week 7// you are my wild
I loved the collection this week! So many stories! This seems to be the most narrative Tuesday yet. And I do love a story. >>> click here to see the others' <<<
Hope you all have a wonderful (wild) week also...
pasta & a pelvic
Neve and I are at the grocery store this afternoon and bam!- standing in front of floor-to-ceiling boxes of pasta is the OB/GYN who birthed both my children. I haven't seen him in 5 years at least. He is dressed in a suit, his hair is still slicked back, and he is inspecting that box of pasta with the same serious furrowed brow I remember from more personal inspections years ago. In fact, that's the only part of him I remember, as I recall that being the only part of him I could see during delivery >>> my belly, my knees, the end of the bed, Dr. Sillvan's forehead and brow, baby. In that order.
Me, approaching him: "Look Neve, here's the doctor who brought you into the world!"
Dr. Sillvan: "Hello." (courtesy smile and then back to box)
I realize that my brief introduction was pointless anyway, as Neve is inspecting a bag of chips 10 feet behind me.
The aisle seemed to have quickly and temporarily filled with other shoppers and their carts, and I am wedged between a basket of coconut water and Dr. Sillvan. It's only a bit more awkward than before (you know, that time, 2 seconds earlier, when he courtesy-smiled at me when I introduced him to a human being he pulled into existence?), but nothing I can't handle. I'm hopeful that the old woman to my right will expedite her decision between the two boxed soups she's holding and allow me to escape from the mild to moderate discomfort of this whole scenario.
I should've known better... what doctor wants to make small talk at a grocery store with every yahoo they've given a pelvic exam? Statistically speaking, we're less than a mile away from the hospital and his practice, so he could've easily pulled more babies from other ladies who are standing in that very grocery store for all I know. You don't see all those ladies talking to him. Further more, if he was a plastic surgeon, would I have stopped and reintroduced him to my fake boobs? I don't know. Maybe.
Neve is now squeezing through the carts to catch up to me who is still at a stand-still somewhere between pasta, coconut water, and brow.
She reaches my cart and says (loud enough for all to hear), "What did you say, mom? Who? What doctor?"
I'm now forced to revisit the world's most uncomfortable introduction once more. He looked up from his box and then down to her.
Me: "Neve... this, this is the doctor that delivered you... who, you know, the one at the hospital... when you were born..."
Neve: "Oh."
Dr. Sillvan, expressionless: "Hi. You don't remember me, do you?"
Neve: (shaking her head no) "Mom? Can we buy these chips?"
Me: "No. Put them back." I try backing my cart up, but I am still very much cornered. I look at him again, and then he looks up at me.
Dr. Sillvan: "Do you want to get by?"
Me: "Um, yes, if you don't mind. I just have to... wait... okay, here she comes."
Dr. Sillvan turns his body to the side and courtesy-smiled us past him.
Because I have some sort of non-filtration issue with my mouth (a non medical diagnosis), I can't not say something to him. Why must I say something again?
Me, in an almost whisper: "Have a great day. And thank you."
Thank you? Thank YOU? For what? For the baby part or letting me pass you on the pasta aisle part? Shut UP, Dera. He doesn't care about you... he doesn't even remember you. Let this be a lesson, Stupid. Don't thank people all breezy-like for delivering your children. You don't matter. Let him alone with his stupid pasta.
Just as I'm about to round the aisle corner, Dr. Sillvan says, "Tell Fiona I said hello."
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Me, approaching him: "Look Neve, here's the doctor who brought you into the world!"
Dr. Sillvan: "Hello." (courtesy smile and then back to box)
I realize that my brief introduction was pointless anyway, as Neve is inspecting a bag of chips 10 feet behind me.
The aisle seemed to have quickly and temporarily filled with other shoppers and their carts, and I am wedged between a basket of coconut water and Dr. Sillvan. It's only a bit more awkward than before (you know, that time, 2 seconds earlier, when he courtesy-smiled at me when I introduced him to a human being he pulled into existence?), but nothing I can't handle. I'm hopeful that the old woman to my right will expedite her decision between the two boxed soups she's holding and allow me to escape from the mild to moderate discomfort of this whole scenario.
I should've known better... what doctor wants to make small talk at a grocery store with every yahoo they've given a pelvic exam? Statistically speaking, we're less than a mile away from the hospital and his practice, so he could've easily pulled more babies from other ladies who are standing in that very grocery store for all I know. You don't see all those ladies talking to him. Further more, if he was a plastic surgeon, would I have stopped and reintroduced him to my fake boobs? I don't know. Maybe.
