Monday, June 28, 2010

The Pied Piper of Toothville

Monday, and Baby E posts.

Routines. Routines are good. They lend sanity and framework to 3 boys on the loose. In the summer. 3:1.

It's Monday, Baby E's post day: He's glad to be back and has lots to tattle ... ummm ... "say" about his time away. He missed you all!!


First: This is me.
My mom says we still have to do work, even if it is summer. That doesn't make any sense because if you don't have to do school, then you shouldn't have to do work, either. That's what I think. My mom says we can't grow up to be lazy or no one will marry us. She says that all the time.

This is me having to sweep the planters. I think that's a dumb job. But she says I have to do it because I said no to the other choices, too. She says you have to pick something and I said but I don't like what you're giving me to choose. And then she says what she always says about stuff, "Well, then, I'll choose for you." So, I said, "okay okay, I'll sweep the planters." But I don't think I should have to do all of them.

Next, I went on vacation.
Every day I said how much fun it was. Next week, I want to show you a picture of the deepest deepest hole I made on the beach. I dug until I got to water. It was up to my waist when I stood in it. And there was water in the bottom of the hole that stayed there and didn't sink away into the sand.

This is about what I found in the kitchen.
My mom makes me "Lucky Charm" toast. It's toast in the shape of a lucky charm because I like Lucky Charms cereal, too. Anyway, she always make me my toast in that shape and then one day when I look at the dishes I saw a lucky charm cookie cutter and grabbed it and said "so this is how you do it!" and her face went sad and she said, "no! I wanted you to not know my secret!" and her face really did look sad so I told her I could wipe it off the face of my brain with my hand and not remember it. And she said, "really?" and I told her I really could.

This is about my idea:

This one morning I was really tired and when my mom woke me up for my summer classes I said I needed my rusty body oil. And she said, "what?" and I said, "I'm going to first need my warming up oil, then my moving oil. Oil me up, mom, like a rusty robot so I can move."

This is the last story I can say:
My mom likes to put toothpaste on my flute!
I like to take my electric toothbrush and put it in my mouth sideways and pretend it's a flute by rubbing the hard part against my teeth. It works. And then I'll hear my mom come stomping up the stairs to check on me to make sure I'm ready and she catches me playing with my flutebrush and she'll say, "you're supposed to be getting ready" and then she puts toothpaste on my flute and I say, "you're putting toothpaste on my flute" and she says, "yeah, well, the pied piper called and wants his flute back, so brush your teeth" and when she does stuff like that I don't want to laugh, but then I laugh and then I can't be mad and sometimes I want to stay mad and not laugh. But I always laugh, even when I don't want to.

Next week I'll have my picture of the big hole I made..."oh, wait,mom! Can I do one more story?"

O.K. I got really hurt in my games class last week. A kid's skull went hard into my mouth and I had to go to the dentist. I'm better now.


Monday, June 14, 2010

Baby Villa

Monday already. I hope Baby Villa can make Mondays a bit better for you. The routine here today: He Speaks, I Type. Welcome to Baby E's Post of The Week:


Hi. I have a lot in my notes for today. I don't know what to say first. That makes me be quiet. My mom says to just look at my notes and stick to that order, but I want to say the other stuff first. Can I, Mom? OK. She says we'll try it for awhile with me just feel mixed up again.

OK. We'll do the notes. We went to a graduation party for my mom's friend's daughter and this is an exciting story. There are lots of parts to it. The first part is you need to know this part.

I was in our paper! Our paper did a story on me that was almost the whole page and they called me "web phenom." A lady came to the house and asked me questions. I asked my mom if I behaved and she said yes. I asked her for a prize for behaving, and she said no.

At this party, this lady said, "hey...I read about you today." And my body was bursting with proud, and I wanted to say braggity stuff. But I knew I couldn't. I said, "that was me." And that was all. But inside I wanted to and wished I could have done my backwards robot dance and said, "uh huh oh yeah uh huh." But I knew not to. And you can't brag, either.

