3.5 out of 4 ain't bad

Eva had her first DICTÉE this week.

Here in Quebec, this is a sort of academic rite of passage.

Basically, it's a short phrase, story, or article that one hears and then copies down.

The goal is to copy it down with perfect spelling and grammar.

Now, if you know French at all, you know this is PRETTY MUCH FREAKING IMPOSSIBLE.

This language is NUTSO.

Oh, it's beautiful to listen to, don't get me wrong.

There's a reason French is considered the language of love.

And there's no hilarity like a swearing Quebecer.

Trust me, they take cursing to new heights.

I wet my pants every time I see my husband hit a golf ball, because the string of curses that follows is so damned eloquent and explosive at the same time.

But this crazy language has exceptions on top of its exceptions.

The grammar is so tough, French writers consult a manual.  CONSTANTLY.

They have dictée COMPETITIONS on the TELEVISION.

ON THE FREAKING TELEVISION.

IN PRIME TIME.

So dictées are a big deal.

This particular dictée was also a big deal because it was her first ever actual RESULT for school work.

Up until now, it's been "yay, Eva! You counted to 10!" or "yay, Eva!  You drew a fish!"

Now, suddenly, she's into the realm of EVALUATION for one's work.

There's no turning back.

She had to write three words (she's only five)

Ski, vélo, and nager.

And she got them all.

She lost a half-mark because she wrote her name in capital letters but that's okay (although little miss Type-A insisted on writing her name in capital AND lower-case letters today for her teacher, to show her that SHE CAN DO IT PERFECTLY SO THERE)

Which, actually, almost makes me more proud than the dictée.

Bravo, Evita!!!

Tu as bien fait, ma belle.

Snow devils

Okay.

They look cute here.

But can you tell me why, about 30 seconds after this photo was taken, the big one shoved the unstable little one so she landed face down in the snow?

And why, about 2 minutes later, she threw a handful of snow at her sister's face, and a shovelful of snow at mine...forcing me to send her in for a nap?

Can you tell me what is going on inside the lump of fat that is a five-year-old's brain? 

Hair. Cut.

Those scattered toys?

That full laundry hamper?

That runny nose?

All a way of life for our family.

Honey, git the bowl

I cut Adder's hair today.

I am not someone who generally cuts her children's hair.  I cut Eva's once when she was around the same age as Adele is now, and it wound up looking like a blind person with pinking shears had attacked her bangs.  

Or like she had pulled a Britney and grabbed chunks of hair and hacked at it herself.  While blindfolded.  In a hurricane.  With a butter knife.  

My haircutting skills ARE that bad.

I swear it took six months to grow into an acceptable haircut, and I vowed never to do it again. 

Instead, every four months or so, I haul her to a salon where the women coo and tell her how beautiful she is, start a Disney Princess film on the tv, cut her bob very efficiently, and then hand her a sucker.  It costs fourteen bucks.

And then I don't have to stand away from her in public, pretending THAT SLOPPY CHILD THERE?  THE ONE WITH THE SHREDDED HAIR?  Nope, not mine.

Well worth it, I'd say.

But Addie's hair has gotten out of control lately, and it seems obscene to go pay that much for a trim that would take a total of 15 seconds.

So...I sucked up my courage...took out the big scissors...and...

I trimmed it myself.

And it went fine.

I'm not saying it was easy, or stress-free.

Addie sat still for about 1.4 seconds (a record!), before she began flipping and spinning her head around like the Exorcist on fast-forward.  I actually worked up a sweat, struggling to keep her away from the scissors and distracted long enough to get around her head (paring knives, hard candies, and a lighter worked great)

AND...

SOMEHOW...

It looks darned cute.

I might actually allow this one out of the house.  In public.  Without a hat.  Before six months go by.

And if I'm feeling particularly saucy, I might even admit she's mine.

Maybe.

Let's get that kid to work

1.  Kept Eva home with me today.

I'm off work sick.  

Truth of the matter, I'm not actually SICK.   

I simply lost my voice.

But I talk for a living, and no voicey means no worky.

SO...with a lovely sunny winter day stretched out before me, I decided to keep Big Troll with me...to whisper our way through the day together.

And it was SO UNBELIEVABLY AWESOME.

While you're tied up chasing two trolls, sometimes you forget how awesome the big one is because she's acting like such a doofus trying to get attention, while you spend most of your time and energy keeping the little one from killing herself by backflipping off the piano.  

You know what I'm saying?

My big girlie and I hung out at a bookstore...sipped hot drinks in a cafe...played with stickers...then went to her fave restaurant for lunch.

And this is where my five-year-old proceeded to earn us a free lunch.

Eva's fave restaurant is a neighbourhood Salvadorean place.

Their specialty is the pupusa...a sort of pancake stuffed with chicken or cheese or beans or whatever you want.  You eat them drowning in a mildly spiced tomato sauce and smothered in spicy slaw.  Eva is mad for them.

(I should note here that Eva is a bit on the precocious side when it comes to eating.  One of her first words was tzatziki, and her favourite food is sushi.  On New Year's Eve, she slurped back fistfuls of raw oysters and cracked her way through a set of snow crab legs.  She can tear apart a lobster in five minutes, and when we go to the market, begs for quail eggs and artichokes).

Anyway, we order our meals and are chatting (well, she is...I'm listening) and then this guy who looks like the SPITTING IMAGE OF WAYNE NEWTON (post-plastic-surgery)  sits down at the table next to us.  

We nod in greeting and he proceeds to start talking with Eva.

