S is for Sydney Poitier
I'm not sure how many of you are privy to playing board games, but to my disappointment my household abstains from this particular form of family fun. Terry would not be caught dead sitting around the coffee table of our house rolling dice and flipping cards, no matter the circumstance. This, however, is embarrassingly deemed "a very good time" by myself and my children, rain or shine, monday night or saturday night. And despite how much I love board games and how much I love my children, my true heart's desire is to play with Terry (and other adults)- not my anarchist "everyone's a winner" kids.
"Girls, how many times must I explain this to you? If everyone is a winner, everyone is also a LOSER... just admit that Mommy won another game of Win, Lose, or Draw. Next time, try to make your lion look less like a beaver."
Terry does have one exception to his no board game rule, which he makes only a few times a year. We've grown accustomed to playing this one particular game, Scattegories, when we visit his mom on vacation. It's a fun game in and of itself, but it's especially fun when we play this game with his mother's neighbors. Let me tell you about these special people.
They are in the older-ish category (in their 70's), they are a sister/brother roommate situation, they are originally from England, and they are very sarcastic. Like, don't-slip-up-and-say-something-stupid-or-you-are-joke-butt sarcastic. Quite honestly, I'm scared of these two siblings when we play this game. When Joan isn't baking Irish soda bread for my "babes", as she calls them in the softest most endearing way, or giving them old fashioned cracker treats (the ones that you pull apart and candy pops out?), she's kicking my ass in Scattegories and making fun of my second-rate answers. It's like they pull off their sweet neighborly masks and the Hulk Hogan and Diamond Dallas Page of board games appear, body slamming me over and over again. At least with a decent body slam it's over after the bell rings. I'm made fun of for putting TEEPEE down for "Things Found On A Map That Start With The Letter 'T'" for the duration of my visit. Dang. Native Americans are people too, ya'll.
They are very dear to us for many reasons, as Terry and Lani have known them for almost 15 years, and they're called "aunt" and "uncle" by our little girls. But if I dare even think about writing ZOO LANE for the category "Street Names That Begin With The Letter 'Z'", these two (who are not aware of Google's existence) will insist I prove it. Certainly, there's a ZOO LANE somewhere, right? Trust GoogleMap, for pete's sakes! I'm having a hard time recalling my so-called absurd answers, but it never fails- the literary ones come out smarter while the lone simpleton daughter-in-law is singled out for putting JEWELS down for "Things Found In The Ocean That Start With The Letter 'J'". Tell me, how is JACQUES-YVES COUSTEAU is a better answer for that category than the very thing this explorer most likely found on his expeditions? Persnickety nerds, I tell you.
Do you know why Terry enjoys this one board game (in this one particular setting) so much? I'm no fool. I figured it out- it's his one opportunity to puff his Anglo chest. You can practically hear him chanting "Long Live The Queen" under his breath when he's in their company. Everyone with their eye glasses perched on the tips of their noses, gulping their New Castles, tongue-tips curled up onto their upper lips... ok, so now I'm exaggerating (like Italians do, I guess), but can you see the stereotype I'm painting here? Instead of being kind to his slightly more melatonin-loving wife, he points and laughs along with the rest of them. Oh yeah, and my mother-in-law does it too, come to think of it. "Ha, ha, ha! I wrote POSEIDON, Terry wrote POLONIUS, Jack wrote JOHN PROCTOR, Joan wrote PETER PAN, and you wrote... POOH, WINNIE! Bwuah ha ha ha!"
Yesterday, the opportunity to play Scattegories presented itself with Hulk and Diamond again, and so we did. I was careful this time, feeling a bit more sensitive than usual. Last night, I was only accused of being a cry baby once. I opted to choose my answers carefully, going with more obvious answers, and not caring who would have duplicate BILLs for "Boy Names That Start With The Letter 'B'". This time, I'd let someone else take the risks. Someone had to do it. And it wound up being Terry. He was the one with the awkward answers. And it felt so good.
His answers were less dumb, more... distasteful? A few of my favorites:
"Things That Jump And Bounce That Start With The Letter 'T'"- TITTIES.
"Girls, how many times must I explain this to you? If everyone is a winner, everyone is also a LOSER... just admit that Mommy won another game of Win, Lose, or Draw. Next time, try to make your lion look less like a beaver."
Terry does have one exception to his no board game rule, which he makes only a few times a year. We've grown accustomed to playing this one particular game, Scattegories, when we visit his mom on vacation. It's a fun game in and of itself, but it's especially fun when we play this game with his mother's neighbors. Let me tell you about these special people.