Neve is now squeezing through the carts to catch up to me who is still at a stand-still somewhere between pasta, coconut water, and brow.
She reaches my cart and says (loud enough for all to hear), "What did you say, mom? Who? What doctor?"
I'm now forced to revisit the world's most uncomfortable introduction once more. He looked up from his box and then down to her.
Me: "Neve... this, this is the doctor that delivered you... who, you know, the one at the hospital... when you were born..."
Neve: "Oh."
Dr. Sillvan, expressionless: "Hi. You don't remember me, do you?"
Neve: (shaking her head no) "Mom? Can we buy these chips?"
Me: "No. Put them back." I try backing my cart up, but I am still very much cornered. I look at him again, and then he looks up at me.
Dr. Sillvan: "Do you want to get by?"
Me: "Um, yes, if you don't mind. I just have to... wait... okay, here she comes."
Dr. Sillvan turns his body to the side and courtesy-smiled us past him.
Because I have some sort of non-filtration issue with my mouth (a non medical diagnosis), I can't not say something to him. Why must I say something again?
Me, in an almost whisper: "Have a great day. And thank you."
Thank you? Thank YOU? For what? For the baby part or letting me pass you on the pasta aisle part? Shut UP, Dera. He doesn't care about you... he doesn't even remember you. Let this be a lesson, Stupid. Don't thank people all breezy-like for delivering your children. You don't matter. Let him alone with his stupid pasta.
Just as I'm about to round the aisle corner, Dr. Sillvan says, "Tell Fiona I said hello."
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happenings and lessons
We had a good week.
* There were after school adventures involving garden & barn trespassing, tree climbing, ice cream eating, and even the holding of a baby goat. It was a 32 hour old goat, ya'll. Knees were knocking and he had to take a nap every 2 minutes to recover from being alive. A NEW goat. Man, there's nothing cuter. I was too busy making cooing noises and changing nursing pads to take a photo though.
* Work has been busy, but good as we're gearing up for spring. If you're so inclined, check out my friend's store, seed factory, here. We'll be updating the online shop more this week. (And follow us on instagram- @seedfactory).
* We also had good friends (sportweasel) over for dinner and drinks. The highlight that night was going upstairs to check on the kids...
I take my last step up the last stair and I hear Joni Mitchell playing at full volume. It's already funny. As I turn the corner to peer in (they can't hear me because Joni is in one of her full on cat-in-heat moments), I see a brightly lit bedroom. Like every lamp and overhead light is turned on. Neve is fast asleep, mouth agape, on the bottom bunk. Their son, Mike, is sitting across from Fiona at their small homework table. He is talking to Fi, although I couldn't make out what he was saying because, again, the Joni moment is still in full effect. I really hope he was talking her ear off about skateboard ramps and video games and whatever other things boys love that bore little girls. Fiona has her head bent down over some project. As I get closer, I see she is papier machéing a volcano. Because really, is it ever a bad time to start a papier maché volcano? Yes actually. This would be a bad time to papier maché a volcano. Nothing says "I don't care that you're here" more than starting a papier mache project when your friend has just come in from out of town for a visit. And then blaring Joni Mitchell while he's trying to talk? The ultimate middle finger.
So I poke my head in and say, "hey guys". Mike jumps up, out of his chair, and politely but quickly explains in 9 year old language that he is in no way responsible for the noises coming from the speakers. Fiona doesn't even look up. She is fully immersed. Having a moment of sorts. And for not upending the table or falling asleep on the top bunk, he is such a good friend.
Later, I thought I overheard Terry explaining how to be more considerate towards our guests. Instead he dove right into the greater life lesson to be learned,
"Fiona, Joni Mitchell is private music. We don't really listen to that when other people are in the room."
* And let that be a lesson for all of us. May your week be filled with adventures and good deeds, good food and giggles, papier maché volcanoes and Joni Mitchell. But only a little and then close it up tight and goodnight.
week 6// you are my wild
So I missed week 5. I was too sick. But that only made me more excited about week 6.
The day before the sickness storm hit, the most beautiful Nor'Easter storm hit. Like the true southerners that I'm finally able to admit that we are, we get giddy at a light dusting. So to experience true snow, the kind that you sink into as you walk, the kind that penetrates our sad southerner clothing within seconds, the kind that you can actually enjoy with a proper sled (or cookie sheet in a pinch)... well, it made my family very happy.
