it?

Me: Nope.

Sophie: Well that's because it ends in London.

Me: It does?

Sophie: Yes.  That's where leprechauns come from...no wait...it's not London...I think leprechauns started in Egypt. That's where the pot of gold is.

Aha...that explains it.

I'm About to Be Angry...

Ava and I went to Starbucks again this morning...

Afterward, we ran a couple of errands. Then, when I went to put her in the car, she refused to get in her car seat. She wanted to go to the pet store and I told her that we couldn't, because I had to get home to take our pet to the vet. Still, she refused...

Me: Ava, put your tushy in that car seat.

Ava: NO!

Me: We need to get home.

Ava: NO!

[This goes on for a few minutes, and then...]

Me: Ava, I'm about to get angry...

Ava: I ABOUT TO GET ANGRY!!!

At that point, she knew she had crossed the line.  I gave her the look and started to count to three. She sat in her seat and I buckled her up.

Then, on the way home, she screamed at me because I wouldn't stop at Barnes & Noble to play with the trains.  When I suggested that maybe Tyler would take her later in the day she told me that Tyler locks her in her room.

For the record, that's not true.

Poop or Puke: Cast Your Vote!

Hazel barfed in the car on the way to school today. Sophie thought it was really funny, but let me tell you, it wasn't.

I'm a mom with a poop-holding child.  I've cleaned up a lot of disgusting things--feces-filled undies at 10,000 feet anyone? But there's something about barf--animal or human--that pushes me over the edge. Give me poop any day.  Keep your barf to yourself.

The poop/puke preference is a big dividing factor among parents. Ask any parent, and they will belong solidly to one camp or the other (except KC who, when I asked which he thought was worse said, 'Depends on the poop,' but then conceded that 'barf is always bad.').

Anyway, since I've been blogging for months now and haven't had a single comment, I thought I'd solicit some by inviting you to weigh in. It's time to end the debate forever. So which is it? Feces or vomit, doodie or barf, turds or upchuck, caca or throw up, butt nuggets or technicolor yawns, dropping the kids of at the pool or praying to the porcelain goddess.

Which is worse?  Cast your vote!

Kissing and Some Awesome Dancing

This morning I took Ava to Starbucks...

When we got home, we hunkered down on the couch for some princess Wii action and I gave her a kiss:

Ava: You just hug me.

[I give her a hug and she pats my hand. Then I give her another kiss.]

Ava: Don't kiss me.

Me: Oh. I can hug you, but I can't kiss you?

Ava: No...you can kiss daddy.

Me: But I can't kiss you?

Ava: No. It's gross.



In other news, here is a video of the girls rocking out to Kidz Bop. It's not great—doesn't even come close to capturing the insanity—but I love Sophie's move on the floor.

23 Mustaches and a Diaper Wedgie

Today's post was going to be about how I'm losing my Jewishness complete with a story about how my children played "Schmear! The Build a Bagel Card Game" and didn't recognize the key components (Ava called the bagel a doughnut and Sophie, after correcting her, announced that she had put ham on her bagel). But then 2 things happened:

1. I cleaned up and discovered some wonderful schoolwork from Sophie.
2. I snapped a memorable picture of Ava.

So without further ado...

23 Mustaches

You can never have too many mustaches.

Glenn Hughes: a Portrait, by Sophie Bonnem

The Diaper Wedgie
Whenever Sophie gets a wedgie she tells us her butt is eating her undies. Ava's butt was obviously starving...

Would a good mother have pulled it out?

I'm Getting Old and I've Let Myself Go

Note: This is not a post about my children, though I feel they're partly to blame for my condition.

My 9th anniversary is in a few days (and I turn 40 this year). I know everyone knows this, but it's amazing how quickly time passes. Not too long ago, I showed our wedding album to the kids and they didn't recognize me. That's because I am a bloated, tired, old crone version of the fresh-faced bride I was 9 years ago.

Here's how I've let myself go:

1. I'm chunky. I've never been skinny, but I was always fit. Then I got pregnant twice and ate a bunch of doughnuts. The rest is history.
   
