Piapie

Ten Lines

Guess who has the lead in her class play?  That's right!  My girl.  It is, admittedly, a kindergarten class play about a goat herder and which will probably last 7 minutes from start to finish, but still...she got the lead!  She recognizes that this as something of which to be proud.  She noted that she has ten lines where everyone else has one or two.  She goes on stage first and gets off last.  Her lines are in both English and Mandarin.  It's pretty cool, especially listening to her in bed rehearsing her lines in a language I understand not at all.

Willpower

Willpower.  She's got it.  She's not necessarily willful in the rigid, temper-tantruming terror sort of a way.   In fact, she's more of a go-with-the-flow kind of kid, as many seconds are.  But she does have that "stick to your guns" type of willpower.  The ability to endure or tolerate something in order to achieve a goal. 

Over the past few months I have been discovering and been impressed by this strength of hers.  Most recently we were talking about vaccinations.  She does not cry when being given one.  She doesn't even flinch.  She can even take two or three in a row and not crack under the repeated assault.  I find this remarkable because I am pretty much terrified of needles.  I asked her if vaccinations hurt and she replied that indeed they do  So I then asked her why she doesn't cry when she gets them.  Her answer: "I want to get my treat."

Willpower.  She has more of it than I.  And it will take her places, I am sure of it.

P.S.  I'd give her chocolate brownies after a visit to the pediatrician even if she cried the whole time.  Just don't tell  her that!

Sunday Monday

On this Sunday Monday may we all remember as we play.

Karate Monkey

I think that she was pretending to be a bird but all I can think of is Ralph Macchio as Daniel LaRusso. 

Have a good weekend!

Brighter Banner

I decided that it was time to update my banner to better reflect the season, both of the year and of my life.   I am feeling incredibly grateful to be in this season, in this year.  Full of brightness and vibrancy.

The Ice Cream Truck

It must have been two years ago.  I am not entirely certain when it started, but it's been going on for a while now.   It all started with an ice cream truck.  In an effort to avoid dealing with requests for ice cream, we told the girls that the ice cream truck was really "the music truck".  We explained that it drives around the neighborhood, usually around dinnertime, and it plays music so that people can enjoy nice music while they eat.  We further explained that it only drives around in the summer when it's warm enough for people to have their windows open.

They bought it.  Hook.  Line.  And sinker.

No, they never questioned why all the kids at the playground run to "the music truck" and come back with treats.  I don't think that they even bothered to notice.  Such is the power of belief.

Then we went and had a sleepover.  After dinner (which included a dessert) I took the girls plus their friend for a walk around the neighborhood.  It was a lovely evening and sure enough, the ice cream truck was out.  Here is the conversation that ensued:

Friend:  Can we have ice cream?!

Me:  No, we already had dessert.

FunkyB:  Why did you ask about ice cream?

Friend:  I heard it.

FunkyB:  You can't hear ice cream!  (giggle giggle)

Friend: Well, you can hear the ice cream truck.

FunkyB:  What's the ice cream truck?

Friend (looking incredulous):  Whaddaya mean?

FunkyB (completely serious):  What's the ice cream truck?

Friend (now entirely shocked and beginning to wonder whether or not her friend is really from another planet):  You don't know what the ice cream truck is?!

FunkyB (as straight faced as can be):  No.

Friend:  It's the truck that drives around and plays music and sells ice cream.

FunkyB:  No, that's the.....(head slowly turning to me) the....ice...cream...truck....Mom.

Yeah.  We have some explaining to do. 

Yellow Grey

I am not at all sure that I like it but a color scheme has been unfolding in our house.  It all started when I picked a mustardy yellow to paint in the main living area of our house.  I truly cannot explain why I picked that color.  I never go for yellow.  Never.  Not once has it been one of my preferred colors.  I look horrible in yellow.  I mean, really horrible.  But somehow I picked it.  I can't even blame it on Papi Chulo.  It was entirely my choice. 

In certain kind of lighting, it looks alright.  Sometimes I almost really like it.  It also happens to match some Jay Ryan prints we have.  I decided to sit with it for awhile, see if it would grow on me.  Last fall the Old Peep made some pillows from fabric in the stash that matched the yellow perfectly.   And then I found a quilt kit with fabric that matched the pillow perfectly.  The ball was rolling.

Downhill.  Fast.

Anyways, I made my first quilt.   At the moment, it's for the living room.  Maybe someday it'll just be for picnics or in the stack of spare blankets for when guests come to stay.  For now I am going to just excited to have made my first quilt. 

Sunday Mondays

Years ago I had a job where we worked four 10 hour shifts a week.  It rotated over a three week period such that two out three weekends we had Fridays off.  I loved this arrangement.  Fridays I would decompress from the work week by putzing slowly around.   Saturdays would be filled with productive, evenly paced errands and chores.  Sundays were dedicated to play.  It was the perfect balance of recuperation, productivity, and recreation.  

These days there isn't much delineation between my "work week" and my weekends, except that on weekends Papi Chulo is home so the daytime parenting is split.  As such, I have essentially a two day weekend, like most of us.  And it isn't enough.  I guess that's why I like Trula's idea of "Sunday Mondays".  Maybe we can't actually have a three day weekend, but maybe we can ease into our work week with a Sunday kind of mind.  

Here's to my first Sunday Monday and to wishing everyone just that kind of a day.

Building Their Childhood

Having showcased Papi Chulo's work yesterday I realized that I never got around to showing you all last summer's masterpiece.  Inspired by playhouses we had both seen, he scribbled out plans on moving boxes still in the basement.  Soon he was at work making the very playhouse I wished I had had as a kid. 

While Papi Chulo built the house, the girls and I worked away at our parts.  The girls painted small canvases to hang on the wall.

I sewed up some curtains and a banner.  Found baskets to hold the kitchen supplies.  We painted it bright and cheerful.

There is much play in that little house.  They play "House" and "Market" and ambigious games that have no names.  I foresee sleepovers out there and clubhouses with passwords in the coming years, long after they have moved beyond the current role play.  I see this space in my children's memories, long before those memories have even been made. 

This little building is more than just a structure in our yard.  It is something around which their childhood is being built. 

Garden Structures

As I focus my attention on plotting garden beds and nurturing the little seeds, Papi Chulo has been busy building for the garden.  He's like my personal garden fairy.  I wistfully say things like, "Someday it would be awesome to have a work table for the garden."  And I mean the "someday" part of it.  Doesn't have to be this year, just someday it would be nice.  But then the next day there's a trip to the hardware store and soon power tools are at work in the yard making me said table.  

Ditto for the trellis frames onto which the peas and beans and cucumbers will climb.

 

And the compost bins that are converting our scraps into nutrients for next year's garden.

His mind works this way.  I mention a need, he works out a solution.  He takes the measurements, takes them a second time, sketches out a plan on a grocery reciept, scurries off to the hardware store, returns to gleefully pull out the tools, and then builds away until he is ready to stand back and admire his work.  He gets inspired by these projects the same way I do with a sewing or knitting project.  Each of us making in our own way.