Mom and Mia go to the Salon

So Mia and I go out to the nail salon to get one of my nails replaced. I had smashed the original while reaching into the freezer to retrieve the ice cream we had for Chinese New Year. When it happened, cursing ensued which is historically not part of the New Year celebration but will most probably become part of the tradition in our home what with all the moving parts and all. Not only did the nail breakage hurt, it launched the nail to a destination unknown. So I stand there in the kitchen shaking my hand and wondering if the nail was in the ice I intended to use for drinks or perhaps safely lodged in a Popsicle that had been in the freezer so long that it had transformed into a purple gob of nail-grabbing goo? As my husband enters the room, I whisper about my dilemma. He says, "what?" I repeat myself just under the volume level that would announce to the assembled guests "Hey, I just ripped off a fingernail and put it into the ice and aren't you just glad you came here to eat, now what would you like to drink" and he says "what?" I pantomime the breakage and launch of the nail with Shakespearean effort and he looks at me like "what?" I stand there with my thespian dreams deflated and then take the ice out to dump it, albeit not on his head, and verify no nail was present. Of course, my brilliant thinking and decisive action left us with no ice. I could have chopped up some Popsicles but thought better of it.

The next day, Mia and I get to the salon, where they seat us in a chair so they can fix my nail. Mia begins reaching for anything toxic, sharp or easily spilled with all the gusto she has while I sit trying to keep her away from the items on the table while simultaneously keeping my hand there, a feat made all the more difficult as my hand could not be severed from my arm which would have certainly been preferable at that point. I finally bend myself into a large "C" effectively keeping Mia away from the dangerous items while simultaneously working toward my goal of one day performing with Cirque Du Soleil.

After seeing how limber and good with kids I was, the gal fixing the nail asked "Your granddaughter" I tell her no but as I was at that point talking roughly into my chest, I guess it didn't translate well. She then said, "Oh, babysitting. She's cute" and I explain, this time into Mia's head that no, Mia is my daughter. The gal waits until I straighten up to come up for air, looks me dead in the face for a second and then states, "You're old to have little kids." You think? The tip didn't turn out to be much that day.

You Can Bounce a Quarter Off Him

So, over Christmas two of my brothers were talking smack about how great shape they are in. Somehow, my two mile walks at the gym and the subsequent four hours of recovery just didn't seem to be measuring up to their 10k prowess, not that anyone in my very competitive family would comment on that. At least not more than two or three times, max. Each. Per day. But they forgot that I had the ultimate weapon to enter into the debate - the mighty-fine looking younger husband who could kick their pasty white butts if need be. But I didn't want to expound at length to that fact. Figured, why wreck their inflated dreams at Christmas? No, I just would not do so. I save that for February. So, I succinctly stated the obvious which I believe came out as "Oh yeah, well you can bounce a quarter off Robert's chest".

Having just entered the room, Robert had no idea why he then got smacked in the neck with a quarter which, for the record, just proves that the brothers are also bad shots although their cooperative empirical testing must be admired. I'm thinking the "It's an American custom" excuse was dusted off and again used effectively.

Snow and the Recession Man

It snowed in Atlanta twice last week. We're hoping it isn't a sign of hell freezing over because, if so, I've got a whole bunch of obligations coming my way.

We think our recession snowman is appropriate for the times. He was a happy, jolly soul and then we told him what the market did last week. No wonder.

Should have been a surgeon

So it's the day of the big annual company gala at the Atlanta Aquarium and as usual, I'm passing the boredom of Atlanta traffic by eating in my car, my preferred dining area for breakfast as I can watch the sun rise and on some bad traffic days also set while I eat. So, this day, I am eating an apple because I am out of bananas, one of the three items generally in my power breakfast trifecta of banana, yogurt and an English muffin which I spray with some "butter", not having the 15 seconds required to spread some of the good old fashioned yellow stuff. I'm pretty sure they have dubbed the spray "I Can't Believe it's not Butter" which is definite proof they need to fire their marketing department. It sprays on and is apparently made with some chemical that has zero calories and they find themselves confused? Of course, my real incentive to use the stuff is to avoid the magnetic pull exerted by the old fashioned butter which forces the toasted dough from my hand and sends it quickly downward while it exhibits some Nadia Comaneci inspired twist until it finally sticks the landing, butter side down.

So I'm eating an apple which has an odd crunch. Since it isn't Halloween, I'm know it isn't a razor blade so I swallow it, figuring it is better not to see whatever vile creature I have just bit the head off. After all, I got three pounds for a buck, had to be a reason. The next bite just doesn't go so well and I start to get a very bad feeling that I just got my calcium intake for the week. I get to a red light and check and sure enough, I swallowed half of my front right tooth.