They are in the older-ish category (in their 70's), they are a sister/brother roommate situation, they are originally from England, and they are very sarcastic. Like, don't-slip-up-and-say-something-stupid-or-you-are-joke-butt sarcastic. Quite honestly, I'm scared of these two siblings when we play this game. When Joan isn't baking Irish soda bread for my "babes", as she calls them in the softest most endearing way, or giving them old fashioned cracker treats (the ones that you pull apart and candy pops out?), she's kicking my ass in Scattegories and making fun of my second-rate answers. It's like they pull off their sweet neighborly masks and the Hulk Hogan and Diamond Dallas Page of board games appear, body slamming me over and over again. At least with a decent body slam it's over after the bell rings. I'm made fun of for putting TEEPEE down for "Things Found On A Map That Start With The Letter 'T'" for the duration of my visit. Dang. Native Americans are people too, ya'll.
They are very dear to us for many reasons, as Terry and Lani have known them for almost 15 years, and they're called "aunt" and "uncle" by our little girls. But if I dare even think about writing ZOO LANE for the category "Street Names That Begin With The Letter 'Z'", these two (who are not aware of Google's existence) will insist I prove it. Certainly, there's a ZOO LANE somewhere, right? Trust GoogleMap, for pete's sakes! I'm having a hard time recalling my so-called absurd answers, but it never fails- the literary ones come out smarter while the lone simpleton daughter-in-law is singled out for putting JEWELS down for "Things Found In The Ocean That Start With The Letter 'J'". Tell me, how is JACQUES-YVES COUSTEAU is a better answer for that category than the very thing this explorer most likely found on his expeditions? Persnickety nerds, I tell you.
Do you know why Terry enjoys this one board game (in this one particular setting) so much? I'm no fool. I figured it out- it's his one opportunity to puff his Anglo chest. You can practically hear him chanting "Long Live The Queen" under his breath when he's in their company. Everyone with their eye glasses perched on the tips of their noses, gulping their New Castles, tongue-tips curled up onto their upper lips... ok, so now I'm exaggerating (like Italians do, I guess), but can you see the stereotype I'm painting here? Instead of being kind to his slightly more melatonin-loving wife, he points and laughs along with the rest of them. Oh yeah, and my mother-in-law does it too, come to think of it. "Ha, ha, ha! I wrote POSEIDON, Terry wrote POLONIUS, Jack wrote JOHN PROCTOR, Joan wrote PETER PAN, and you wrote... POOH, WINNIE! Bwuah ha ha ha!"
Yesterday, the opportunity to play Scattegories presented itself with Hulk and Diamond again, and so we did. I was careful this time, feeling a bit more sensitive than usual. Last night, I was only accused of being a cry baby once. I opted to choose my answers carefully, going with more obvious answers, and not caring who would have duplicate BILLs for "Boy Names That Start With The Letter 'B'". This time, I'd let someone else take the risks. Someone had to do it. And it wound up being Terry. He was the one with the awkward answers. And it felt so good.
His answers were less dumb, more... distasteful? A few of my favorites:
"Things That Jump And Bounce That Start With The Letter 'T'"- TITTIES.
{silence}
"Terms of Measurement That Start With The Letter 'P'"- PEN-SES.
"He's 13 "pen-ses" tall? Anybody? Technically, anything can be used as a form of measur-..."
"He's 13 "pen-ses" tall? Anybody? Technically, anything can be used as a form of measur-..."
{silence}
"Things That Are Black That Start With The Letter 'S'"- SYDNEY POITIER.
{silence}
"Items In This Room That Start With The Letter 'P'"- PANTS.
"But not for long- 'cause we're playing STRIP SCATTEGORIES, baby!"
"But not for long- 'cause we're playing STRIP SCATTEGORIES, baby!"
{silence, and goodnights}
Your's Truly,
Last night's Scattegories winner, D-Dog.
Your's Truly,
Last night's Scattegories winner, D-Dog.
Casablanca Christmas Part 1
Like it or not, the past 6 Christmases for me have gone like so:
Thanksgiving arrives, and it feels like Thanksgiving- not Christmas. With so much time ahead of me (or so I think), I begin dreaming of grandiose homemade gifts that involve mediums never-before tried. I attempt to inspire the rest of our family to recycle, reuse, regift this year through some caffeine-intoxicated email I write at midnight, as if my veiled attempt to say "we're broke this year, guys" wasn't obvious from the opening paragraph's "Save the planet with us this Christmas- shop at GoodWill!".
Feet propped up on an ottoman every night until two weeks before the big day, it all becomes quite clear that quilts as Christmas gifts needed to be started sooner than December 10th.
