That Hurts My Feelings

Dear Oma and Tante,

Guess What?!

I can count!

I’ve been able to say “onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten” for a long time, what with Sabrina being around here and all.

But now it has meaning! I’m like Helen Keller at the water pump, except that instead of W-A-T-E-R, it’s O-N-E.

Needs something counted? I’m your girl.

Crackers? Yep.

Jelly beans? I can do it. Or at least I could, if Mama would ever buy some.

Cookies? Yep! But on the cookies, you might need a little subtraction too.

Lady bugs? Check.

Puppies in a picture? Check.

Kittens in the crate? Check.

Bunnies in the basket? Check Check Check Check Check Check Check Check Check Check Check Check Check Check Check Check Check Check.

I can even count to twenty, unless you need sixteen.

Who needs sixteen?

I know my colors now, too. Did I mention that Mama’s hair is orange?

I can also speak in complete sentences. I’ve been doing that for a while, as long as you didn’t need the verb “to be.” But now I’m am-are-it-ing all over the place. I can even do it backwards. Was-were. Ha! I can do infinitives and past-participles. Be! Being! Been! Ha! Ha! Ha!

I’m pretty good at most fancy words too. If I don’t know a word, I just ask Mama. Sabrina does the same thing. Then we put it to use. Except sometimes it’s confusing.

The other day Mama was trying to iron a patch on Sabrina’s jeans. She said, “I can’t find the iron.” Sabrina said, “What’s an iron?” Mama said, “Uh-oh.” I don’t think that was a very good explanation.

Mama says, “Sabrina, respect your sister’s wishes.” I say, “what does ‘respecting’ mean?” Daddy says, “Insisting that someone respect your wishes is a way to get beat up on recess.” Sabrina says “respecting her wishes” means giving her what she wants. I didn’t think either of these are very good explanations. So I tried to work it out myself.

Yesterday when Daddy did exercises for his back on the exercise ball, I told him that he’s “hurting my feelings!” That’s good, right?

Today I was mad at him so I told Mama, “Daddy is not expecting my wishes!”

He just said, “Don’t worry, Linnea. Now I’m going downstairs to hurt your feelings.”

Love,
Counting, Coloring, Speaking Me

What Rhymes With Orange?

Dear Oma and Tante,

Guess what?!

Mama’s hair is orange!

OK, not totally orange. But those red highlights on the box didn’t all make it all the way on to her head. Like they didn’t get far enough over on the rainbow.

Daddy says that was a waste of $5.95.

I guess it’s OK, though, because Mama’s hair-dryer broke, so she wasn’t looking all that good anyway.

Mama also has a rash on her ankles. It’s much worse than the rashes I get on my bum. She called the dermatologist this morning to report the rash and Sabrina shouted in the background, “AND IT’S REALLY ITCHY TOO!”

Mama said, “Thanks for that.”

I took Mama to the dermatologist for her ankles. While we were there the nice lady doctor gave Mama a shot in that big red bump in her chin and then slapped a band-aid on it.

Did I forget to mention the big red bump? You know the one, Oma. It’s the one you’ve been photo-shopping out of all the pictures of Mama’s face for a few months now.

The band-aid matched Mama’s hair pretty good!

I cried a little when Mama got her shot and her band-aid, and then spent the rest of the morning sending Thomas the Tank Engine to the doctor for shots and band-aids.

Mama has some new stuff to put on her ankles. She calls them steroids. Katie-dog likes to lick the stuff off of Mama’s legs. Mama says she hopes Katie doesn’t get roid-rage.

I’ve heard Katie in the backyard. I think she’s had roid-rage for quite some time.

Time for me to go and have a snack. I think I feel like citrus today . . .

Love,
Linnie Lou

With Just the Bare Necessities of Life

Dear Oma and Tante,

Guess what? I’m an elephant! I’m Colonel Hathi from The Jungle Book!