2. I'm tired. I have 2 small children, neither of whom is mellow (though I was promised a mellow one after the first spazzer was born).
3. I wear a sad mom uniform. Part of the reason I have a sad mom uniform stems from points 1 and 2; the rest is because I work from home and no one ever sees me. The uniform consists of a ribbed tank top under a scoop or v-neck long sleeved t-shirt with jeans or Old Navy "walking pants" (glorified sweats) on the bottom. 
4. I don't exercise...at all. Today an old friend emailed me suggesting we get together this weekend for lunch or a run. I was like, 'Are you nuts?'. Then I remembered that I used to be athletic.
5. I don't wear makeup. It's not as though I used to be a Tammy Faye, but I had my little routine. Now, if I wear makeup, it's a special occasion. Case in point: I was putting on eye liner and Sophie came in and saw me and said, "What's that?!"
6. I don't shower enough. And its not because I'm trying to save water.

 The good news is that I'm actually much happier than I used to be. But every now and then I'll look at myself in the mirror and think, "Who the hell is that?!"

A PETA Concern

So I've mentioned our aged dog, Hazel. (She recently took an enormous crap on the carpet in our basement.) I've had Hazel since she was about 5 weeks old. I bought her for $5 from a guy who was trying to unload a box of puppies outside of Target in Bemidji, MN. She was the runt of the litter and was being trampled by her more robust siblings when Shelby Corson, a beloved camper (I was the counselor), pulled her out and I fell in love with her.  I wanted to name her "Coolio", but my co-counselor and good friend, Emily, sold me on Hazel.

Hazel was rotten from day 1. She bit the campers. She peed on Emily's bed. I had to repeatedly get her dewormed because she wouldn't stop eating horse poop. 13+ years later she's still evil. (And, yes, I took her to puppy school and she passed with flying colors.) We work from home and she has, on more than one occasion, farted during a client meeting. She barks at the old people who live on our street and tries to attack any dog that comes within 400 yards of her. She steals the children's food and licks the dishes while I'm trying to load the dishwasher. She snores.

That said, we all love Hazel, even Ava...

[I am loading the dishwasher and Hazel is licking the dishes despite my repeated commands to stop.]

Me: [yelling] Hazel! For the love of God...

[Ava gets down from her chair, comes over to us and pats Hazel.]

Ava: Hazel nice.  Hazel my friend.

Me: Hazel's your friend?

Ava: Uh huh. Hazel my friend...Don't beat her.

Yes, my 2 year old was telling me not to beat our dog (I asked her to repeat herself just to make sure).  And this is where I'd like to say, "I have no idea where she got that from!" but I do. I regularly threaten to beat Hazel, but she doesn't speak English so I never worried about my fightin' words. Alas, my children do speak English, and now they think I'm an animal abuser.

The Victoria Wrap Up (including a Very Special Video)

Three days is a long time when you're 2.  I'd forgotten about that until we got back from our trip and Ava attached herself to me like a baby koala. She is all mommy all the time.  Fortunately, she's cute, but yesterday, she pulled her little rocking chair into my bathroom so she could hang out with me while I did my business. I'm thinking that I need KC to go away for a few days so that he can become the object of her affection.

In other news, I discovered a series of 5 videos that Sophie made while we were in Victoria (note that she made said videos while sitting on the potty).  This is my favorite:

Unibrow & a Poop Update of a Different Variety

First, the unibrow.

I had a unibrow as a child. (Sometimes I still do when I get lazy about waxing.) I was teased relentlessly, but my mother would never let me pluck it and always said things like, "Brooke Shields has a unibrow!" Finally, when I was about 10, my sister plucked it for me when my parents were out of town.

Sophie has inherited my unibrow and I have to admit that I love it. (I know...that's probably how my mother felt about mine.) That said, I will let her pluck it when she really wants to, but I'm hoping to put that off as long as I can. So far so good, until today...

Sophie: Mom...

Me: Yeah?

Sophie: Bert from Sesame Street has a unibrow.

Me: He does.

[There is some dancing around the room while eating popcorn and then...]

Sophie: A second grader from Mrs. Schumaker's class told me that I have a unibrow.

[Oh shit.]

Me: You do, and I love it!

[long pause]

Sophie: Me too.

Phew.


And now the poop update...

This morning when KC went downstairs, he discovered that Hazel, our 14-year-old dog, had pooped in the house. Hazel has many flaws--she's covered in warts, she's very flatulent, sometimes she snaps at the children--but pooping inside is not one of them.  This is our signal that the end is near.  It's sad, but she's had a really good run of it.  Mostly I'm sad because I know the kids will be really sad.