I found a newspaper thing my mom cut out of the paper and thinks she secretly hid in the cabinets on how to not spoil your kids. I saw it and said, "mom. now your tricks won't work cuz I found this!" And I grabbed the paper and showed her. She just laughed. But I'm going to watch her for tricks like not buying me stuff. And like that.

I like to wear my big brother's white shoes and pretend they're clown shoes. My mom always laughs for that.

My mom is teaching me cursive. I have learned a lot of tricks. This one is important: if you make your small t sides too apart it will look like an a. The small t sides need to touch.

My mom makes me wear my summer socks and I don't like them. I can't say hate. But I don't like them A LOT. They are small and white and have no tops on them so they look like little baby shoes. I don't like them.

I have more stuff written down but my mom says only one more story. I have 6 more stories. I have to pick one.

Tonight we rented Astroboy and the dad was mean to the kid in it. I've noticed that in kid's movies lately, there is always a person that crushes that kid's dreams. The kid in the movie's dreams. Like in Toy Story, they say, "you can't play guitar" how do they know that? You have to tell the kid that he can and then he will.

Next week I will tell you about this dog I want. It is so unspeakably cool you couldn't even describe it in words. I want a dog like that. He was at the graduation party.


Wednesday, June 9, 2010

I See The Future


Books on living room floor, all open, Baby E. skimming and poring through the new picture history books on Latin American history. We'll be studying this over the summer, as well as learning more about how we came to live in this country and about Baby E's heritage. Baby E. is fascinated with the fact that he is Hispanic. [I am first generation American, and my family is from South America.] I think my exact words were, "My blood runs through your veins! My people are your people! My ancestors are within your DNA! Your future comes from your past! It is who you are and who you will be and I am you and you are me and Viva! Simon Bolivar!....", (pant pant wiping sweat from brow)......words along those lines.

"Hey, Mom, I really like these history books you got us for the summer. They're so neat and cool."

"I'm so glad you like them, Baby E. We're going to learn more about my family, and you, and how you're part of my family from South America. I love history, too."

"Yeah, like, mom, this book here? It's ultracool because there's even a picture in here of me and what I'm going to look like when I grow up..."

"Wait, what? Baby E., let me see that...what are you looking at?"

"See, right here, mom, this guy...."

Baby E excitedly walks over a copy of The Mexican Revolution, for grades 6-9., holds it up for me to see,

open to this page:

Pancho Villa, Mexican Revolutionary

"Mom? Mom? Are you laughing or crying, mom? Mom????"

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Uglydoll and Other Stuff That Kids Will Love

It's Monday, and Baby Emperor's post day. Last week, he promised a Summer Shopping List. I was in charge of R&D, specifically transportation and finance. He speaks, I type:

Hi. This is Baby E now. Today we're going to go through my list of stuff. My mom says I have to explain what I talk about first.

What my mom does when we're done with school, is the day after we're done, in the morning, she fills a basket for me and my brothers with stuff. Mostly books, like these Uglydoll books.

She gets us the stuff first, and then when we wake up and come downstairs in the morning, the basket is there for all of us with a note about summer. She makes us read the note first. And keep it. It's most of all books for the summer, but she puts in fun stuff for when it's late or cold or raining or boring. We keep the basket in the front room or classroom all summer. We call it the Summer Fun Basket and it makes the first day of vacation fun. I love getting our basket. I wake up super early when I know it's the day of the basket.

We went to the store yesterday with my notebook, and we walked around and wrote down what I hope is in my basket and stuff we liked. She said I could pick out some stuff for me for my basket.

*There's a rule now that we have to say that no one gave us money to buy this stuff or tell you about it. That's true. No one did give us money, and we have to pay for what we buy with my mom's money. No one gave us any stuff.*

First, books. This Ugly doll book comes with 4 of them, a set, but you can buy them like only one. And they're really cool. They're funny and so funny you will laugh. Even my big brothers laugh, and my mom laughs. They really are funny and only 5 dollars, right, mom? And you get to see all the cool Ugly dolls. They're easy to read. The website, but it has to be the official one, is fun.