I like to walk around on all fours and listen to Colonel Hathi’s March. I’ve memorized the words. I like the part that goes:

Oh, we march from here to there
And it doesn't matter where . . .

It’s a lot like running errands with Mama.

I ask Mama to play Colonel Hathi’s March over and over and over again. I like to say, “HALT!” That means, “Turn Around!”

Sometimes Daddy smacks Mama’s bottom like Colonel Hathi does and says, “Pull it in Winifred.” He usually gets snacked back.

Sometimes Daddy pretends to squeeze a banana into my mouth. But I just tell him, “I’m not Mowgli! I’m Colonel Hathi!”

Sabrina’s favorite parts are two. She likes King Louis. She likes to shake her bottom like she’s a monkey in the jungle.

Mama put a stop to that one.

Sabrina and I like to scat like Baloo and King Louis. We like the part where Baloo says, “Get Mad, Baby!” We sing a little more nonsense and then we shout, “Take me home, Daddy!”

Last time we did our scat song I thought about it for a while, and then pointed out to Mama that we are home.

Sabrina also likes when Kaa the snake sings Trussst in Me. Mama laughs when Kaa wraps himself around Mowgli and says, “Hold still please.”

At bedtime last night Mama told Sabrina to give her the biggest big hug she has in her body. Sabrina tackled Mama with her arms around Mama’s neck and knocked her backwards. Sabrina was on top of Mama when Sabrina said, “Hold still please.”

I could hear Mama laughing from down the hall.

Love,
Colonel Hathi

A Pirate’s Life for Me

Dear Oma and Tante,

A-hoy there matey! Call in the armada! I’ve been hornswaggled!

Mama and Daddy took me to that Salt Lake City eye doctor again. He was really nice and let me watch a movie and look at a mechanical chicken that hopped up and down and cock-a-doodle-doo-ed. I was very cooperative and didn’t fuss and generally had a good time.

Then he dropped the boom. He said I need an eye patch to fix my wandering eye. It was eye patch or surgery. Mama and Daddy chose the patch.

I say, “Not all those whose eyes wander are lost!” But Mama says, “hold still!”

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of milk.

I hate wearing my eye patch. I have to wear it for two hours every day. Mama and Daddy got me patches with pink and princesses and all kinds of silliness to make me forget that I have a big patch on my eye and I can’t see anything.

What kind of a sucker do they think I am?

My eye patch has sticky edges with a big pad in the middle. Like a big Band-Aid. My face decided it didn’t like that patch and got all red and bumpy and itchy where the sticky part sticks.

My face is very smart.

For the first two days I cried and cried and said, “My eye patch is hurting me!” Except I kind of said it in a southern accent: “Mah aye patch is heurtin’ me!” Then I cried for two hours. When Mama took off my patch it was wet with tears.

Daddy said, “Schedule the surgery.” Mama said, “Let’s try Milk of Magnesia instead.”

Milk of Magnesia?

I guess what works for the dungbie works for the face, cause Mama wiped some Milk of Magnesia on my face, let it dry, then stuck that Band-Aid right on. It totally worked.

Skurvy-dog Mama.

Even though the patch isn’t itchy anymore, I still cry a lot. Mama says pirates don’t cry.

I’ll bet Blackbeard cried sometimes. Maybe in his bunk. At night.

Since mah aye patch isn’t heurtin’ me any more, I’ve been working on whining. Like this:

Me: “Ah don’t want mah aye patch.”

Mama: (getting out the Milk of Magnesia) “You don’t want your eye patch?”

Me: “Ah don’t want mah aye patch.”

Mama: (holding my arms down) “I know, you don’t want your eye patch.”

Me: “Ah don’t want mah aye patch!”

Mama: (unwrapping the eye patch) “Noted.”

Me: “Could you not say ‘noted’?”

I’ll bet nobody told Blackbeard that he was “noted.”

Mama says it’s cool to be a pirate. But it turns out nothing good happens when you’re a pirate. I tried to plunder Sabrina’s room, but she totally tattled on me.