Anyway, it was one of the only times she had ever pooped in the house that the kids witnessed so there was lots of excitement about it.

[They are upstairs looking over the banister.]

Sophie: EEEEEEWWWWW!!

Ava: Where? I don't see poop.

Sophie: See it?  Come over here.

Ava: POOP!!!!!

[Then they go downstairs to "help" KC. Of course, Sophie is back up with me in about 10 seconds.]

Ava: Hazel poop.

KC: Yeah.  She did.

Ava: Hazel didn't poop in my diaper.

She said this as if to confirm that Hazel hadn't encroached on her turf, then she promptly took a giant poop in her diaper.

The Victoria Wrap Up & Penis Envy

The Victoria Wrap Up

My favorite picture from high tea even though I have a massive head.

Sophie and I got back from Victoria last night and the trip was a major success. The only real low point was on the boat ride home. The Clipper travels through the Straits of Juan de Fuca which, we learned, can have rough waters. When we boarded, they suggested that we take anti-nausea medication as a preventative measure. I don't get sea sick, but I was worried about Sophie, so I got the meds for both of us.

I never threw up, but that was through sheer force of will. The attendants kept asking me if I was okay.  I didn't want to scare Sophie, so I said "yes." Meanwhile, I was DYING!!!! Sophie, on the other hand, was happy as a clam–chatting, singing, crawling under the table, spazzing out. It was bleak—the longest hour and a half of my life. And then it ended as soon as we passed through the straits and I was fine.

Anyway, here are two other choice moments from the trip:

On taking a nap in the afternoon...
Me: Let's go back to the room and take a nap!

Sophie: I don't want to.

Me: Really? I do.

Sophie: Mom, you don't always get what you want.

On the Fairmont...
Sophie: They really like me here.


Penis Envy
While we were away, KC was home with Ava. I know I just posted about how we're anti-nudity in our house, but when you're alone with a 2 year old, you kind of have to leave the door open when you shower. So...

[KC is in the shower and Ava comes in.]

Ava: What's that coming out of your butt?

KC: It's a penis. You don't have one.

Ava: I don't want one!

Me neither.

Our Trip to Victoria

This week is Sophie's mid-winter break which means no school. Since we don't have childcare in the mornings, I decided that it would be a good time to take Sophie on a mother-daughter trip. Somehow, she had gotten it into her head that she wanted to go to Canada to spend the 2 Canadian dollars she has, so I booked a 2-day trip to Victoria.

We took the Clipper (high-speed ferry) and stayed at the Empress Hotel (still here, in fact).  Here's a quick summary of the highlights and low points of our trip so far:

Highlights

1. Sophie is on Cloud 9. She has loved every single minute.
2. The Fairmont Gold Club. When we checked in, I got sold on upgrading to the Fairmont Gold rooms.  It was pretty cheap and includes hors d'oeuvres in the evening and breakfast in the morning.  Let me say, it is completely awesome.  Worth every penny and in the end, we saved money because Sophie ate so much at the hors d'oeuvres that she didn't want to go out for dinner.
3. High tea. Okay, it's a total rip off and the food's not good, but she loved it so much that I'm glad we did it.
4. Miniature World. This was actually really cool.

Low Points

1. She pooped in her pants three times on day 1. Not real poops, just, as she likes to say, "scrats." But we haven't had any of that in a few weeks, so I was not psyched for its return. That said, she hasn't had an accident since...yet.
2. She won't leave the hotel. Literally. She loves it so much that she doesn't want to waste her time with silly things like seeing the city. We did leave once to walk around the corner and go to Miniature World.
3. Technical difficulties. The hotel's pool is closed, they are testing their fire alarms and there's a blizzard.
4. She told me our room smells like "my bottom" (mine, not hers).
5. She told me I look like Nanny McPhee.

Getting the Bronze

I was a competitive diver in high school. It seems ridiculous now, but it's true and I was really into it. I was also kind of good and I say that with no false modesty.  I was only kind of good.  I would get very high scores for difficulty because I was willing to try crazy dives, and horrible scores for form because I am hideously ungraceful. (In fact, in every single yearbook collage there is a cutout of me flying through the air, spread-eagle, in a bathing suit...thanks Jason Lieberman.)

In my senior year, I placed 3rd at the LA city finals.  That sounds more impressive than it is.  I don't actually know how many female divers there were in LA at the time, but it wasn't thousands or even hundreds.  I'm thinking 60, maybe. And the two girls who placed 1st and 2nd were awesome—legions better than the rest of us and I never once beat either of them in any meet in 3 years. But, in my last city finals, I got a bronze medal.