Scribbled lists of names of family members with items categorized by theme ("Spa Theme for Mom- pjs, bubble baths and bath salts, eye pillows, and lotions", for example) would probably look identical to last year's procrastinated list and years before, had I saved them. Unlike those few times in college where a burst of creativity bloomed during an all-nighter under the influence of lethal doses of caffeine, typically I am less creative as deadlines approach. Christmas, unfortunately, is no exception.
That one week before Christmas is spent (like every other idiot in Atlanta apparently) racing around stores and shops that I dread going into every other day of the year. But this season's frenzy adds another layer of depth to the shopping experience, one that could make a person agoraphobic. I curse at bad drivers with small ears listening from the backseat. "'Ha ha, kids. Mommy's only kidding!" I make turns into parking spaces so fast that for a second I'm only on 2 wheels. "Try stealing another space from me now, sucker!!!... still kidding, kiddos." I accidentally bump into the heels of shoppers with my shopping cart, receiving the most awful (but deserving) looks from the victims. During that hour, amidst the aisles of boxed stuff that line the shelves of the florescent-lit store, a CrockPot seems to make the most sense. Yes, my brother needs a CrockPot! Scratch him off the list. "Next, kids, help mommy find a Vaporizer for Grandpa." There is no logic in my thinking. I'm just placing medium-sized boxes of whatever that range from $20- $50 into my cart, so that I may cross another name of my uninspired list.
In the whirlwind of CrockPottery and holiday socks, I forget about the precedent I'm setting for the small eyes of interpretation. They watch, they absorb, they want. It's enough to make me wish I was Amish. At least then I'd have no choice- if I don't finish (or start) that quilt for whomever by December 10th, there's no plan-B singing Santa snow globe. Whomever can just wait another year for that amazing heirloom quilt (which also buys me another year to learn how to quilt). My children would see the meaning that comes from real gift giving- thoughtfulness, inspiration, love, and evidence of the giver's time. They themselves would become more excited about the act of giving than the act of receiving.
Luckily, children at ages 5 and 3 are remarkably resilient and surprisingly generous when you least expect it. Despite my holiday anxieties, my children still found the holiday spirit in themselves to make cards and want to help me wrap presents and such. In true mommy fashion, I rarely trust the so-called innocence of children, so I assume they must have been angling for some extra Santa sweetness. But whatever the case, they definitely helped make this season something special.
We celebrated Christmas early with my folks, grandparents, and brother. There was so much thoughtfulness, inspiration, love, and evidence of the givers' time that I have to share that on a separate post. It was a very sweet holiday with them. You won't believe some of the (*shame*) beautiful homemade gifts that were given (and not by me).
(notice Banjo's expression)
And as if that was not wonderful enough, we are fortunate enough to be visiting Terry's mom for the week. It's already been such a fun trip, filled with winning, hilarious, and tender musings to share with you on yet another post. Christmas morning with Grandma Lani was extremely sweet.
Enjoy the remainder of your holiday. Janet and John, congratulations on the best gift this year- Dorothy!
Thanksgiving arrives, and it feels like Thanksgiving- not Christmas. With so much time ahead of me (or so I think), I begin dreaming of grandiose homemade gifts that involve mediums never-before tried. I attempt to inspire the rest of our family to recycle, reuse, regift this year through some caffeine-intoxicated email I write at midnight, as if my veiled attempt to say "we're broke this year, guys" wasn't obvious from the opening paragraph's "Save the planet with us this Christmas- shop at GoodWill!".
Feet propped up on an ottoman every night until two weeks before the big day, it all becomes quite clear that quilts as Christmas gifts needed to be started sooner than December 10th.
Scribbled lists of names of family members with items categorized by theme ("Spa Theme for Mom- pjs, bubble baths and bath salts, eye pillows, and lotions", for example) would probably look identical to last year's procrastinated list and years before, had I saved them. Unlike those few times in college where a burst of creativity bloomed during an all-nighter under the influence of lethal doses of caffeine, typically I am less creative as deadlines approach. Christmas, unfortunately, is no exception.