I’ll bet nobody tattled on Anne Bonny.

I tried to get Boo to walk the plank, but he bit me and ran away.

I'll be nobody bit the Dread Pirate Roberts.

The food stinks. You don’t get any Pirate’s Booty or Chips Ahoy or anything. It’s all peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat hardtack. At least the apple juice wards off the scurvy. 

Now Mama takes me everywhere with that stupid eye patch. Everyone tells me how fabulous my hot pink patch is. If it’s so fabulous, they can wear it.

Actually, Sabrina tries to wear it. She thinks it’s like a big fun Band-Aid. That little girl loves a Band-Aid. Mama let her try one on the first day so that I would watch Sabrina and think the eye patch was cool. Sabrina wore it while we ate a treat, but then after about 30 second she said she was all done.

Landlubber.

Daddy tried to take me to church in the eye patch. He said that if I didn’t wear it to church in the morning then I’d have to wear it after my nap in the afternoon. After my nap was a football game, and Daddy didn’t want me wandering around saying, “Mah aye patch is heurtin’ me!” during his game.

Mama said that she didn’t need me saying, “Mah aye patch is heurtin’ me!” and “Time to go home?!” really loud all in one church service. So Daddy lost.

When I’ve worn my eye patch for two hours, Mama takes it off. Let me tell you how much fun it is having a big Band-aid ripped off your eyebrow every day. Shiver me timbers!

Anyway, I don't recommend the pirate's life, unless you can be a privateer or something.

I think I’ll go see what’s happening on the poop deck.

Love,
Sad Me

Al and Gus, Part Deux

Al Buquerque the Turkey as Jack-O-Lantern (no parental involvement)

 

Gus the Gobbler as Sleeping Beauty (heavy parental involvement)

A Classic Blunder

Mama fell victim to one of the classic kindergarten blunders.

The most famous of which is, never go south to drop off at school.

But only slightly less famous is this: never let Sabrina do her own craft project for kindergarten.

A few weeks ago, Sabrina’s morning teacher sent home a turkey.

No, not a real one. Although that would be pretty nifty.

It was a drawing of a turkey on a piece of paper. His name was Al. Al Buquerque. Al Buquerque the Turkey.

Al Buquerque the Turkey came with a note. “This is Al Buquerque the Turkey!” it said. “Can you help him? He’s scared of Thanksgiving. Using only materials you already have at home, disguise Al Buquerque the Turkey so that he won’t be cooked and eaten for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Now let me tell you something about my Mama. She doesn’t have so many materials at home. She doesn’t really sew, unless you need a button on your pants or Katie Dog has eaten the eyeballs off your teddy bear. She can handle that.

She doesn’t scrapbook. She definitely doesn’t do anything crafty. Elmer’s glue worries her. Glitter gives her hives. Sometimes some stickers get loose in the house, but Mama’s pretty fast on the draw. She rounds ‘em up, and throws ‘em out.

Sometimes she’s too fast. On the first day of school Mama had to go dumpster diving in our kitchen trash for some Sleeping Beauty stickers for Sabrina’s ALL ABOUT ME poster.

So when Al Buquerque the Turkey came looking for a getup, about all Sabrina had to work with was a box of washable markers and her wits.

Now Mama and Sabrina did some talking and they decided that Al Buquerque the Turkey’s big belly looked at lot like a pumpkin. And his wattle neck looked a lot like a stem to a pumpkin. So Sabrina decided to make Al Buquerque the Turkey into a Jack-O-Lantern.

Sabrina sat down with a pencil and drew some triangle eyes and nose on Al Buquerque the Turkey’s tummy. She added a scraggly toothy grin and declared herself Done.

Mama took one look and declared Sabrina Not Done.