I'll only do some stuff today because I found 3 pages on my journal of stuff I want. So, I'll only do, like one page, of stuff I want.

Well, and there's these Diary of a Wimpy Kid books, and they're ridiculously funny. They have stick people pictures that are funny. They're easy to read, and the words are funny. This website is funny, too.

Any maze books. All kinds of them.

New swimming goggles that match my new style. No more babyish shark ones.

Gear battery bubble maker with a gigantic bottle of bubble stuff. That is fun all the time.

Velcro ball and mitt set.

Soccer balls.

Basketball that glows in the dark.

Any sprinklers, and lots of them, so you don't get bored. Buy all the fun ones.It's fun to use more than one at a time.

Glow in the dark frisbees.

This big orange bike that I saw that I know I won't get, but I still want it. It was awesome. It's my favorite color. It matches my new style. The reason I want is because the bike I have was my 2 brothers' bikes already.

A new bike helmet that matches me now, I don't want my one with fish on it anymore.

Quirkle board game.

The new colored Connect 4 game.

Digital battery drumsticks that play drums in the air. I really want that. I really want that, hear me, mom?

PixO's making kits.

All the Bendaroos kits.

All the Backyardigan DVD's.

Mario Brothers for Wii.

Nintendo games of Starfy, and Kirby.

SpyGear night goggles.

SpyGear Micro ear gear.

Any Legos set. Especially the Atlantis ones.

Battle Strikers Turbo Tops.

More sidewalk chalks with the stencils that come with them. My mom buys us gardening kneeling pads for our knees for outside.

Any water Slip-n-Slides. My mom calls them Slip-n-Dies.

Any water blaster guns. Especially SuperSoaker. All kinds so your friends can have some when they come over.

Any Nerf guns. Get lots of them so your friends have some when they come over.

A pool.

A snow cone maker with lots of syrups. Get 4 packs and all the flavors.

Model Magic presto-dots. They make cool monsters.

I like card games, like Blink.

A pop-up tent or tipi for outside for when you want to lay outside and play and have shade. And for having lunch, too, or popsicles.


That's my list. I hope I get some stuff I really want in the basket.

And, also, ...I don't like my mom's summer pajamas. They look like she just had a tonsillectomy. I had one, and my adenoids, too, and they made me wear a dress like that!

Sometimes I like to hang extra long floss to go from between and across my teeth so the strings hang down the sides of my jaw and walk around to my brothers and say "I'm a nutcracker."

Look in the mirror. You really do look just like one, but you have to make your jaw go up and down at the same time.

Bye. Next time I will tell you about the baby socks my mom makes me wear.

Next week I'm going to tell you that funny stuff.


Saturday, June 5, 2010

What A Poet Will Tell You

Our middle son, Maximus (now 13), at SeaWorld, when age 4.

I hear his coaches shout "get in the game" and "go after the ball"

I cringe knowing the shouts are directed at him

And I sit in silent anger at myself for putting him here

Giving into the pressure of "You've got to push him"

He'd rather show them there's no reason to

"hustle" and shove, and yell so loud

When there are so many other ways to be

That are easier to be.

When told "get in there and win" he'll ask if it

Matters who wins, if everyone gets a chance to play?

Too soon, he tires of the ball being kicked, and the legs that fly at

You with no warning

Of the elbow that pushes to get at the ball they all want, with shouts of "over here!"

He'll hear someone call his name, barely, but he can't pull away from where his

Attention is drawn

His face looks up to the dandelion wishes that are floating in the morning's soft wind, swirling up

In slow circles,

Scattering seeds away from the field where they play

He wants them to see what he now sees, but they won't want to hear, he's learned that slowly,

By trying before

He stands by himself at the end of the field, as they all run past him, in the opposite direction

Away from the sun that warms the weightless feathery puffs that circle up

As I watch him, my heart aches from seeing in his face that he is beginning to know the truth

Already and that

It will be me that slowly has to tell him, year by year,

That he will have to wait for the time when people will want to hear the words that the poet's

Heart wants to shout.