I go to the big event but make sure that I only talk to people on my left while imitating the Mona Lisa. As the night goes on, I start doing a very mean impression of Elvis'lip on a bad drug day and get through the thing. I'm sure I wowed those that I didn't scare.

Next day, I go to the emergency repair center, better known to me and my family as the dentist's office. My dentist gets to work. He jacks me with some Novocain which has the habit of leaving me drooling for a couple of hours which is always so attractive. He packs some stuff in my mouth that has the effect of gluing my lips to my gums, making conversation a bit of a challenge. He glues and drills and shines and buffs and uses some glue that makes me a bit happy in the head.

And then he looks at his assistant and declares, "Should have just been an oral surgeon. At least I'm good at pulling teeth" and goes back to shining and buffing.

It really is a nice front tooth.

Being Something

Aidan just turned 5 which apparently plunged him into the cold abyss of an age related crisis. I made the obvious assumption that I was somehow responsible for pushing the poor kid over the edge what with my amazing parenting techniques and all. For once, and just this once, I was wrong.

Several weeks ago I had carefully explained to him that as he was turning 5, it would be necessary for him to get a job and his years of sponging off the folks were coming to an end. I helpfully provided some options which mostly involved going to work at the CVS for a 40 hour work week. Given my age and the amazing effect of gravity on my body, I figured the employee discount on cellulite cream would more than pay for his room and board. The other option I gave him was that he could dust once a week and carry his plate to the counter after he ate. After a considerable amount of well-reasoned consideration, he thought CVS was the far better choice as I would not be the boss. So, I further explained he would have to walk to work and back two miles uphill each way. In the rain. And I had just found out that CVS wasn't hiring. After more reasoning, he reconsidered. He added the task of Swifferring and we had a deal. I'll be working with him in the future on his negotiating skills but for now, I figured I might as well let him add more tasks before giving in as they directly benefit me. I did agree to a weekly allowance to be contingent upon the successful implementation of a well formulated cleaning plan and that was that.

So, I give him a birthday card with a dollar which represented the benevolent advance of one month's allowance. Figured it is a wise strategy to set the kids up for indentured servitude in as many ways as possible. He touched that filthy lucre and tossed it back like it was on fire. Said he wasn't interested in buying himself a Matchbox car. I thought about calling one of those drug testing firms but Mia distracted me by being cute. Apparently, the two of them have struck a back room deal. I had noticed that he has been pushing her around on her little pink car for hours on end and otherwise catering to her.

So, a couple of days go by and we are trying to plan his birthday party. Unlike the coronations we held for him in Peru, we're talking about a cake and a pinata. Fortunately, he doesn't recall the wedding cake with fountain, clown, DJ, Sponge Bob, pinata and 50 guests we provided for his first festivities in Lima which cost roughly the same as a cake and pinata here. That is as long as the cake is homemade with generic cake mix, no sprinkles. Knowing he would someday ask about his past, I've wisely hid all photographic evidence of the Peruvian festivities so I knew he wasn't experiencing the let down of no longer having totally ostentatious parents.

So I'm asking about the design and coloring for his cake and he again explains that he doesn't want to be 5, still wants to be 4. I tell him that since I rescheduled his birthday from the 3rd to the 13th already this year to better take advantage of after-Christmas sales, I wasn't sure how much more flexibility I had to alter time.

I told him that no matter how big he got, he would always be my baby boy and Mia would be my baby girl. Didn't help. Told him I would take under consideration that possibility of my removing the heavy burden of carrying his dirty plate to the sink that this birthday imposed. No deal. Reminded him he liked cake and presents. No sale. As I inquire if he is hanging out with kids who smoke substances, he came clean. He told me he emphatically "didn't want to go to college" and he "didn't want to be something." Several times. Oddly, I had not even discussed this with him which would have naturally led to this reaction. But, some adult apparently had. Maybe those scary preschool teachers. I told him we could wait on that decision for both him and Mia but that didn't do the trick. After some negotiations, I finally worked out an agreement that he could go to "an institute of higher learning" and didn't have to be a lawyer. Seemed to do it. Party on.

Christmas 2007

As evidenced by the photo, we all cleaned up pretty well for Christmas. I wore my designated Christmas & Easter blue shirt to ensure I could pick our the photo as a holiday one. Having a standard uniform is helpful that way.