Mama marched Sabrina right back to the table and made her color in Al Buquerque the Turkey. They had a little kerfluffle over it. Sabrina said no and Mama said yes and Sabrina said no and Mama said do you need a time out? Sabrina said no time out but then she said no coloring again and Mama said, “These are going to be hung up at school. Your teacher is going to see this.” So Sabrina went back to work at the point of a colored pencil.

Big Sister drew the pumpkin orange and the triangle eyes yellow and scribbled some green on the top. Then she declared herself Done.

Mama took one look and declared Sabrina Not Done.

Mama marched Sabrina back to the table and made her write her name next to Al Buquerque the Turkey.

Have you seen Sabrina’s handwriting? It’s not so good.

The last time Daddy saw Sabrina write her name he told Mama they should just give up and teach Sabrina to make her mark.

Anyway, by the time the pencil and the coloring and the kerfluffle were over, Sabrina wasn’t real invested. So her name looked like this:

Sabrinarinanna

Sabrina declared herself Done, and Mama declared herself Tired.

The next day we went to school to turn in Al Buquerque the Turkey, and we saw all the other Al Buquerque the Turkeys hanging up in the hallway.

I knew right away that Sabrina’s Al Buquerque the Turkey was cooked.

It was like the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade of Turkeys. Like Easter morning in Turkey church. Only with better hats.

There was Al Buquerque the Turkey in a full pilgrim costume, made of fabric. Pilgrim turkey had a little felt hat with a buckle and a jaunty feather. There was Native American turkey. There was Al Buquerque the Turkey in a feather boa. Al Buquerque the Turkey hidden in a cereal bowl—with real cereal glued all over him. My favorite was Al Buquerque the Turkey in a complete miniature of the little girl’s Halloween costume, complete with a tiny tulle tutu glued around his waist.

Mama stood in front of those Al Buquerque the Turkeys for a long time. One of the school secretaries wandered by the turkeys and said, “Aren’t they great? I just love this project!”

“Please tell me there was significant parental involvement in most of these,” mumbled Mama. The school secretary just laughed and walked away.

Tiny tulle tutu’s Mama stopped by too. Mama complimented her on the tiny tulle tutu and tiny tulle tutu’s Mama chirped, “Thanks! It was a ton of work, but it’s what my daughter wanted!”

I’m pretty sure that Mama hadn’t spent a lot of time considering what Sabrina wanted.

Anyhoo, Sabrina’s Al Buquerque the Turkey has been hanging up for a while now, and no one has eaten him yet. Turns out there were some other little kids who colored their own Al Buquerque the Turkeys, too. One little boy colored his own turkey and wrote some words on there to explain his project that I can’t even read.

And it’s not because I can’t even read yet.

The sting of Al Buquerque the Turkey had pretty much worn off until today. That’s when Mama opened up the homework folder from Sabrina’s afternoon teacher.

“This is Gus the Gobbler!” it said.  “Can you help him? He’s scared of Thanksgiving. Using only materials you already have at home, disguise Gus the Gobbler so that he won’t be cooked and eaten for Thanksgiving dinner!”

I don’t think Mama should bang her head on the wall like that. It can’t be good for the wall.

Love,
Gobble Gobble!

A Cuddle! A Cuddle!

Guess what?!

Mama has a writer’s block.

Its name is ME! I like to block the writing.

I like to follow Mama around all day. I say, “A cuddle! A cuddle!” After she picks me up, I say, “Sit in da chair and read a book!”

I like to sit in da chair and read a book.

Mama sits in the da chair with me and we read Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus about 10 times. I can’t get enough of that little pigeon. He’s a hoot! Any book where I get to shout, “NO!” at a pigeon is the book for me.

When Mama gets up from da chair, I cry. Then I follow her and say, “A cuddle! A cuddle!” When she picks me up I say, “sit in da chair and read a book!”

Sometimes I pull on her hand and say, “I want to play wit Mama.” So we go into the playroom for a while and play with the bus. When Mama groans and gets off the floor, I shriek, “A cuddle! A cuddle!”

