Who, what, where, when, why

Questions are a part of life, a crucial part of life. They feed our curiosity, they help us gain knowledge, and figure out the unknown. They also weigh heavy on your foe and extract meaningful information from every corner of their mind. I live with an interrogator. A short, miniature interrogator who doesn't pay any bills. Now, I know I use to ask a lot of questions as a child and drove the parentals crazy half the time. So, I try to be patient. Gia is a very curious young lady with a passion to learn, thus bringing forth the questions. I admire her curiosity. What I do not understand is her need to stand over me like a foreign intelligence interrogator with a hot lamp above my head asking me why I spread the peanut butter on that way or why I was in bathroom or why the word 'goodbye' has the word good in it. I DON'T KNOW okay. I don't know why I chose walking around the kitchen instead of through the kitchen to get to your room, I don't know what I dreamt about last night, and yes I suppose it is silly that a table has 4 legs and we only have 2 and I'm not sure if any animals do eat pickles to be honest. I'm seriously waiting for her to tie me up in my sleep and slowly drop water on my forehead until I tell her every ingredient in a hot dog as she stands over me laughing, IS IT BEEF OR PORK OR CHICKEN, OR A COMBINATION OF BOTH, I NEED TO KNOW MOMMY, WHAT IS IN A HOT DOG, TELL ME, IS IT HEALTHY, IS IT PIG, CHICKEN, COW, IS IT HEALTHY, I LIKE KETCHUP ON MY HOT DOGS, DO YOU, IS IT HEALTHY, WHAT IS IT MADE OUT OF, IS IT KINDA HEALTHY?!?!?!?! TELL ME MOMMY! drip, drip, drip, drip. I don't know Gia!!!!! I'll read you the package if you want. What do you want to hear and I'll say it! Just please, no more questions!

Tough Love

Let me take you to the setting of the evening. It went something like this. Gia stop, Gia stop, Gia stop, Gia stop. Gia if you do it again you will go to bed when we get home. Gia you are going to bed when we get home. We get home. Gia get ready for bed. She lost it. She did not want to go to bed because it was early and Jerry wasn't going to bed. It just wasn't fair that she was able to misbehave and Jerry not get punished for it. I told her Jerry would not be going to bed and good night. She fell off the handle. She yelled and cried. I told her that I would close her door until she could calm down. Apparently, closing the door pushed her "nut" button because that is what she turned in to. A yelling, kicking, screaming, thrashing, red-faced, big-haired, nut job. "Open the door, open the door, mommy, open the door. You better open the door." As much as I wanted to go in there and give her the who, what, I let her throw her fit., I wanted to see if that deep down inside that miniature, raging body, was rationale. She yelled, she cried, she banged. "You are the worst mommy in the whole world." Silence. "No! I love you mommy, I really, really love you." Hmm...took that one back quick. No doubt she instantly regretted that. I could have just pictured her face after she said that, all red-faced and fiery, hair sticking up every which way, fists clenched, teeth gritted together, and then here comes the words, wiggling their way up her chest into her mouth and like a geyser, out they come. Her face drains from the red color to a more pale shade, her statical hair seems to fall into its place and her whole posture becomes more relaxed, as her head starts to shake back and forth, almost naturally, as that still voice in her head is saying, no, no, no, this is not good, think of something quick, redeem yourself, and so she attempts to. Then, as if that was not enough, she comes out of her room and says, "mommy, I want out of my room." "Gia, go back to your room." She starts crying again as she leaves the room and gets to her door, pauses..."I am going to slam this door...or not" And she closes it quietly. Hmm...didn't like the thought of that outcome either, I see. After a few minutes of her fit continuing. She comes out of her room and says, "Mommy, I am so sorry for throwing a fit and yelling, I will go back in my room and wait patiently for you to come and get me." And off she went. I had her stay in there for a bit longer to really think about her behavior. I went in her room and gave her the talk about her attitude and behavior. I said, "you know your fit was completely unacceptable." She responded, as tears welled up in her eyes, "Yes, that is why I sorryed you."