That one week before Christmas is spent (like every other idiot in Atlanta apparently) racing around stores and shops that I dread going into every other day of the year. But this season's frenzy adds another layer of depth to the shopping experience, one that could make a person agoraphobic. I curse at bad drivers with small ears listening from the backseat. "'Ha ha, kids. Mommy's only kidding!" I make turns into parking spaces so fast that for a second I'm only on 2 wheels. "Try stealing another space from me now, sucker!!!... still kidding, kiddos." I accidentally bump into the heels of shoppers with my shopping cart, receiving the most awful (but deserving) looks from the victims. During that hour, amidst the aisles of boxed stuff that line the shelves of the florescent-lit store, a CrockPot seems to make the most sense. Yes, my brother needs a CrockPot! Scratch him off the list. "Next, kids, help mommy find a Vaporizer for Grandpa." There is no logic in my thinking. I'm just placing medium-sized boxes of whatever that range from $20- $50 into my cart, so that I may cross another name of my uninspired list.
In the whirlwind of CrockPottery and holiday socks, I forget about the precedent I'm setting for the small eyes of interpretation. They watch, they absorb, they want. It's enough to make me wish I was Amish. At least then I'd have no choice- if I don't finish (or start) that quilt for whomever by December 10th, there's no plan-B singing Santa snow globe. Whomever can just wait another year for that amazing heirloom quilt (which also buys me another year to learn how to quilt). My children would see the meaning that comes from real gift giving- thoughtfulness, inspiration, love, and evidence of the giver's time. They themselves would become more excited about the act of giving than the act of receiving.
Luckily, children at ages 5 and 3 are remarkably resilient and surprisingly generous when you least expect it. Despite my holiday anxieties, my children still found the holiday spirit in themselves to make cards and want to help me wrap presents and such. In true mommy fashion, I rarely trust the so-called innocence of children, so I assume they must have been angling for some extra Santa sweetness. But whatever the case, they definitely helped make this season something special.
We celebrated Christmas early with my folks, grandparents, and brother. There was so much thoughtfulness, inspiration, love, and evidence of the givers' time that I have to share that on a separate post. It was a very sweet holiday with them. You won't believe some of the (*shame*) beautiful homemade gifts that were given (and not by me).
(notice Banjo's expression)And as if that was not wonderful enough, we are fortunate enough to be visiting Terry's mom for the week. It's already been such a fun trip, filled with winning, hilarious, and tender musings to share with you on yet another post. Christmas morning with Grandma Lani was extremely sweet.
Enjoy the remainder of your holiday. Janet and John, congratulations on the best gift this year- Dorothy!
Naughty or Nice
"Where does Santa live again?"
"The North Pole."
"Are we going there today?"
"No. We're going to the mall."
"Why is Santa at the mall?"
"I don't know. Sbarro and Urban Outfitters?"
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Does he know everything?"
"I think so. But God more."
"Does he know if I've been good?"
{flashback to earlier that day, and caught on film}
"Yes, (breaking into song), 'You better watch out, You better not-'"
"-um, ok, but will he think I was good enough for presents?"
"Probably not. It's your job to convince him that you deserve presents this year. Why don't you write him a letter?"
"Because I can't spell."
"I'll help you."
"DEAR SANTA,
I WOULD LIKE A BUNNY FAMILY FOR MY DOLL HOUSE. NEVE WANTS A KITTEN FAMILY.
THANK YOU,
FIONA WHITE"
"But I want a My Little Pony set and Hello Kitty dvd."
"Santa says that's too ugly. And you're still not even sure if you've been good enough to get any presents. Better not push your luck."
"Okaaay. (pause) Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"If we buy him a present, will he [be more likely to] bring me presents?"
"We probably shouldn't bribe Santa. When he sees you he'll know if you're one of the good kids or one of the bad kids, with or without gifts for him."
{nervously waiting in line with her letter}
We wait in line with numerous other mothers, a handful of fathers, and even a few grandmothers who've gift-wrapped their children in Christmas decor. My children seemed so plain compared to the enormous bows and sparkly attire that surrounded us. It was quite a scene. But the objective today was to get Santa the letter and feel him out- are we worthy of a stop on Christmas Eve?
{they caught a glimpse of him while waiting their turn}
{practically bursting at the seams, the girls raced over to the man in red. and what a great santa he was! strange, he had an accent that was a bit more lagrange, georgia than north pole...}
{"Mom! He said we were good this year! I told you we were good this year!"}
"The North Pole."
"Are we going there today?"
"No. We're going to the mall."
"Why is Santa at the mall?"
"I don't know. Sbarro and Urban Outfitters?"
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Does he know everything?"
"I think so. But God more."
"Does he know if I've been good?"
{flashback to earlier that day, and caught on film}"-um, ok, but will he think I was good enough for presents?"
"Probably not. It's your job to convince him that you deserve presents this year. Why don't you write him a letter?"
"Because I can't spell."
"I'll help you."