Here in Montreal, every conversation with a stranger begins with the determination of common languages.  Most people speak French...some speak English as well...some speak Spanish or Italian or Arabic as well...and other languages kind of fall in after that.  Once you know what languages you share, you conduct your conversation accordingly.

Anyway, the guy started off by asking questions in English and French...then he and Eva moved to Spanish.  He was all impressed when she counted for him in Spanish and answered several questions for him.  He kept saying she was so cute (I agreed) and talking with her.  She obliged by chattering away in her non-stop stream-of-consciousness way.

Then, when I went to pay the bill...the waitress said that "it had been taken care of"

Wayne Newton then told us he was so impressed with Eva...and just thought it would be a nice thing to do for a nice little girl.

I HAVE GOT TO TAKE THAT KID OUT WITH ME MORE OFTEN.

AND TO NICER RESTAURANTS.

And remember all that crap I told her about not talking to strangers?

FUHGEDDABOUDIT!!!!!

Let's take this kid on the road!

2.  Adder shat on the floor last night.  At least she waited until she was out of the tub.  Just a single wee little turd on the floor of her bedroom, as her dad carried her from tub to change table.  

I almost wet my pants laughing.

Ah, my children are a talented lot. 

Guilt, part 11,988

In a couple of weeks, I'm heading home to visit my family.  

My grandma, who is in her nineties but still sharp as a tack most of the time, was recently diagnosed with breast cancer.  She's undergoing a second operation this week and hopefully will be talked into radiation (she's tougher than overcooked turkey, my Grandma).  

Anyway, she's doing fine but I want to go and have some quiet time with her.  I also want to see my mom and dad...go out with my sister...and visit a few friends.  I get home maybe twice a year, and just really want some time with the people I love.

I bought a plane ticket on a seat sale and initially was planning to go alone, without the kids.

Then I decided it would be dumb to go and not take Adele, who still flies for free.

Then I wrestled for a long time over whether to take Eva.

Obviously if I take one child, I should take both.

I always take both.

But this time...this one time...I think I'm not going to.

And it's causing me no end of guilt.

My family sees the kids only twice a year.  We are going there this year for Christmas, but I still feel like I SHOULD take Eva with me so the kid can see her G-rents and they can see her.  Christmas is a long way off.  They're awesome grandparents and one of my regrets is living so far that the kids don't see them as often as I'd like. 

HOWEVER

1.  As mentioned, Addie flies free.  Bringing Eva doubles the price and makes a quick, affordable trip into a major expense.  But this isn't the main reason.

2.  Eva would miss a week and a half of school, one dance class, and one swim class.  We've told her this is why she's staying home with her dad, and she's fine with it.  But still isn't the main reason.

The main reason is just that I want some time with my family and friends...and taking only one child is just so darned much easier.

Addie takes a 2-hour nap every afternoon.  She goes to sleep at 7:15 at night.   

I can take the playpen to my grandma's, pop Addie into it in the afternoon, and have a peaceful couple of hours with my Grandma.  

Or if I want to go to a friend's house overnight, I can take the playpen, pop Adder into it at 7:15, and I have the rest of the evening free.

Eva doesn't nap and if she's visiting, might not pass out until 10pm or even later.   She's totally a Type-A personality...bouncy, high-energy, talks constantly...and needs a certain amount of entertaining.   My girl is sweet, wonderful, and fun - don't get me wrong.  Eva doesn't know it yet, but tomorrow I'm keeping her home from school "sick" so that we can watch movies and go to her fave restaurant for lunch.  I'm really excited about tomorrow.  I love spending time with my girlie.

But I sit here tonight feeling badly that in a few weeks, I'll be selfish...and will leave her at home.

In a few years, she can fly out on her own.

And I've promised her that one day, I'll take ONLY HER.

And she's fine with it.

But I still feel badly about it.

Guilty.

Guilty.

Guilty.

Sigh.

JUST EAT IT, DAMMIT

I remember when I knew everything about feeding babies.

I had friends who complained their children ate nothing.

Mine, on the other hand, ate everything and asked for more.

Eva was a little machine, shovelling away like clockwork. Whatever I threw at her, she'd gulp it down whole like a seal tossing back fish at Marineland. She jammed it down her throat so fast she would choke if I didn't chop and grind everything...from vegetables to cereal to cottage cheese.
Not lying. I actually MASHED HER COTTAGE CHEESE so she wouldn't choke.

I took Eva's willingness to eat as a sign that I WAS DOING MY JOB WELL.

Now I have a child who eats NOTHING.

And I realize HOW UNBELIEVABLY STUPID I WAS.

It is just after three in the afternoon, and - so far - Adder has eaten three Cheerios, two bites of a whole-wheat cracker, one bite of baguette, one pea, and the residue of cheese that remained in her mouth after she spat out a bite of pasta so violently it skittered across the floor.

Yesterday, even less.

Now, I know I am not supposed to worry. I should just sit back and let it happen because children won't let themselves starve. I know this. I know she won't deliberately STARVE herself to DEATH.

It's just that she's such a tiny little weiner.

Skinny little pipe-cleaner legs...wee little arms...tiny little head with these huge, huge eyes.

Let her nose run for a minute and she looks like an ad for child poverty.

And it's frustrating when you work hard to create meals she will like...meals she will actually eat, dammit, and then watch her delicately run her tongue over the most miniscule amount possible to fit on a spoon, then fire the whole plate over the edge of her high-chair tray IN DISGUST.

SO.

I'm sitting back.

Not worrying.

Not.

Worrying.

Almost time to start thinking about supper.

What can I disgust my child with, tonight?

The possibilities are ENDLESS.

It's almost liberating.

I'd call her a little maggot...but at least MAGGOTS EAT.