Papoe

Deceiving smiles and sunshine

That smile is deceiving. That smile is hiding the words that she can't fully form yet. That smile wants to say things like, I don't care that you just gave me a bath. When you turn your back I'm going to grab another handful of grits and massage it into my hair. Then I'm going to push the bowl off the high chair and laugh. After you wipe me down, I'm going to run over and sit on Aja because you told me not to. 

She is the perfect combination of two halves: Khary and myself. He likes to poke and prod in the name of fun and I have a stubborn streak a mile long. And then there's the fact that she's a girl. Some mornings she makes me want to cover her in kisses. Other mornings I wish that I could find a way to annoy her as much as she annoys me. Should I hide her toys? Should I take her grits and rub it in her face before she gets a chance? It would be childish, I know. But it would feel so GOOD. The problem is that she's not even two yet, so she wouldn't understand what I was trying to do. So instead, I ignore her. Come to think of it, I used to ignore my own mother when we butted heads.

All that mother/daughter love talk is funny and inspiring, right? Well, maybe not. But I have been fortunate enough to be bestowed with a Sunshine Award by Cassiopeiachats for being funny and inspiring. She writes, "Your blog is so funny, and your personal story with your baby brings sunshine and hope into the lives of your readers. You deserve it."

I am honored to be given this award. After first finding my blog, Cassiopeia read the article I wrote for Mamapedia about Aja's birth and asked that I write a guest post for her. I am currently updating it, since much has changed in regards to Aja's development (all good!). I will let you dear readers know when the new post is up and ready. I have not thought of our story in terms of inspiration for others. I am certainly glad that it is an unintended result. For us, it's just the story of our baby girl. And so, here is my award:

  A stipulation of this award is to pass this on to others, which I will certainly do, but it will take a little time. The human food tornado is singing in her crib, which means that my quiet moment will soon end. I am currently watching the World Cup so maybe if I turn the sound up I can drown her out with the buzz of vuvuzelas. Her song is really great though. So I just may listen to her a little while longer.

Apples of Goodwill

There are various treasures hidden amongst everyday items in my apartment building. And by treasures, I mean absolute crap—the kind that you wouldn’t want your coworker, much less your own family member to know that you have hidden underneath the bed. I am not speaking about my own crap. My crap is periodically discarded to the Goodwill in an effort to get organized (I’m still waiting for the organization to remain a habit). The crap I’m talking about is that of my neighbors.

We are fortunate (I suppose) to have an area in our garage designated for those items that we wish to rid from our homes, but think could be useful to others. There is a sign on the wall that states the obvious: “Do not leave unusable items in this space.” The problem is that I have yet to see many things that people would want to take back upstairs. In fact, I’ve never seen anyone putting their used items in this garbage heap, which leads me to believe that they bring it downstairs under the cover of darkness.  

Prior to living in our apartment, I never thought much about other people’s things. I usually changed the channel anytime Oprah decided to focus on hoarders. But that had more to do with her perceived empathy, as though she and the woman living beneath 100 pounds of newspaper and dirty dishes were one and the same. Now I find it so interesting. There’s a collection of cheap wrapping paper, fake china dishes, baskets, vacuums, stereos and DVD’s. One day there was one sneaker.

Periodically the area is cleaned out or stylized. Recently, a table and four chairs were displayed like a makeshift dining area, complete with throw rug, plates, cups, and assorted accoutrements of the kitchen. One thing that remained for weeks was a small bowl full of fake cherries, which Jocelyn called apples. Each time we waited for the elevator she would look over, point, and yell, “apples!” I decided to turn this collection of the unused into a game of I-Spy. I-Spy a bed frame, I-Spy a salt shaker, I-Spy a cowboy hat.

Do the neighbors’ remainders say something about the owners? Or should we assume that they are just extra items that should be shared? Someone thought, I have an extra mattress and copy of Jane Fonda’s Complete Workout and Stress Reduction and I really think someone else will find enormous pleasure from a nice abdomen stretch in bed. Had I collected all of the items for my own use I probably could have furnished our entire apartment. Mind you, I wouldn’t want to live here anymore. I would miss the I-Spy games though.

Do you have items that you would put in a reusable pit? Are they currently hidden from sight out of pure embarrassment? Are you a “cover of darkness” recycler?

Today is July 12th which means it is the last day to vote for papoe for funniest blog in the 2010 BlogLuxe Awards! 

Click here to vote for me!

I feel very fortunate that people are not only voting for me, but that new visitors are coming to check me out and test the quality of my funny bone. Thank you all. It really means a lot.  For the newbies, you can read a little synopsis of papoe, how it came to be, and who the players are on my About page. And then feel free to look around. The post that is my (current) personal favorite is A letter to my girls on this special day. But they're all good. My mama told me so, so it must be true.

I wouldn't have it any other way

I have a guest post today over at {Not Quite} Susie. Hers is a really great blog; so when you stop by, look around a bit. I’m not just saying that because she thinks I’m funny, but it helps. My post is everything that a post should be—I talk about renewed vows, moles, restaurants, and Beth-a-ho’s. Khary read it last week and afterward we had the following exchange:

KB: You’re crazy.

Me: Well, you married me.

KB: I wouldn’t have it any other way.

French bakeries and other disasters

Reasoning with a two year old is like trying to order a croissant at a French bakery in Paris. That may not be the best analogy except that I tried to order a croissant at a French bakery in Paris and, speaking no French, began a war of unintelligible utterances with the clerk. She may have understood me but she sure as hell wasn’t going to give me the benefit of the doubt. I should clarify that Jocelyn is a month shy of two, so perhaps she’ll learn about analysis and even be able to spot a fallacy by the time her birthday rolls around. But as of right now she is just defiant through and through.

This little toddler of mine spent last night practicing the art of the indoor tornado. She started by rearranging the spice drawer, moved on to where we keep the utensils and tried to get her hands on a steak knife (I know I know, knives are only toys for babies if they are part of a circus act) and then she scattered a box of crackers over her stuffed animals like confetti. You may think that I wasn’t present during all of these interactions. I was right here—or there if you want to get grammatical—tending to her last mess, or feeding the baby. But she’s a quick one, that girl. And just when my guard went down she darted out and pulled the books off the bookshelf. This went on until she decided to relax in the rocker. So I turned my back to scoot Aja out from underneath the couch (where she had rolled), only to be startled by a large thud. Standing and rocking on a rocker ends only one way: disaster.

It wasn’t really disastrous, but she did fall backwards. She popped up and looked at me, a little stunned. I ran over to check on her and she immediately said, “Shake it off.” That’s my girl. Rub some dirt on it. But stay the hell off the furniture. And stop trying to sit on your sister while you’re at it.

There are a few things I noticed this week:

Elmo gets email that is really video because he can’t read, but he knows what a paleontologist is. I find that odd.

If there’s a piece of paper on the floor, Aja will roll over and shove it in her mouth. She would roll down the hall and into the bathroom if she realized that the sports page was next to the toilet.

I think Aja farts more than the average 10 month old. I don’t think I can prove that as fact but she farted when I started writing about Elmo and I think the room shook. And she’s farting again.

Animal farms are full of large animals that are not as cute in person. My girls are (apparently) city girls.

I need to revisit the idea of childproofing. I’m thinking of creating a padded room.  When they let me out of the room I’m hoping that the girls have learned how to do dishes.