Sometimes I break it up by asking, “Time to go get Sabrina from school?”

If Mama gets up to do other things, I grab her leg. Then I hang on for dear life. Usually Mama is walking around the kitchen with my arms wrapped around her leg. It looks like a sad sagging little three-legged race.

When Mama bends down and says, “What do you need?” I say, “A cuddle! A cuddle!” When she picks me up, I say, “sit in da chair and read a book!”

Then I mix it up by saying, “Can we watch a show?”

When Mama says no, I say, “A cuddle! A cuddle!”

If Mama puts on a video for me, I say, “Want to sit wit’ Mama!” If she says no, I say, “A cuddle! A cuddle!”

Mama tries to get me to help with chores, but I don’t see why. We already have a maid service.

Sometimes I stand in the bathroom while Mama is taking a shower and chant, “Ma-ma! Ma-ma! Ma-ma! Ma-ma! Ma-ma! Ma-ma! Ma-ma! Ma-ma! Ma-ma! Ma-ma! Ma-ma!

It’s got a beat but you can’t really dance to it.

If I really want Mama then I start to cry. If I can squeeze a tear out, then I sob and ask for a cloth so I can wipe my eyes. Today Mama was taking a shower, so I was sitting on the bathroom scale and shrieking. Then a tear came out. I managed to choke out, “I need a cloth.” Mama said, “use the towel that’s right there.”

So I reached down and used the bathmat to wipe my eyes.

When Mama tries to help me, I try to confuse her. She crouches down and says, “What do you need?” And I say, “I need MAMA!” She says, “I’m right here.” Then I cry and throw my arms around her neck.

Sometimes she asks me questions. If the answer can be “no,” that’s the one I chose.

Mama to naked Me: Would you like to put on a shirt before lunch?
Me: NO!
Mama: OK. Would you like to be a nudie-cutie?
Me: NO!
Mama: OK, we’ll just go downstairs.
Me: (halfway down the stairs) I want a shirt!

I like to keep Mama on her toes.

At lunch I tell Mama I want peanut butter. She says “OK.” I watch while she makes me a peanut butter sandwich. When she brings it to the table I choke out a sob and say, “peanut butter and honey on da plate.”

Sometimes I put my fingers in the peanut butter and honey. Then I start to cry, “I sticky! I sticky!” Mama says, “OK,” and gets me a warm wet washcloth and cleans me off.

Then I put my fingers in the peanut butter and honey and start to cry, “I sticky! I sticky!” Mama says, “OK,” and gets me a warm wet washcloth and cleans me off.

Then I put my fingers in the peanut butter and honey and then start to cry, “I sticky! I sticky!” 

Then Mama says, “I think we’re all done here.”

Then I cry.

Sometimes Mama says that the shrieking is starting to get old.

How old can it be? I’m only two.

When Mama tells me I’m two, I say, “No, I not.” Then I ask if I can eat the Chap Stick.

Mama sighs a lot. Sometimes she whispers a bad word. She doesn’t say them out loud anymore because the last time she used her out-loud voice I wandered around for five minutes saying, “Darnit!” “Darnit!” “Darnit!” “Darnit!” “Darnit!” “Darnit!” “Darnit!” “Darnit!” “Darnit!”

I’m not even sure what that means, but it was fun to say.

Sometimes Mama sits with me and the computer so she can write. I’m on to that one. I bang on the keys. If she takes my hands away then I put my feet on the computer.

Then I say, “Want to skype with Oma!”

If Mama tries to make dinner, I stand on da stool and help her cook. If Mama puts me down because of knives or hot oil or turned-on burners, I fall on the floor and shriek, “A cuddle! A cuddle!”

If Daddy tries to take me away, I scream, “I want Mommy! I want Mommy! I WANT MOMMY!” Only with bigger letters.

Mama says that by the time I go to bed she has a headache.

Do you think she could be coming down with something?

Love,
Linnea


Love,
Linnea