Cut to 20 years or so later. Sophie is going through my jewelry drawer and sees the medal (which my mother found in an old box along with all of my report cards from elementary school and an IQ test I once took). She is very impressed, so I give her the medal which she squirrels away.

It's been months since I gave her the medal. Then, two nights ago, I'm putting her to bed and she gets very quiet and solemn. Finally, she says...

Sophie: Mom, Lucy told me that your medal is a bronze medal.

Me: That's true.

Sophie: Well, I thought it was a gold medal.

Me: Nope. It's a bronze medal.

Sophie: Well, that's third place.

Me: Right.  I came in third.

[Very pregnant pause]

Sophie: That's not so good.

And that, my friends, is how I know she is at least half Friedman.

The Meatball and the Idiot

Last night I made spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. I made the sauce and the meatballs from scratch and did it in about 30 minutes. And it was gooooood. 

Sophie loves spaghetti and meatballs but as she was eating, she got a confused and annoyed expression...

Sophie: (holding up a half-eaten meatball speared on her fork) Look what's inside my meatball.

Me: What is it? A piece of onion?

[Note that hearing things like "look what's inside my meatball" freaks me out. I once ate a Trader Joe's burrito that was filled with dirt and ever since then I've been very sensitive about flotsam in my food.]

Sophie: Yeah.

She continued eating her meatball and then...

Sophie: What idiot put a piece of onion in my meatball?

Cry me a river, Rodney Dangerfield. No respect.

KC and I laughed because we couldn't help it.  Then I informed her that I was the idiot and that it's not nice to call someone an idiot.  Later we acknowledged that she learned that from us. "We're always calling people idiots," said KC. What are you going to do?  There are lots of idiots around, including, apparently, me.

Much later, like at 3 o'clock in the morning, KC shouted "WHOA!!!!" in his sleep and scared the crap out of me. Then I had a nightmare that I was in the Top Chef finale but couldn't get a ride to the kitchen. Then Hazel ate the toast out of my hand while I was bent over, putting a dish in the dishwasher.

Full Frontal Nudity

I have never seen my parents naked. Even though I was born in the 70s, my parents are the anti-hippies and I'm okay with that. Actually, I'm kind of grateful and their relative prudishness didn't translate into any weird hang ups in me (right?  right?).

KC and I have a semi-defined policy on family nudity. Our kids have seen us naked, but we're never going to head over to Brighton Bush with them for some nude hot spring action. When Sophie was very little, she'd get in the shower with us—KC included—until the day she said, "Hey!  You have a banana!". Then KC decided that a little privacy was in order. Sophie has learned not to barge in when he's in the shower.  Ava not so much.

I, on the other hand, have zero privacy. Maybe it's because they're girls, or maybe it's because I'm too lazy to demand it. Anyway, they see me naked on a regular basis and 99% of the time it's uneventful.  However...

(I am in my closet, putting on my bra. Ava walks in.)

Ava: (pointing) Those your boobies?

Me: Yes.

Ava: Why?

Me: Why what?  Why are they my boobies?

Ava: Why they touch your tummy?

I could go into an explanation here about childbirth and nursing, but I don't want to lay blame. That said, I'm now collecting funds for the Mara Friedman Saggy Tits Foundation.

Ava's Idea

I've fallen off the blogging bandwagon. I'm committed to getting back on, though, and this is my first step...

Today I took Sophie to the Harry Potter Exhibit at the Pacific Science Center where we were scandalously ripped off (but that's a story involving a $50 plastic wand and telling it will just make me irate. Again). On our way home, I got a call from KC who recounted a conversation he'd had with Ava. I will do my best to recreate it...

KC and Ava are in the toy section at Target. Ava is smitten with a pink tricycle.

KC: Okay...time to go.

Ava: Five more minutes!

(I wasn't there, so I can't say for sure, but KC says she repeatedly asked for "five more minutes".)

KC: Okay...time to go.

Ava: Five more minutes!

KC: No...we have to go home.

Ava: I have an idea!

KC: What's your idea?

Ava: You leave me alone.

KC Has a Dream

In honor of Martin Luther King (or Martin Luther the King, as Sophie says) I wanted to share something dream-related.