Narrative Essay

As I walk into my grandma’s house, the familiar smells lead me to the kitchen. All of these smells play with my senses, garlic, fresh baked bread, and pasta sauce. I cannot do anything but take a huge breath through my nose and take it all in and smile. There I find her hovered over a bowl mixing meatballs with her bare hands, rings carefully placed to the side. There she is, Norma, my mom’s mother, my grandma. She stands five foot, short hair, and a heavy New York accent, the epitome of an Italian grandmother. As she looks up from the bowl and notices me she stands there smiling, beauty radiating from her eyes. In her New York accent she calls out, “Oh, hi, I’m so happy you came, are you hungry?” I know whenever family gets together there will be food and laughter. “Yes, Grandma, I am starving.” Her eyes light up and as she raises her eyebrows she says, “Great, we’re having lasagna, salad, and bread. I made cheesecake for dessert.” She gives me one more look and returns to her work. As I stand watching her meticulously work the meatballs into shape, I realize that food is much more than the essence of survival, it is family tradition and a haven for us to let loose and enjoy time together.
Cooking and eating has always been a part of my family. I cannot remember a time when we have not made a big deal out of food. For holidays, gatherings, Friday nights, it did not matter. There had to be no reason to celebrate. We celebrated life, each other, and food. We loved every aspect of it. Preparing it was a bonding time between relatives, eating it was an extension of our quality time, and after we were done we sat around and laughed and talked, often about our next meal. It was a comfort for us, it was a constant, and it was our way.
My mother, Janet, not standing much taller than my Grandma, at five foot one, inspired my love for cooking many years ago. I knew she meant business every evening as she walked in the kitchen, tied that old, white apron around her waist and gathered her ingredients. I would watch her from the living room or from the doorway to the kitchen. She concentrated on each thing she did, sometimes speaking aloud, to herself, each step as she went. I never really knew if she was talking about the food, life, or plans. All I knew is that it was her escape and I wanted in to her utopia. Attentiveness surrounded her as she blew the brown tendrils out of her face because her hands were covered in dough. Sometimes I would see her put the back of her messy hand to her forehead and let out a sigh because she made a small mistake. You would never know it though. It was an art form streaming from her loving hands. The food she produced, the smells she created, the memories etched into my heart. Watching her bake bread, or make lasagna, homemade taco shells, green chili burritos, goulash, she was invincible. I loved watching her cook and I loved eating her creations. All we had to do was look hungry and she was preparing or finding us a snack. I could see it brought joy to her to see us happy, even if it was through food.
Food can be so much more than simply eating to survive. It embodies family rituals and traditions. It takes on a new form when passed down through generations. It joins people together with purpose and meaning. No matter the trial in your life or the current family drama, when we share a meal it is all behind us for a moment. It comforts us to experience a more contented day and to stir up positive reminiscences. No matter what happens in life or with family, those memories of sitting around a table and enjoying a meal are ever-present.
Now that I am grown, my greatest passion is going into the kitchen and preparing a meal, but my greatest joy is watching others enjoy it. Eating with the ones I love seems to bring an indescribable happiness to my life. I now have three children that one day will understand the true passion my family has for food. Each time I place a meal in front of my children and they look up at me and say that I make the best dinner or ask for a second helping, my heart overflows with delight. Now as the smells of fresh baked bread flow through my home, I catch my daughter taking deep breaths through her nostrils, taking in each tantalizing scent, breathing in each memory.
Many things are passed down through families sometimes they are heirlooms or talents. Other times they are inheritances or antiques. The best things to be passed down are memories and passions. Even though they are passed down, does not mean they cannot be shared still. When my mom and I get together, you better believe there is cooking going on. Not only are we cooking for each other now, we are cooking together, learning her old tricks and my new ones. With each generation new things will be added but the premise will be the same. New gadgets will be invented but the love of the work will be the same. Recipes altered and improved, but the conclusion is the same. That conclusion is life, joy, laughter, family, and of course food.

Quit mousin' around

Well, Jerry has done it again. He started something blog-worthy. Ever since he turned three, he has gotten a lot more...let's say...temperamental. Things instantly set him off, he gets mad, he gets real mad. Then he starts whining, but his whine is more of a squeak. Him and Gia start fighting and he starts squeaking. "What is going on?" "Gia took the toy from me" "Who had it first?" "Gia.." "Then it is hers to play with." Here comes the squeaks. "Squeeeaaakkkk, squeaky squeaken squeaker." "What was that Jerry?" "Squeaker squeaky squeaken!" "Jerry, I do not understand you, stop squeaking." "Squeaky squeaky squeaky, SQUEAKY!" "Don't you squeak at me like that mister." "Squeak." "I don't know what you are saying." Then comes the tears and heavy breathing with it. "Squ-ueee-eeakk-kk *gasp*gasp* s-s-que-eeeak *tear*tear* squ *gasp* eea *gasp* eea *gasp* squeak mommy squeak." "Jerry, breath, breath, breath..." *deep breath in and out* "I want the toy." "No." "Squeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaakkkkkkkkkkkyyy"

Um's the word

So I put Jerry to bed and walked across the hall to Gia's room. He opens his door and comes out and I say "Jerry, go back to bed." I get up, take his hand, and lead him back to his bed. He says, "I need you." Okay. "What do you need?" Then he starts. "Umm, umm, umm, mmm...." His eyes start floating around the room. "Umm, mmm, umm, mmmm..." Looking, searching for anything to help out. "Umm, umm, mmmm, mmmm" Eyes racing as fast as they could go now. "Umm, mmm, ummm, ummm, um, um, um, um, um, um, um." Then his eyes rest on his blanket. "Will you fix my blanket?" *sigh* "Yes, Jerry, good night."

Ring-a-round the Rosie Kaleidoscope

So, I was sitting in line at Gia's school waiting to pick her up. Her class and a couple others were outside playing. I love sitting there and watching her play with the other kids, it is so sweet. She usually can be seen with the same girls doing the same thing generally every day. Not this day. This day was different. She walked up to these two girls, one black and one Hispanic. They exchange a few words and then join hands and start playing ring-a-round the rosie. Then they saw there was a pole next to them so they scoot over and join hands around the pole and once again play ring-a-round the rosie. I just sat there smiling, thinking about how beautiful a picture that was. Three little girls, three strangers, three different colors. No prejudices, not even a second thought to play with each other. Just talked one time and can already join hands and be friends. God has given so many wonderful colors, so many wonderful people. About that time the girls did their first "and they all fall down." They scamper back to their feet and start all over again. Boy, was I smiling, what a beautiful picture of pure innocence! Then I see Gia starting to go fast. "Oh, Gia, slow down baby." Then she starts running. "This is not good." And then I see the Hispanic girls body and side of her face hit the pole. The game seized. They all just stood there for a minute. The other two girls joined hands and stepped away from Gia. Words were exchanged, Gia's arms were crossed and off she went. It wasn't hard to see what was said. The other little girls resumed the game. Leave it up to my kid to ram a little girls face into a pole during ring-a-round the rosies.

I.....am.....a......robooooot.

I know it's been a while. I have been wanting to update this but every time I sit down to write, a kid wakes up or starts fighting or whatever but anyway. We have been good. Gia had a little Spring musical at church a couple weeks back. It was the first full length one they did. It was really cute and Mrs. Sarah did a great job. Gia was in the gang of Goliath's. She wore a red bandanna on her head. And she actually stayed on stage which is a huge step for her. She didn't push any one or fight. Jerry was in the sanctuary with us and as soon as everything went quiet after their first song, he yells out "HI GIA!" and she starts waving that arm so frantically at him. Anyway, so the program goes on and besides Jerry's attention grabber, it goes fairly smooth. Then right there at the end, I know Gia was itching to do something weird, because on the very last song, she breaks out in the robot dance. One of our pastors turns around and says, "is she doing the robot?" Yes, sir, she is, and she gets it from her dad. Then Jerry starts busting up laughing and looks at me and says through his giggles, "the robot?" and continues laughing. Where she learned the robot, I do not know, but it was classic Gia to bust it out.

Does your bologna have a first name?