{30 minutes later}
"DEAR SANTA,
I WOULD LIKE A BUNNY FAMILY FOR MY DOLL HOUSE. NEVE WANTS A KITTEN FAMILY.
THANK YOU,
FIONA WHITE"
"But I want a My Little Pony set and Hello Kitty dvd."
"Santa says that's too ugly. And you're still not even sure if you've been good enough to get any presents. Better not push your luck."
"Okaaay. (pause) Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"If we buy him a present, will he [be more likely to] bring me presents?"
"We probably shouldn't bribe Santa. When he sees you he'll know if you're one of the good kids or one of the bad kids, with or without gifts for him."
{quietly bites fingernails on the way to the mall}
{nervously waiting in line with her letter}We wait in line with numerous other mothers, a handful of fathers, and even a few grandmothers who've gift-wrapped their children in Christmas decor. My children seemed so plain compared to the enormous bows and sparkly attire that surrounded us. It was quite a scene. But the objective today was to get Santa the letter and feel him out- are we worthy of a stop on Christmas Eve?
{they caught a glimpse of him while waiting their turn}
{practically bursting at the seams, the girls raced over to the man in red. and what a great santa he was! strange, he had an accent that was a bit more lagrange, georgia than north pole...}
{"Mom! He said we were good this year! I told you we were good this year!"}Theme?
Grateful Mommy!
Even after my resolution to take more photos when it matters, somehow I managed to miss another birthday. A camera, other than that of the birthday girl's mommy, saved the day again:
Lack of photo documentation was not the saddest part of Neve's birthday party. The day was approaching, Grandma Lani was in from out of town, and I had no plans. No invited guests. No cute invitations. No ideas for themes. And no presents. I was in some post-Halloween haze, I recall, hoping that things would just magically happen on their own. And thankfully, magic did happen. I think grandparents seem to know when their help is needed most, swooping in like the superheroes they are, without a groan or a moan, effortlessly executing that which fumbled mothers couldn't pull together. Grandma Lani bought the entire doll department on Amazon.com, saving Terry and I from ever having to buy her anything again. Grandma Ro made the cake(s) and threw an impromptu family-party. My grandma, Nana, provided the delicious food that evening. And aunts, uncles, and cousins finished the evening with gifts and laughs.
Thank you, grandparents, for being the greatest grandparents in the world. So maybe Fiona didn't need a consolation "don't feel bad that it's not your birthday" cake, but that's ok. Mom, you saved the day. And maybe Neve didn't need her 130th singing babydoll, but that's ok. Lani, you saved the day. And maybe we didn't need 3 bathtub-sized pots of grandma's wonderful Italian soup, but that's ok. Grandma, you saved the day. Neve doesn't even know how good she has it, but one day she will.
Winter Boredom
"Hey, Fiona. Check it out. Wanna take your picture with me?"
"Sure!"
"Ok, Fiona. Take your sweater off and pretend to punch me in the nose. PRETEND!"
"That was funny. Now let's look worried."
"Well, don't do- what are you- ... Fiona, that's not funny. That's ugly."
"You think it's funny? How do you like that?"
"Hey, let me pretend to bite your hand. Man, this is SO MUCH FUN!"
"Mom? I don't want to play this anymore."
"Mom? I just want to look pretty. Neve! Come here and look pretty with me."
"But I like being silly, Fiona."
"That's starting to annoy me, Mom."
"Seriously, mom."
"Can you just leave?"
"Ok."
"Ta da! I'm a princess!"
"Fiona, did you call me?"
"Mom, I'll cry if you get in my picture! Please stop?"
"I can't seem to stop, Fiona."
(30 seconds or so pass)
"Hello."
"I know I'm laughing, but I'm so mad, Mommy!"
"Ah ha!"
"Sure!"
"Ok, Fiona. Take your sweater off and pretend to punch me in the nose. PRETEND!"
"That was funny. Now let's look worried."
"Well, don't do- what are you- ... Fiona, that's not funny. That's ugly."
"You think it's funny? How do you like that?"
"Hey, let me pretend to bite your hand. Man, this is SO MUCH FUN!"
"Mom? I don't want to play this anymore."
"Mom? I just want to look pretty. Neve! Come here and look pretty with me."
"But I like being silly, Fiona."
"That's starting to annoy me, Mom."
"Seriously, mom."
"Can you just leave?"
"Ok."
"Ta da! I'm a princess!"
"Fiona, did you call me?"
"Mom, I'll cry if you get in my picture! Please stop?"
"I can't seem to stop, Fiona."
(30 seconds or so pass)
"Hello."
"I know I'm laughing, but I'm so mad, Mommy!"
"Ah ha!"
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