I wrote this many years ago, when our now 13 year old naturalist son, Maximus, played his first season of soccer when he was about 4.

I'm happy to tell you that since this was written, our son's poetry has gone on to win Grand Prize in our regional area Nature Poetry Contest.

He's also received many a blue ribbon for placing 1st with his art entries at our local County Fair. Maximus submitted an original design Xmas tree ornament that was accepted as the official Governor's Tree Xmas Tree Ornament at our state capitol. He designed the Xmas Card that was selected as our School District's official Holiday Card.

And the list goes on..... 

*I apologize for the seemingly haphazard breaks, but Blogger has been messin' with my mind again. It all looks good in preview, but something happens to the layout after "Publish Post."

Friday, June 4, 2010

Mayor's FridayFunnyLinkUp Party Yay WootWoot

It's Friday, and that means Mayor of CrazyTown's Friday Funny link up. The day where I get to showcase all my favorite vids I've been storing.

This one is the comedian Sally Brook's video series on her dysfunctional housewife character, Suzy Jenkins. Suzy Jenkins is a suburban rapper.

Please DO NOT click over if street language offends, because Sally/Suzy is NOT easy on the swears. So, if offended by that kind of thing: DO NOT hit the arrow button. ( Sooooo not kidding on this: F-bombs galore, along with some B-words, S-words...)

For that VERY same reason, DO NOT watch with your children on your lap. Make sure you are: 1. alone 2. have earbuds in 3. have decided you can handle it ....all set? Good. Go put the Depends on for bladder control, and lose it!

Thursday, June 3, 2010

The Mrs. That Almost Stayed A Miss

Thank you to Amanda @It'sBlogworthy for inspiring this post. Though her story worked out to be a marriage proposal on bended knee at dawn on the beach, mine? Well, mine had destiny nervous for a few moments....

I was unaware that the man I had been dating for a year was going to be the man I married. We hadn't yet spoken of marriage, which suited us both fine. He had made no promises nor given any hints regarding a possible future together, so I couldn't claim to be misled or disappointed.

He was content with dating, and he was an affable enough fellow that I continued to date him. He was employed, respected the practice of personal hygiene, and had no addictions. Given all that, continued dating with no end in sight would fit into my schedule.

It was my birthday and he had called to ask me out to dinner. At the time, he was traveling internationally, and our times, when together, were spent doing nice things at nice places with nice food.

I knew he would have a special dinner planned since he was home for just a few days. I was anticipating romance, attention, and perhaps a gift from abroad. He was coming to pick me up at 6:30 p.m. As I waited for him, I thought of how I was ready to sit, talk, be wined and dined, celebrated and toasted to.

He arrives, 6:50 p.m., and his face has a look of grief and concern, as if he's lost something. He is also unusually quiet. I ask if everything is all right, he answers yes, that it is, but nothing more. He is twenty minutes late, which is not like the punctual man he has been for over a year. But I don't want to start the night off on the wrong foot, so I say nothing. But, things feel odd and tense and he doesn't smile to see me. We go in his car, and I promise to not bring up being late unless it happens a second time. If there is a second time.

While he is driving, he looks straight ahead and makes no mention of his trip to Germany, though he was gone for ten days. I attempt conversation, but I feel as if I'm in the car with a coyote; all I hear is "yup. yup. yup." to any question I ask.

Well, perhaps he has jet lag, I think to myself. We drive along, but I don't know about this night, which is starting to feel like a duty he's fulfilling since it's my birthday. I'm hungry, I have to go to work the next day, and I've got a new dress that I've bought for tonight on. But he doesn't notice that red is my color, nor how the gold button earrings play up my dark hair. I decide I will enjoy this meal, be just as affable back, and celebrate being with someone on my birthday.