After some sledding (and slipping around in our treadless shoes), we came indoors and drank cocoa and played with toys and decorated cardboard boxes from the inside out. I'm so grateful we had a chance to experience it. (And I'm equally grateful to have come home to 70 degree weather.)
I sure miss that snowy backdrop.
one more from the archives: i love my little bananas
I don't know if you can tell, but the last two clips were from a couple of months ago, and their faces were filthy. I can't remember why either. The first clip was from this morning. This is proof that Neve is crazy. This is a very common sort of exchange we share on a daily basis.
Message to the grandparents: the kid wants a horse!
a favorite from the archives: "just when you thought it was safe to give away the dog"
I forgot to move the dining room table in front of fridge before leaving the house. Why would I have to do this, you may ask? Because we have the breed of dog that is incredibly smart, but uses his powers for food. Good food, not dog food. And this makes him evil.
I came home to an open fridge door, the remains of a Hebrew National package licked clean into the corner of the dining room (he's kosher), an empty container of chicken salad upside down, and an array of licked portabello mushrooms on the floor in front of the open fridge door, pulled from the beef stew I made in advance for dinner that night (a subtle suggestion for future stews.)
I was mad. I was Ispent$200atthegrocerystore2daysagoandyoucouldhaveatleastclosedthedoorwhenyouweredone
kind of mad.
I might have yelled. I might have said something to the effect of "pack your bags, you stupid hound, you're going to the big farm in the sky". Fiona might have been old enough to understand that I meant doggie heaven. It might have given her a 6 year old panic attack.
Me: "Sorry, Fiona. I'm mad, but you know I'm not going to give him away. Don't worry- for better or for worse, and all that blah, blah, blah..."
Fiona: (chuckling) "Mom, what would you do if Dad dies?"
Me: "Oh. What? Why would you say that?"
Fiona: "Really. What would you do?"
Me: "Well, I'd be sad. And let's not talk about that, alright?"
Fiona: (holding back laughter) "What would you do if ME and Dad died?"
Me: "Okay. What? Why? And are you laughing?"
Fiona: "Wait. What would you do if NEVE, me, and Daddy... if we ALL died?"
Me: "Alright. That's enough! You wanna know what I'd do? I'd be really sad, and I wouldn't know what to do with myself, and now- from here on out- this will never be talked about in our house again. And wipe that sick smirk off your face!"
Thinking: "I mean, what? I'm scraping portobello mushrooms off the floor. Let's not compound the situation with the fear that I have a 6 year old sociopathic daughter. Please?"
Fiona: "Mom?"
Me: cautiously, "Yes?"
Fiona: (full on laugh now) "You know what you'd do? It would just be you and Banjo, and you'd do this:
(mocking me in the ugliest voice, and I could swear I remember her impersonation involved me with a hunchback) 'Banjo! You're a bad dog! You ate all my soup!'
(doubled over laughing), "But you'd be glad you didn't give him away, right?"
Me: "Uh huh."
I'm terrified, I'm impressed, I'm humbled, and I'm laughing. Hooray for motherhood!
I came home to an open fridge door, the remains of a Hebrew National package licked clean into the corner of the dining room (he's kosher), an empty container of chicken salad upside down, and an array of licked portabello mushrooms on the floor in front of the open fridge door, pulled from the beef stew I made in advance for dinner that night (a subtle suggestion for future stews.)
I was mad. I was Ispent$200atthegrocerystore2daysagoandyoucouldhaveatleastclosedthedoorwhenyouweredone
kind of mad.
I might have yelled. I might have said something to the effect of "pack your bags, you stupid hound, you're going to the big farm in the sky". Fiona might have been old enough to understand that I meant doggie heaven. It might have given her a 6 year old panic attack.
Me: "Sorry, Fiona. I'm mad, but you know I'm not going to give him away. Don't worry- for better or for worse, and all that blah, blah, blah..."
{horror film chills in 5...4...3..2...}
Fiona: (chuckling) "Mom, what would you do if Dad dies?"
Me: "Oh. What? Why would you say that?"
Fiona: "Really. What would you do?"
Me: "Well, I'd be sad. And let's not talk about that, alright?"
Fiona: (holding back laughter) "What would you do if ME and Dad died?"
Me: "Okay. What? Why? And are you laughing?"
