Oh the wonderful things we'll make you do

Lucien flipped someone the bird in math class last week.  He pried his middle finger up out of his clenched fist and said, "I'm going to show you my middle finger now."

He got in trouble and I got a call from the teacher.  She said he didn't seem to know exactly what it meant to flip the bird but he knew it wasn't nice.  I explained the subtle yet loaded sociological meaning of the middle finger to him later that evening and he said, "OK, I'll only use it when I get real mad."

I went out with a friend, Seattle Twin Mom, Saturday night and mentioned the middle finger story.  She told me when she was about Lucien's age, her brother (who is six years older) told her showing your middle finger meant "Have a nice day."  So there sweet little Seattle Twin Mom went, flipping the bird all over her small hometown.  Her mom got a few phone calls from concerned citizens wondering why that cute little girl down the street suddenly turned into a real a**hole.

Alex and I try hard to do fun things with the kids on the weekends.  The kids don't always enjoy our "fun" ideas but they are still dependent and small and semi-portable so don't have much choice in the matter. 

Alex took the kids to a Japanese restaurant for lunch recently, one of those places where food circles the room on a conveyor belt and you have to grab your lunch as it passes by your table.  Lucien and Coco initially thought food whizzing by on a conveyor belt was awesome.  Their enthusiasm fizzled when they realized those containers of mackerel bits and octopus were lunch.

At first she was merely suspicious

 But then the sushi made her sad

So much for Japanese.  Let's try Vietnamese.  We've got a great Vietnamese place down the street from our house so we attempted more food horizon broadening.

We knew it was a failed experiment when Coco started eating plain lettuce

There's one food the kids will never turn down -- crappy U.S. macarons.

I'm not a food snob in general (raised on wiener bean casserole, after all) but there's something about the French macaron that's sacred and holds a very special place in my heart.  I have yet to find a macaron in the U.S. that truly captures what's happening over there in Paris.  Whenever a new French bakery-type place is recommended to me -- seriously, their macarons are the real deal! -- I take a bite and realize it is merely another pale ghostly imitation of the real deal. 

 exactly

The highlight of our most recent macaron attempt was when Lucien pointed to the counter and said, "Look, they have Macklemores!"  It couldn't have been a better fusion of our son's Paris and Seattle lives.

(For those wondering what the hell that meant, Macklemore is a rapper from Seattle)

There's just something off with the texture

There was a Life Sciences exposition at the Pacific Science Center over the weekend.  Lucien is a science-loving kid so we knew he would love it.

Except he didn't.  The brain table, which had real human brains cut in half and reeking of formaldehyde, made him knead his hands nervously and ask to go home. Guess we should stick to bugs and leave people out of it.

The kids are going to start refusing to leave the house with us

It was the most glorious Fall day on Sunday so we pulled out the scooters and went on a nice long walk through our fine city.   We didn't fully take into account Seattle's topography when planning our route.  There are lots of hills up in here.

We realized we weren't going to make it home easily when we saw Lucien, two blocks behind us and trying to scoot up a large San Francisco-style hill, yelling around about hating his scooter a whole, whole lot.  We eventually grabbed both of them by their jackets and began pushing/pulling them home. This would have been manageable except I wore slippery-soled boots.  I would slip while pulling on a kid, lose my grip on the kid, and the kid would start rolling backwards screaming before leaping off his scooter into some bushes.

It's family fun, kids.

Al and I left the kids with a sitter later that afternoon to go watch the Seahawks game at a rowdy Capitol Hill bar.  It was nice to get out together.  The kids were also thrilled because we were far away and no longer inflicting our ideas upon them.

I was reading a local news blog lately.  There was a story about some recent robberies in the C.D., one in particular in which a police helicopter located the burglary suspect hiding on someone's roof.   The following was written in the comments.

"...If it was a random 9pm burglary – then that is a freaky deal. We should all be up in arms and patroling the streets with pick handles.  We really need more detail on this kind of stuff. It makes a huge difference in the perception of risk. If it’s just thug on thug crime – I’m going to be leary of thugs. But if they be bustin into just anybody's house I’m gonna be all hillbilly."

What does it mean to get all hillbilly?  I'm picturing a lot of straw chewing and wearing of tank tops.  Is the idea to confuse burglars until they forget where they are, become disoriented and wander out of the C.D.?  I guess it's worth a try -- yee-haw, y'all.

Hillbilly is a decent idea but an even better way to fight crime is karate.  Lucien's pretty good at karate but Coco has a ferocity about her never before seen in a four-year-old karate novice.  Sure, sometimes she turns a somersault for no dang reason in the middle of the mat but other than that, she gets mean out there.

Hang in there, kids,

MJ

Fabulous

This post is dedicated to things that are fabulous.

 

We. Are. Fabulous.

Hanging out under overpasses, we are fabulous.

Yes.  Still.

Seattle Mom's birthday dinner crashed by two strange men = Fabulous.

(photo by Christina, whom you can find here doing fabulously sexy things)

This next fabulous thing is controversial, judging by how many people told me they hated it last time I wrote about it.  Here goes anyway.

EUROVISION is fabulous --

I planned to throw a Eurovision party every year after our return to the United States.  Unfortunately, our current 900 sq-ft. rental did not suit my big plans.  Next year, hopefully, our living arrangements will be more agreeable.

Instead of throwing a fabulous party this year, I watched the Eurovision finale with two two-year olds --

 They're watching Engelbert Humperdinck sing for the U.K.

