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

Vote Early and Often

Guess What?

Mama voted four times today!

It was like Tammany Hall, but with better stickers.

Sabrina has been asking a lot about America, because every day at school she sings the Star-Spangled Banner and says the Pledge of Allegiance and now shouts out “I see the America flag!” everywhere we go.

Sometimes that Star-Spangled music starts playing while Mama and I are still at Sabrina’s school. As soon as it starts, all the kids pop up like their pants are on fire and start singing. Mama makes me stand still and I have to listen to her sing. And let me tell you, Mama can not hit those high notes. 

Anyway, yesterday Mama was trying to explain some things about “America” to Sabrina. Big Sister wisely informed her, “Yeah, but we live in Utah.”

Mama said that Utah was just one of the states, but that lots of states get together and they make up our country. 

Sister asked, “do they all get together and have a meeting?”

“Yes!” shouted Mama. “It’s called Congress!” and with that our fate was sealed. We were off to vote.

Now, Oma. Let me tell you about voting. First you stand in line. Then you get out your wallet.

I thought maybe we had to pay to vote, so I got out all the credit cards. Mama said that poll taxes were illegal, and that I could put the credit cards away.

Then I thought maybe we had the wallet out because they were going to pay us for voting. Mama said gone are the days when you got five dollars and a swig of liquor to go vote for the dead people.

After Mama got out her wallet, some nice ladies at the “Check In” table looked at Mama’s driver’s license. It says “COLORADO!”

The nice ladies said Mama had to do better than that. Mama whipped out our electric bill and our gas bill. The nice ladies said to turn down the thermostat and thank you for voting.

There was a nice man there, too. He gave everyone a sticker when they were done voting. The sticker said “I Voted!” The “O” in “Vote” was a fingerprint. Get it?

Me neither.

Anyway, while we were standing in the line with the nice ladies and the wallet and the driver’s license and the power bill, the nice man must have felt bad for us. He gave Sabrina a sticker and me a sticker. I gave mine to Mama so he gave me another one.

Then we were off to stand at a little desk while Mama fiddled around at a computer. Mama said there were too many people to go to a meeting and raise our hands to vote, so instead we wrote down our choices on a piece of paper and then all the pieces of paper were counted.

I didn’t want to say anything to Mama, but there was no paper in sight.

Do you think they hid the paper because Mama is a Democrat?

Anyway, Sabrina made some helpful suggestions while Mama voted the straight Democratic ticket. Sabrina said we should vote “yes!” on everything except the new recreation center, because she said we don’t use taxes for buildings.

Mama ignored her and threw the lever.

After Mama was done at the computer, it made some whirring noises and we were on our way. Another nice lady gave Mama a sticker that said “I Voted!” with a fingerprint where the “O” should be. I still didn’t get it, but I got on the bandwagon and gave my sticker to Mama anyway.

On the way home Mama explained that when her Oma was born, women (that’s a Mama) weren’t allowed to vote. She said that only men got to vote, because men thought that only men could make the decisions. She said that women worked really hard to get to vote, so now it was really important to vote. She said that when Sabrina and Linnea turn 18 it will be really important for us to vote, too.

Sabrina said that she would vote and say, “I am here!”

Daddy said that the 19th Amendment was a mistake and Mama’s Oma couldn’t vote because she lived in Germany.

Mama said, “whatever.”

After we got home last night Sabrina changed her clothes about 47 times but remembered to give Mama her “I Voted!” sticker with the fingerprint where the “O” should be. So by the time we went to bed Mama had four “I Voted!” stickers on her shirt.

At that rate, we’ll have a Democratic senator from Utah in no time!

Love,
Little Linnie L“O”U (with an “O” where the “O” should go).

Just Like Todd on Scrubs

Dear Oma and Tante,

Yesterday at breakfast Sabrina was peeling a banana. Then she held part of the peel horizontally, and put the whole banana back in.

"Look Mama," she said. "I have a banana hammock!"

I thought coffee was going to come out of Mama's nose.

Love,
Linnie

Spring Has Sprung

Dear Oma and Tante,

Mama always tells Sabrina that every living thing needs four things in order to grow:
Good food
Clean Water
Sunshine 
and
Love

Sometimes if little girls won’t take a rest Mama throws in “Sleep” as number five, but I think that’s cheating.

Since it’s spring, Sabrina and I decided to do some growing too.

The first thing I decided to grow was my age. I’ve decided I’m two. Mama says that I have four more months to go before I really turn two, but I say, “NO!”

Then I scream.