We arrive at the restaurant, he parks, and then asks me to wait--sitting in the car. He always hops over to my side of the car and opens the door. Now I know, this is the farewell wrong place, wrong time speech we're leading up to.

I oblige, count to sixty seconds, then step out of the car. I see him in the vestibule of the restaurant, fingers jostling in his front pockets and well, you don't want to know what this looks like to me.

He then steps toward me and I see him, with his lips pressed tight. He walks as stiff as a robot, and together with the furrowed brow leftover from when he first picked me up, I can't read a thing about him. Is it agitation? Is it avoidance? I let him catch up to me and we walk alongside. I slide my arm into his, and he jumps twenty feet in the air.

I withdraw and drop his arm like an electric wire. I take a deep breath. I do not want to bicker in a parking lot on my birthday with a new dress and a growling stomach. I can make it through this dinner, I'll order something light, like whitefish since anything else will sink like a rock. We enter the restaurant, and the hostess seems to know him. She places her mouth inches from his ear and I imagine her whispering, "Tonight. Dump her. Got it?"

His tone back to her is a nodding rushed yes. They are in deep communion. He turns to me and asks me AGAIN to wait a bit, this time in the front hallway. He and the hostess whisper back and forth again and we're shown to a table. He keeps his hand in his pocket, I attempt to reach for the one he has resting on the table, and he pulls back as if I've extended a lobster claw.

Without warning, he stands from his chair and says he needs to check something in the car. I have now entered "whatever" land. I can no longer enjoy my meal, and think, OK. nice guy and all, but I just can't see what is going on between us... I know I should try and read between the lines but there's a lot of lines to read here.

A few minutes pass and he returns, his hand still in the front pocket. We eat a silent dinner. I say it's time for me to get home early, I have to be at work at 7:30, and I saintly offer him an excuse of how he must have jet lag.

He looks at me, his eyes wide with shock. I think, This can't be good. I can't believe he is HAVING A GOOD TIME??? You're kidding, right?This is SOOOOOO not a good sign. All I can see is red flags. Red flags all over the place.

He tells me he wants to take a drive to the lakefront. I agree, thinking maybe we'll talk and he can come clean about the hostess taking my place. And it's the least I can do, because I already know this is the last time for me too.

We drive there, and I see a white horse and carriage waiting. I am jealous of the couple that will be celebrating their love to the romantic clip clop of horse's hooves, because I know it won't be us. Then, turning his body in an awkward broken movement, he takes my hand and walks toward the carriage. His other hand won't leave the front pants pocket. Now I'm the one with the furrowed brow, but mine is out of confusion. We climb into the white cab, I move to sit closer to him. I make the mistake of having hope and I reach for the dang hand in his pocket. But he's not having any of it and digs it back in deeper.

In one last moment of dreaming out loud, I convince myself his madness is jet lag or traveler's fever. I make up that last one because, how can I explain all that is going on like a poorly written screenplay. No continuity of thought! I want to shout.

But if he was protective of the hidden hand before, he's grown thrice that level now. I mentally steel myself for the coming weekend of me and two quarts of Ben & Jerry's Death by Chocolate. It's not like I haven't had practice with those kinds of weekends before. I know I'll be sad, but as always, like a phoenix I will rise.

We're sitting in a beautiful red velvet interior of a fairy tale carriage, and I can't immerse myself in any of it because he continues with his pocket patting fetish. I am ready to jump out of the horse cab by now, but it's moving too fast. It's also getting cold outside, dark... and I've got new black T-straps that match this new red dress. And so I sit.

I will finish this night, and I will cherish this buggy ride. I close my eyes, and I relish the sound of the horse's hooves on the quiet street.

And this is where it gets strange.

There is a five star hotel up ahead and the driver is pulling the horse to enter the circle drive. My date jerks his hand out of his pocket, I check it to see if he's been hiding a bandaged injury all night but instead of gauze and stay clips I see a small, white box.