Yes, really.

The two-year-olds were enthusiastic fans for thirty seconds, at which point they wandered off to eat Play-Doh and left me dancing to the eurotrash ear bleed by myself.

The Russian entry was fabulous.  They came in second place--


Those grandmothers can really sing a dance tune.  Plus, they bake cookies.  Onstage.  HOW CAN ANYONE HATE EUROVISION WITH COOKIES ONSTAGE?

GAH! 

Sweden won this year.  I did not like the song but it's so horrifyingly catchy I'm still singing it.  Without the benefit of a head full of beautiful dark hair and a wind machine, it doesn't have the same effect in my shower.  I've really got the Karate Kid choreography down pat, though.



Man I miss Europe.  Europe is fabulous.

Banister Abbey is fabulous, too, but a potential problem with the sewer line emerged during our inspection.  We asked the seller to get the sewer cleaned and re-inspected.  He said "no." That was not fabulous.

We decided to pay for the cleaning and re-inspection ourselves.  Al and I were not yet willing to walk away from the house but needed to know what kind of problem we were facing before making our final decision. (Verdict -- not serious enough of a problem to sway us from our course.  Onwards, comrades!)

The rooter man was fabulous with twinkly eyes and a happy smile. He rooted the hell out of that sewer line and eventually cleared the blockage.  He warned me to stand back as he pulled his rooter line back out, saying the line would probably bring up "material."

It brought us some "material," all right.  Condoms.  Lots and lots of condoms.  Banister Abbey may look like a lady, but she's got a wild side.

Which brings me to the seller of Banister Abbey.  He's not our favorite person at present given his reluctance to negotiate anything, but there's no question he's fabulous.  He's a stylish man, oftentimes wearing hats perched at jaunty angles on his head.  He's a football coach -- I won't say where -- in the Seattle area.  Banister Abbey has been in his family for fifty years.  From the work he's already done on the house, we can see he has very good taste.  Thanks to rooter man, we also know he gets laid a lot.  And that is fabulous.

Last but not least, the job of a rooter guy is fabu -- well, I hope the pay is good at least.

Fabulous, ALL OF IT,
MJ

Amorous lizards

Those are our friends over there.  We were walking through Capitol Hill after going out to dinner Friday night.  There was a lot of wine involved, hence the blurriness of the photo.  We love babysitters.

Thanks to your suggestions, posse, our home is now finely coated in baby powder, corn starch, tea tree oil, bay leaves, boric acid and vinegar.  The ant traffic, while not stopped, has slowed.  I'm not sure if it's the ant repellents that are working or the fact I've started piling ant corpses in front of all ant entry points. 

Do you think the ants feel fear when they realize they're entering a house of ant death?  If so, I have a healthy respect for those who press on in their search for Goldfish cracker crumbs.

I was a chaperone for Lucien's field trip to the zoo last week.  Each chaperone was responsible for four kids.  I had to lead my group of four around the zoo, consolidate all their needs and wants into a one-hour visit before meeting up again with the rest of the class for lunch.  It was tricky business because as soon as I asked, "OK, guys, what do you want to see first?" I heard, "TIGER ELEPHANT I WANT A SNACK I HAVE TO PEE."

I realized I'd made a grave error in giving the children any say whatsoever in their zoo experience.  To see anything at all, I was going to have to be a zoo dictator.  I promptly marched them to the flamingos.  The kids were bored but I laughed myself silly because man, what ridiculous looking animals.

 I then took them to see the amorous lizards because I'm a very good chaperone.

I was very protective of "my four." They were superior to the other groups of four because they were mine.  They won me over with their big eyes and their need to hold hands all the time and their calling me "Hey, Lucien's mommy."

 my four, truly flawless Kindergarten specimens

Because I've recently seen The Hunger Games, and because I often confuse movies with reality, I was sure all groups of four were going to be forced into combat at some point.  So while other groups took frivolous spins on the carousel, we trained.  You should have seen little Katie with those nunchucks, she was really something.  Eli excelled at psychological mind games and torture.  Lucien's primary weapon, of course, was his scream, which paralyzed anything within earshot.

There was no battle.  Very disappointing.  Instead, all groups came together in peace to pet this pathetically sad and lifeless goat named Lester --

My favorite part of the field trip was riding the yellow school bus.  It's been a long time since I've been on a school bus.  They still sound, smell, and look exactly the same, right down to the "bodily fluid clean-up kit" hanging over the driver's head.  Didn't you just pity, yet at the same time absolutely despise, any kid unfortunate enough to throw up on your bus when you were little?  Horrifying stuff.

I took Lucien to a birthday party for one of his classmates.  It was there I discovered Lucien has taught his class the French preschooler's favorite taboo phrase -- "caca boudin."  His entire class now regularly breaks out in unison in a caca boudin chant -- caca boudin! caca boudin! caca boudin!  It made me smile, but only after looking frantically around the room for Lucien's Parisian teachers.  Had they been there, they most certainly would have been giving me the stinkeye.

The father sitting next to me noticed my cringe and asked if caca boudin was a bad thing to say?  I assured him no, it was a fine thing to say, especially if he was a fan of poop sausage.


It's Spring Break right now so I have both kids with me all the time.  I survived the first day so am feeling invincible.  The feeling probably won't last.

Caca boudin never surrenders, never dies,
MJ