Fiona: "Wait. What would you do if NEVE, me, and Daddy... if we ALL died?"
Me: "Alright. That's enough! You wanna know what I'd do? I'd be really sad, and I wouldn't know what to do with myself, and now- from here on out- this will never be talked about in our house again. And wipe that sick smirk off your face!"
Thinking: "I mean, what? I'm scraping portobello mushrooms off the floor. Let's not compound the situation with the fear that I have a 6 year old sociopathic daughter. Please?"
Fiona: "Mom?"
Me: cautiously, "Yes?"
Fiona: (full on laugh now) "You know what you'd do? It would just be you and Banjo, and you'd do this:
(mocking me in the ugliest voice, and I could swear I remember her impersonation involved me with a hunchback) 'Banjo! You're a bad dog! You ate all my soup!'
(doubled over laughing), "But you'd be glad you didn't give him away, right?"
Me: "Uh huh."
I'm terrified, I'm impressed, I'm humbled, and I'm laughing. Hooray for motherhood!
northeast travels
We've just come home from a trip to New Jersey and New York. We visited my friend, Charise, and met her two beautiful chubby babies. We stayed in her amazing home (whose renovation happened to be designed by Charise herself). There was snow! There was a Knicks game at Madison Square Garden. There was good food shared. There were cardboard creations and giggles. There was a wedding at St. Patrick's cathedral. There was my brother, Joey, my cousin, Josh, and the shiniest kid, Caitlin (not pictured here). There were obligatory toys bought at FAO Schwarz. There was the Museum of Natural History and coffee dates with Daddy at the Ace. There were bathrooms with amazing wallpaper. There were train rides. There was sledding. It ended with a spell of sickness, but now that everyone is feeling better I can appreciate all the fun that was had.
Thank you, Ascioti Family, for being the most gracious hospitable hosts. xoxo, The White's.
week 4 // you are my wild
This week:
The cold rolled in and we spent most of our time indoors. Neve was a good sport, and she let me photograph her while she set up a fort under her bunk. Here, she is listening to her sister give her detailed instructions for how it should look. They also made little stop motion animations (I am not permitted to post these until they are completely finished, they say...), and they began planning their valentines.
We leave for a little vacation this Thursday afternoon to New York City, New Jersey, and Brooklyn. We are visiting dear friends with children that I'm ashamed to admit we've not met yet. (I can't wait to hold those babies!!!) And then my brother's birthday was yesterday. I hope to do a little celebrating with him when we visit in a few days. (Happy birthday, Joey. Your nieces have big plans in store for you and that city...) This trip is kind of a big deal for the girls because they have no memory of NYC. Fiona was only 2 when we last visited, and as Neve put it the other day, "I'm so excited to go because the last time we went I was inside your tummy. And I couldn't see much from in there."
That sums up our week here. Check out the others' here. It's my favorite Tuesday yet.
get a job, hippie!
*what you are about to read is in no way an example of good parenting or rational thinking, but it is honest.
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FRIDAY AFTERNOON:
Me: "Okay. Tell me."
Fiona: "I went bankrupt in school..."
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{ the back story}
About 2 weeks ago, Fiona's third grade class began a study on money and economics. Her teacher rations out a starting allowance of $12 in Monopoly money to each student, as well as class guidelines.
They have to pay rent, taxes, and utilities, and they will be assigned a different job every week so as to earn money. In the meantime, they are free to buy and sell whatever they'd like between themselves. They have to pay the teacher $1 if they are late to school, or if they are naughty, or if they did not complete their homework the night before. This is obviously in an effort to teach them the value of a dollar and the consequences that go along with irresponsible spending.
My first thought upon hearing this was, "This is only teaching children that being rich is the goal in life. These kids are too young to understand that there's more to life than being wealthy."
You will soon find out just how inaccurate that thought was. Or at least in the case of my child.
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Fiona: "... BUT Lucy and Anna were so nice and gave me a dollar. So I couldn't pay my rent, but at least I didn't get bankrupt."
Me: "How did you go bankrupt? The guidelines said that you can only lose money if you are late to school, not behaving in school, or you didn't finish your homework. So which of those were you?"
Fiona: "Mom! None! I had to pay my bills, and then the 'apples' happened."
Me: "What 'apples' happened?"
Fiona: "Well, Jack brought a bag of apples for snack. I didn't want my pbj, so I asked him if I could buy his apples from him. He said 'sure- for $3!'. I had just paid my other bills, so I only had $4 left. I forgot I still had to pay my rent..."