KC has a secret and very active life in sleep. He talks, yells, jumps out of bed...one time he backhanded me because he dreamt there was a giant spider on my face. Another time, he walked in from being on the deck in his undies. Regular old sleep talking happens all the time--at least weekly. Most of the time it's just muttering, some laughing and the occasional "No!". But every so often he'll have a really special dream. These are three of my favorites...

The Coral Snake
It's the middle of the night...

KC: (jumps out of bed and shouts) Mara!!  Get out of the bed!!  Get out of the bed!!

Me: (Getting out of the bed) What?

KC: (Flips on the light) There's a coral snake in the bed!

Me: (Still waking up) What?!

KC: There's a coral snake in the bed!

Me: (I am now awake) I think you're having a dream. There's no coral snake in the bed.

KC thinks about this for a second and then apologizes for waking me up. I get back in bed. KC is still standing next to the bed on his side.

Me: Want me to check?

KC: Better safe than sorry.

There was no coral snake in the bed.


The Little Guy
It's the middle of the night. I wake up and see KC shivering on top of the covers.

Me: KC, get under the covers.

KC: That's okay.

Me: Why? You're cold.

KC: There's a furry little guy munching leaves down there, so I'm just going to stay out here.

Me: I think you're having a dream.

KC gets under the covers. Later he told me that the furry little guy was just a ball with no eyes or body...only TEETH!


The Live Turkeys
It's the middle of the night...

KC: Hey Mara...

Me: (still mostly asleep) Yeah?

KC: There are some live turkeys in the room.

Me: (waking up) What?

KC: Do you see those turkeys over there?

Me: You're having a dream.

KC: Did you order some from Amazon Fresh?

Me: There are no turkeys.

KC: Yeah...I guess you'd have to sign for those.

Oops...I had a baby!

Sophie has been very interested in babies lately. When we were in Hawaii, she asked me if I would have another baby because she really wants a little brother.  I told her that you don't get to choose and she might just get another little sister. She said that would be okay, and told me that if I got her a bottle and told her what to do, she'd take care of it.

See KC?!?!?!

Anyway, she's got babies on the brain. Here's a conversation that Tyler relayed to me:

Sophie: Sometimes, when ladies get pregnant, it's an accident, right?

Tyler: Yes. Sometimes it's an accident.

(Sophie thinks on this...)

Sophie: I think Ava's going to have one of those accident babies one day.

(Tyler cracks up...)

Sophie: Don't tell anyone I said that, okay?

Sophie's First Presentation & Cheap Brats

Sophie's First Presentation
We've been back from Hawaii since Wednesday night and have had beautiful, sunny weather every day. So today I decided to take a little walk.  When I got back, Ava looked like this...

There's something strangely Hobbit-ey going on here

Sophie was in her bedroom talking away. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but every so often I heard KC say, "uh huh." After about five minutes, they came out of Sophie's room...

Sophie: Mom!   I just gave my first presentation!!

Me: You did?  That's great.  What was it about?

Sophie: I gave a presentation to Dad about upside down chairs!!

Me: Upside down chairs?

Sophie: Yeah!

KC: It was about the many uses for upside down chairs.

Me: (to KC) So what did you learn?

KC: That you can use them for transportation for your stuffed animals.

Sophie: And as a carriage for Ava!

Here is a picture of Sophie's visual aids:

Cheap Brats
Earlier today, she made a plea to her father for a new "Bratz Little Angelz". Bratz are possibly the only thing that I have forbidden in this house. They're just so skanky looking ("Skankz"). Of course, she now loves and desperately wants them.

About a year ago or so, my mother gave her a Bratz Little Angelz and I let her keep it (even though it's a skanky looking baby with tons of eyeliner). She hung the little marketing poster that came with it on her wall. It's been in her room for months. Today, for some reason, it caught her attention and she came running out of her room in search of KC (since she knows I'm anti-Bratz)...

Sophie: Dad...can I get a new Baby Brat (her name for them)?  I saw one on my poster and it says that it's three six six!*

KC: Three six six?  Three dollars and sixty six cents?

Sophie: (now leading KC from our room back to hers) Yeah. Three dollars and sixty six cents. I'll show you.

KC: Okay, let's see.

Sophie: Three dollars and sixty six cents...that's a cheap brat!

My point exactly.

*It turns out that "366" was the item number, not the price. It's still a cheap brat, though.