Tippy Toes and Tantrums

It's All Butterflies and Sunshine

Spring is here for at least today, which is nice because it is warm and it makes me to think about plants and gardens, but it doesn't help me think about organizing closets, which is my winter job. I am surrounded by pink paper butterflies that we are making as Valentines cards for all the girls in Clover's class, plus all female teachers too. Just as I thought we were finished with the tracing and cutting, Clover asked why we weren't making one for the director of the school too, which means one more to trace and cut. This weekend we will make the male Valentines, which means even more tracing and cutting. I love Clover's hippie school, I love that all the kids - I'd guess most anyway - are making their cards by hand, but having to make 40 cards (this includes all the specialty teachers too) is a lot of work and a lot of paper.

Having a fresh haircut makes me feel happy today too. It isn't logical, but having long winter hair when it seems like spring would make me feel tired or blah. My hair is now in an a-line bob at least three inches shorter than my former hair length. At home after my cut, when I felt shiny and hip, Clover told me that I looked weird and then followed that up with a stronger "totally weird" as she crinkled her nose. She tried to throw in a complement by saying she loved my hair color because I have brown AND white. I begged her to please stop talking, then I slammed my head on the table until I lost consciousness.

Guess My Ethnicity!

Rocket climbed into my chair as I typed earlier this week and I thought this may be a good time to take a picture with him, especially because we've been looking at old home movies recently and I noticed that since I am almost always the photographer, I am never in any pictures or movies. When I ask Kevin to take a picture of me and the kids, he seems to always zoom in on my back fat or some other unflattering part of my body. Everything else will be out of frame or focus and I will be left asking "Is that really what my chin looks like?"

As I snapped this photo, Rocket grabbed me in a big hug and I squealed in surprise, jolting the camera enough to miss most of us. When I first looked at the photo, I thought I looked Middle Eastern. People have asked me if I am of either Middle Eastern or Hispanic descent and sometimes I can see why they ask. I asked Kevin that night if he thought I looked Middle Eastern (especially next to a pale English-decent looking Rocket - no wonder why people sometimes think I am the kids' nanny) and he assured me that I look stereotypically Italian. Later I wondered what he meant by stereotypically Italian? Is it my nose? (In my nose's defense, this is not a flattering angle for it. Also, my eyebrows were waxed yesterday, so those caterpillars are gone. I am getting my hair cut tonight, so really, what I am saying is this photo looks nothing like me. And Rocket's hair usually looks a little less disheveled.)

All Over but the Heartburn

The Superbowl is not going to be really enjoyable for me until my kids are old enough to shut up and watch the game. We had our usual family party and my kids spent most of the game running around in circles screaming, the problem being that they had to do this in front of the TV. At least they're in good moods, my mom pointed out, but to me, when I am trying to focus on something, screaming is screaming. I spent the last few minutes of the game watching the TV from my office (thank you high def!) because I felt like I was going to vomit from all the tension. When the Giants scored, I ran into the room with my hands up, screaming, as if I had caught the touchdown. I even hoisted Rocket above my head, telling him this was a victory for little brothers everywhere, but Kevin has pointed out that a little brother to an older sister is very different from a little brother to an older brother. Rocket may be the youngest, but he is our oldest boy, which apparently removes the older sibling shadow. One fewer hurdle to overcome in life for Rocket. Does this make him more Peyton Manning and not so much Eli?

Nigella's chocolate caramel crispy cakes were a hit last night and because they contain corn flakes, I am assuming they double as breakfast food. At least that is what I told myself this morning.

I Can Read!

Kevin found an "I can read" ribbon behind our entertainment armoire and he put it on the buffet because - I am giving him the benefit of the doubt - he didn't know what to do with it (and not that he was leaving for me to deal with). Clover came home and found the ribbon before I saw it and awarded it to herself. The ribbon is from Leapfrog and probably came with some old Leappad books, but Clover acted like she had been given an Oscar. She can read, but really we didn't need all the drama that has come with this "award."

"Look at what I earned!" I wracked my brain trying to think who would have given her the ribbon until I realized she found it, but basically wanted me to frame it because she was so proud of her achievement. I can scavenge! is what it should have said.

Today our award winner is in a less celebratory mood. Maybe it was because her brother bit her soon after she woke up. When I reprimanded him and said "Look at your sister's face, you hurt her," he laughed. Clover than carried on about the pain and while I am sure it hurt, there was not a mark anywhere on her, so he must not have bit hard. A few minutes later Kevin asked her to move something and she yelled, "You keep making me feel upset when you tell me something!" I think I am going to avoid her for awhile.

But back to reading...I had pledged to find the time to read more books this year and because I goal-oriented (Kevin would say neurotic), I decided to read two books a month minimum. I exceeded January's goal by mid-month, so then I shifted my reading toward a growing stack of New Yorkers. Now that we are in February, I need to pick up another book or else this resolution will be dropped just like my promise to make sure I take my vitamins every day.

I read Heat, You're Lucky You're Funny and Eat, Pray, Love. I wanted to hate Eat, Pray, Love because, well, I can be kind of a snob about books and once something gets on Oprah and hits mass culture, I kind of get turned off. Anyway, I enjoyed the book. It was a fast read, but fun, even if it was somewhat of a fairytale only available to someone with a huge book advance (the same could be said about Heat).

Heat was also really entertaining and I loved reading about the inside workings of a well known restaurant, but toward the end, when the author focuses less on the action and more on his thoughts, it went dead. For instance when he commands the reader to never use the standard store bought tub of ricotta, I immediately thought that clearly he is not an Italian-American. I realize real, fresh ricotta may be superior, but like Proust's madeleine, the store-bought rubbery ricotta brings back my childhood. During a storm this week I made a sauce that was far more complex than the one my nonnie would make, but adding ricotta to it on my plate transported me back to her dinner table with one bite. It may be low brow, but it is what I like.

I watch Everybody Loves Raymond pretty frequently despite the fact the show ended, which made You're Lucky You're Funny interesting. The book is best for those who like the show or who want to work in television.

Clover's attitude mellowed as I wrote this purely through bribery. Kevin headed off to get French pastries at the farmer's market and I told Clover if she whined, complained or cried about anything, not only would she not get a chocolate croissant, but I would give the entire croissant to her brother. That did the trick.