My date's face is set like stone, locked and looking straight ahead with a determination for what, I don't know. He licks his lips and I wonder why he feels he needs to give me a goodbye present as he leaves me for the hostess. I take the little white box he offers and snap it open it to see what I'm Sorry jewelry looks like. But there is no consolation gift inside.

In the darkness of the cab, with the streetlight hitting it just right from behind, there is a miniature firework of sparkles sitting inside black velvet. A breathtaking diamond solitaire shoots light from the middle of a gold band. It is an engagement ring, where a pair of modestly priced gold earrings should be.

My mouth crowns open as everything begins to make sense. I begin to laugh, then cry, then I apologize for the way I was never going to see him again but he asks me to wait. I say, "pocket petting, scared, worried." I think of all the perverted pocket padding this poor man did to ensure the ring hadn't fallen out, all the up and down and walking ahead so he could check to be sure the ring was still in the pocket. The poor sweet man.

The rest of the evening splits into a surreal memory. I remember staring at the ring in the moonlight (really ... it was a full moonlit night) and being so very surprised. I marvel at the planning he did from abroad and the secrecy of the night and the chance that he took. We had never discussed marriage, I could have said no.

Later that night, as I finally held his long sought after hand, I asked him to tell me the reason he had decided to propose in that way, with me not suspecting a thing. He answered, "If you knew it was coming, where's the romance in that? I wanted you to remember, always, whether you said yes or no, I wanted you to be remember."

Which I do, in more than just receiving the ring, but in him, and who he was, and how he made this plan of marriage more than a proposal, but a gesture of showing what I meant to him.

And his reason is why this picture exists, showing me as a Mrs., when just hours earlier that birthday evening, I thought that he would be returning me home, vowing to stay a Miss.

My response that night, through grateful tears of relief: "Oh, thank God, I thought you were crazy." Which is, Yes.


Tuesday, June 1, 2010

My New Pajamas and Plus Some Extra Stuff

Baby E's Post of The Week: I type, He speaks:

First off, these are my new pajamas. I don't like this picture because it looks like I don't have any teeth. I do.

OK, and here's the stuff.

First, this is called "Einsteiny Stuff.":

I do a lot of Einsteiny things. Not just me, but my brother does, too. The most Einsteiniest thing I did do was stepped in the shower with my socks on.

My big brother can't kinda remember the difference in the faces of his 2 principals. They're both old and with white hair.

And my brother got in the shower with his underwear on.

Once my brother came down in Einsteiny clothes for church. He put on a pair of socks that went up to his knees that were black. My other brother put on dress shoes with his basketball shorts for going out.

My mom stops us when we do this and says, "Einstein OK in the house, but not when you open that door and walk out there."

Second thing: "The Arm Trick:"

Sometimes I like to pretend that there's no blood in my arms and then I swing them around and start whacking everybody and people and then I say, "I can't stop my arms cuz they don't have any blood and I can't feel what they hit." I'm the only one who has fun and laughs when I play this game. Nobody else laughs and I'm pretty sure I know why.

Next one: "Scaredish movies":

Yeah, we watched War Games and there was this part that I knew was going to be scaredish because of the music. I put the blanket I keep on my lap so that when I hear the scaredish music come on I know to cover my face.

Next one: "Commercial Ideas":

You know how the commercials have "Sham-wow!" for sale? I asked my mom if those work like the guy said they did and if they're expensive. I think they should be called "Scam-Wow!" because stuff never works like they say it does on TV. We bought the dryer balls on TV and my mom finally just gave them to us to play with.

Last one: "Awesome Me":

I am becoming a man because I looked at my arms and I have little hairs on them. You can't hardly see them but when you pull them you feel it--ouch, I just did it--and that means they're there.

Next week I want to talk about the creepy dictionary book I have to use in school, and about how to buy stuff for your kids.

Note from Mom: Bless you all for following this little guy. I don't change a thing he says.
xoxo Empress


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