Me: "How much is rent?"
Fiona: "$2."
Me: "And did you say yes to Jack? Did you give him $3?"
Fiona: "Well, I paused to do math in my head, but he threw the bag of apples at me and said, 'no give-backs!'"
{I am a nervous Nellie at this point in the story. I admit that I may have been projecting somewhat, but this whole run down of her afternoon and Jack's apples had me on the edge of my seat. More anxiety than a night of back-to-back episodes of Breaking Bad. So many bad decisions! What will the neighbors think if they find out you almost went bankrupt?!}
Me: "So what did you say? He can't do that... if this is supposed to mimic real adult life, that wouldn't work. I can't just tell the lady at Tiffany's that I like the necklace and then she throws it at me and yells, 'NO GIVE-BACKS! GIVE ME $2000!'"
Fiona: "I know! I told him I couldn't give him $3 because I still had to pay my rent. But then he pulls Riley to our table and tells me that Riley is his lawyer!"
{What in the....???}
Me: "Whoa, whoa. Riley as a lawyer is ridiculous. Do you have a lawyer?"
Fiona: "I think you have to pay lawyers... I still have to pay my rent, remember?"
Me: "This isn't fair, Fiona! If everything you're saying is exactly right and just as it happened, that's not fair... so, did you pay him or not?!"
Fiona: "Yes, I had to. His lawyer said that '5 out of 5 3rd grade teachers say I have to pay Jack for his apples. It was an impulsive purchase and I have to pay him.'"
Me: "I'm speechless, Fi. You're telling me... this kid Jack just grabs a lawyer, the lawyer then leaves the snack table, consults every 3rd grade teacher at your school in that time, and makes it back to your table before the end of snack? I don't buy it. And you did as he said? He lied! He's a bully! You should have fought him! Did your teacher really say you had to pay him?!"
Fiona: "Yes. It was an 'impulsive purchase'. But I never said yes to him, Mom! I just was doing math in my head! I am bad at math!"
Me: "Oh... no, you're not... it's okay, Fi. And you're sure that this all happened exactly the way you explained it to me?"
{What was I doing? What was I going to do? Have a sit-in on my child's behalf? Chain myself to an overhead projector and chant, "Riley didn't go to law school!"? I had mildly lost my mind at this point. And it was also about that point that it dawned on me that she should have had enough money to cover rent, utilities, taxes, and the most expensive ziploc bag of apples ever. I mean, proportionately speaking. What happened to the paycheck from her job? What was her job for that matter?}
Me: "Wait a minute. What happened to your paycheck? You should have had money for everything- the bills, the apples, even some left over in savings! By the way, what is your job?"
Fiona: "I was part of the cleaning crew. But... everyone who was assigned to be the cleaning crew this week sorta forgot to check the job board that day, so... we didn't get paid."
Me: "So. It's your job to check the job board and do the job, correct? So you missed your first day of work? And you missed a paycheck. Did you get fired?"
Fiona: "No! Not fired! I get a new job next week. I'll check the board then."
Me: "So, do other kids have money? Did they get paid? Did they wake up and go to work? They must have- they gave you money to cover the apples, right?"
Fiona, now smiling: "Yes! Isn't that so nice? And that's how I earned the money that I needed to not get bankrupt."
Me, slight hysteria behind my voice: "Why are you smiling? This isn't a happy ending. You just had $12 a week ago. You couldn't pay all of your bills because you didn't go to your job, you bought apples that cost more than your rent, and today you are homeless. And the only thing that kept you from going bankrupt was the fact that Lucy and Anna (who have a summer home at the beach and labrador retrievers) happened to walk past you, sitting on the sidewalk outside of Target, and they felt sorry for you and each put $1 in your plastic cup. That's not 'earning'! That's charity! And did you buy more apples with the money they gave you?"
Fiona, blinking: "No. I am just bad at math."
And then I looked in the mirror and I was a donkey in a cone hat and bow tie.
_______________________________________________________________________
I admit that there was an adult nerve that was hit that day... one that had zero to do with Fiona, or Jack, or even Riley. It didn't even have to do with the economics study. Just a little case of parent projecting. And yes, I apologized to my daughter (who is not an apple-slice addict). We may have gone to said Target and bought the entire organizational department though. I may have said things like, "we're cleaning things up around here, kids!" I may have made everyone floss their teeth that night.
I blame the coffee.
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