Well, we have embarked on a new chapter in our lives. It is more or less Jerry's new chapter. He is now personifying everything. He will only eat and play with things that are blue or "boy" colored. He came up to me with Gia's apron the other night. The apron is blue....and ruffled and covered in pretty white daisies (see below). He asked me to put this on. I said okay. He says, it's blue, it's a boy one. Oh, ok Jerry, are we just dismissing the ruffles then? It's blue. What about the flowers? It's blue, it's a boy one. So I tied a cute little bow in the back and said have fun. Then last week, JT went to go get donuts for us. He picked out the donuts with multi-colored sprinkles on them for the kids. What kid wouldn't love a fried, circular piece of dough dipped in warm, sugar glaze and then so delicately and asymmetrically covered in colorful, pure sugar, sprinkles? I'll tell you who, a kid who is obsessed with food being gender specific. We set that donut in front of him and takes one look at it, and only sees the pink sprinkles. He completely ignores the fact that there are green, white, yellow and orange sprinkles. He zeroes in on those pink ones and here it comes. "It's a girl donut." Jerry no it isn't, it's a boy one too. He starts throwing his head back and forth, sticks that bottom lip way out, "it's a girl, no, it's a girl one, I want blue." There stands JT, Gia, and I trying to convince another human being that the donut is indeed a boy. Then I stop and say, what are we doing, we are trying to convince him that a DONUT is a boy. Jerry, either eat the inanimate object or don't. Period. It has no gender. So, needless to say, Jerry did not eat breakfast. Who seriously needs convincing to eat a donut. It is not just donuts, it is everything, car seats, plates, cups, toys, etc. He only eats blueberry yogurt, blueberry pop tarts, blueberry cereal bars. I am not even fully convinced he likes the blueberry flavor. He is eating for color, not taste. Could it be, dun dun dun..... Chromatophobia...haha

But Jesus...

So, I was listening to Veggie Tales in the van with the kids and they (the cucumber I think) did the song O How I Love Jesus. The part that says, "It tells me of a Savior's love, who died to set me free; it tells me of his precious blood, the sinner's perfect plea" really stuck out to me, especially the word plea.

When I think of the word plea, I think of my children when they are in trouble and they say, "But mommy" or "yeah, but" or "I know, but." There is always an excuse or explanation for whatever it is. Then I looked up what they word plea means and the definition is, "supplication: a humble request for help from someone in authority " or "An excuse; an apology; That which is alleged or pleaded, in defense."

Then I got to thinking about the lyrics and how Jesus IS the sinner's perfect plea. He is so forgiving and loving that if we confess our sin he is faithful and just to forgive us. No matter what it is, Jesus is there.

I have done terrible things in my past...But Jesus

I called my spouse a name...But Jesus

I lost my temper at my kids...But Jesus

I got caught up in joking at work...But Jesus

I lied to my boss...But Jesus

What if I can't pass this class...But Jesus

What if I don't get promoted...But Jesus

What if I fail...But Jesus

Then I got a sort of mental picture:

As I reach the gates of Heaven and see God in all His brilliance and glory, I walk up to His throne and humbly bow my head and fall to my knees.

God says to me, I AM holy and just and cannot permit sin in Heaven. You have lied, cheated, hated and stole. You have been a blasphemer, slanderer, drunkard, addict, and murderer in your mind.

"But Jesus..."

Enter into thy rest my child.

God is so good. What a great God we serve!

1 Timothy 1:12-15
And I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who hath enabled me, for that he counted me faithful, putting me into the ministry; Who was before a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and injurious: but I obtained mercy, because I did it ignorantly in unbelief. And the grace of our Lord was exceeding abundant with faith and love which is in Christ Jesus. This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief.

And action...

Open curtain

The stage is dark. A spotlight illuminates downstage center. There is a white mini van.

Narrator: It was February 6, 2010. Time: 9:30pm. It was a cold, winter night and this middle class family was just leaving a friends house. They enjoyed a night of fellowship, food, and games. It was time to head home and tuck the kids into bed when in the still of night a conversation broke out.

Jerry: (Place left leg over car seat to extend into Gia's car seat.)

Gia: Jerry, move your leg.

Jerry: (ignore her)

Gia: (Push Jerry' leg) Move your leg, get it off me.

Jerry: No. (Make weird noises to display your disapproval, but eventually move leg back to own car seat)

Gia: Jerry, look at me. How many times did I ask you to move your leg?

Jerry: I'm not talking to you, Gia.

Gia: Jerry, answer me and I'll be nice to you. Four times. Two times on the way there and two times on the way back. Four times.

Jerry: Yeah, four times.

Gia: Four times. (While using your fingers, count to four on your forehead) One, two, three, four.

Jerry: (Roll eyes).

Close curtain.

It's been a while

I know it has been a while since I posted. We have been having one sickness after the other. First Sophia had the flu, then she had pink eye. This week she had a sinus infection and Gia had strep throat! It is never ending.

Gia and the other kids did a little song last Sunday night as a preview for their upcoming program this spring. It was very cute. Gia started out by singing really really really loud and the little girl next to her covered her mouth twice. Gia then spotted JT in the back, gave him a thumbs up and did some weird monkey dance. She realized what she did and covered her mouth and started giggling and continued giggling until the song was over and it was all quiet and all you could hear was her...giggling. She is such a goof ball but I would not have her any other way. I can't wait for the program. Mrs. Sarah is a brave and patient woman to do this with the children.

Instant vs. cook and serve

Yes, I am talking about pudding. Only because I recently got a box of cook and serve by accident when I needed instant. So, I thought I would make it one night for the kids to eat. First of all, who wouldn't want pudding in an instant. You can't beat instant anything. Pudding is not that great of a treat that I should have to stand over a hot stove for it. So there I am reading the directions and it says to pour mix into 2 cups milk and bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Serve warm or cold. Sounds easy enough right? How about the fact that they don't tell you how long to boil or stir. It does not have that bit of information, I know, because I dug the box out of the garbage wondering if I missed it. So, I used my best judgement. When boiling bubbles of hot, molten, magma pudding started shooting out of the pan, I figured it was good. I didn't want another strawberry jam situation. How is cook and serve still on the shelves? Hey, cook and serve, welcome to 2010, everything is instant.

What's all the stink about?

So a few days ago I went into Jerry's room to wake him to go pick Gia up from school. I walked in his room and instantly had the smell hit me. "Eww, Jerry did you go poop?" I look over there and he is leaning against his bed, he obviously did not take a nap. As I walk across his room to go get a diaper to change him, he says "It's under there." Excuse me, what's under there? "Poop...is under there." I glance quickly at his spongebob rug and see an obvious bump in in it. "Jerry, no you didn't!" I pulled back the rug and lo and behold there it was, his dingle berries, placed under his rug. I asked him, "Jerry, why did you put your poop under your rug?" His response, and one hard to argue with, "Because it was in my butt." The thing that got me is that his poop wasn't just tossed under there to get rid of it, it looked as though it was intricately placed under his rug. It looked like Stonehenge was constructed under there. The only difference is I can precisely date this architectural structure back to the time and place as well as the person responsible. Moral of the story: You can't sweep your problems under the rug.

I'm afraid it's true

People are afraid of a lot of weird stuff out there. Aerophobia is the fear of swallowing air. Epistemophobia is the fear of knowledge (this must be a growing epidemic). Anthrophobia is the fear of flowers. Whatever the fear is there is some weird word that ends with phobia to back it up and tell you its okay, it has a medical name. But there is one that has entered our home. Paedophobia...the fear of babies. I am not doctor by any means but since the word phobia is linked to anything imaginable, I will go ahead and diagnose Jerry with paedophobia. Now, when Sophia was immobile he was fine. So, maybe I am diagnosing it wrong. He is afraid of a mobile baby. Might have to check the books (aka: google) on that one. Ever since she started crawling he has been a nervous wreck. He thinks she's after his toys and inevitably him. So, when that 15 pounds of pure fury started crawling towards him he would make a strange noise, somewhat like this, "Uh, uh, uh, uh" and scramble to get away from her. He'd gather up all his toys and move to the couch or ottoman where he was out of reach, where he was safe. Or so he thought. Little did he know that within months of crawling, she would start pulling up on stuff such as the couch and ottoman. So now when she is crawling over to him, he grabs his toys and jumps up on the couch. As she crawls over to the couch where he is sitting looking down at her, he thinks all is okay. He has reached a safe haven. She reaches the couch, lifts he hands up and grips the material. He never imagined it would come to this. She pulls with all her might. Jerry pushes himself back against the couch as far as he can go watching in disbelief. She straightens her legs, she is up, looking him in the eyes, as if to say, Go ahead, make your move. Jerry searches the room for me while making the sound, Uh, uh, uh, uh. He grabs his toys, jumps off the couch, runs to his room and shuts the door. Little does he know in less than a year she'll be opening that very door. I do not know why he gets so nervous around her. I was helping Gia get ready for school yesterday when I heard Jerry calling "Mommy, help me, come here mommy, mommy, mommy" I go out there and he is up on a kitchen chair, with one shoe off, holding it up in the air. And Sophia standing up by the chair just looking up at him. I was like Jerry what are you going to do with that shoe, she's a baby not a mouse. I guess she is kind of intimidating. :-)