That’s the great thing about being two. You get to say “NO!” all the time. You also get to stomp your feet. I learned how to do that in library class. Library class also taught me to clap my hands and roll my arms, but stomping my feet works best when I’m trying to look like I mean business.

I like screaming, too. Screaming is a very undervalued way of getting things done. Sometimes I skip “NO!” and go right to the screaming.

I think I must be doing something wrong, though. I do the NO! and the stomping and the screaming – but then I don’t get my way. Maybe you can help me find my error? Here are two examples:

Mama: Time for lunch.
Me: NO!
Mama: Time to come sit down for lunch.
Me: NO!
Mama: Yes, I hear you. You say, “no.”
Me: NO!
Mama: Right. No.
(Mama picks me up and puts me in my chair. I scream and then eat.)

Mama: Time to go upstairs and change your diaper.
Me: NO!
Mama: Upstairs.
Me: NO! (Then I stomp my feet.)
Mama: Now, please.
Me: AAAHHHHHHHHH! (That’s a scream. You just can’t tell).
Mama: OK. 
(Mama picks me up and carries me upstairs. I scream and then I have a clean bum.)

See what I mean? Something always goes wrong in step eight.

The second thing I decided to grow was my words. I’ve given up those silly signs and I say all kinds of words. My favorite word is “NAUGHTY!” I like to point at Daddy and say, “Naugh-TY!” Then I giggle. Daddy is NAUGHTY a lot.

The next thing that I decided to grow was my body. Now I don’t fit into any of my clothes. All my pants are high-water, the ones that are long enough for my legs are too big for my bottom, my top half is too long for my bottom half, and my head won’t fit through any hole in any shirt any where.

Sometimes I want to grow and Mama’s won’t let me. You know my little ponytail that sits on top of my head and keeps my bangs out of my eyes while my bangs catch up with the rest of my hair? For a long time that little pony was my lovey. I twirled that little pony and it made me happy and soothed me to sleep.

But I don’t need it so much anymore. My bangs are as long as my hair and my soothing has caught up with my bangs.

Mama keeps asking me if I want a pony, though. The other night when I was getting ready for bed she wouldn’t leave it alone. She asked and asked and I kept saying “no.” Then she put me down in my crib and looked down at me.
Mama: Do you want your pony?
Me: No.
Mama: Do you want your little topknot?
Me: No.
Mama: Are you sure? Do you want your pony?
Me: (waving) Bye-bye.

I think she got the point.

Sabrina has decided to grow too. The first thing she decided to grow was her worry about bugs. If she sees a bug, she starts crying and runs into the house. If we go for a walk in the stroller and she sees a bug, she cries and flaps her arms. If the car windows are open, she cries. If she has to walk from the car into the house and she sees a bug, she cries.

Mama says it’s going to be a long summer.

The next thing Sabrina decided to grow was a garden. Oma gave her some seeds for peas and lettuce and carrots. Mama and I bought some compost and Daddy carried it to the garden. Daddy held me while Sabrina and Mama stirred all that compost into the garden soup pot. Then Mama planted the seeds while I cried for Mama and Sabrina screamed and ran into the house.

It was fun.

The next thing Sabrina decided to grow was her words. The other day she was playing pretend with her doll. Then her doll said, “Oh, Jesus!” At first I thought that Sunday School was really starting to pay off. But Mama said that Big Sister probably wasn’t calling on our Lord and Savior for intervention and help.

Finally, Sabrina decided to grow up and become a college student. The other night Daddy was grumbling about his students, who didn’t understand why he kept using the number 42 in a problem that required them to calculate a daily rate over a period of six weeks. I don’t get it either, but Daddy said, “For God’s sake—there are seven days in a week. Even Sabrina knows that.”

Mama tested the theory by yelling, “Hey Sabrina! How many days are there in a week?” Sabrina yelled back, “TEN!” Daddy said, “Congratulations, Sabrina. You’re now a “C” student in my Math 1020 class.”

Love,
The Noddle

The Toddler Has No Clothes

Dear Oma and Tante,

Mama is a very bad mama.

You know all those nice things you said about her after the last post? Take them all back. Immediately.

Let me tell you about my rotten Mama. Today we dropped Big Sister off at preschool. When we climbed into the car, Mama noticed that her Mama Bag didn’t have any diapers in it. She mumbled about that a little bit, but then said we probably didn’t need them. Then she gave me some juice and a pacie for the ride. I held Sister’s hand and drank my juice and looked about for buses and generally had a good time.

After we dropped Sister off at school, I got a special treat. I got to go to The Little Gym! Usually only Big Sister goes, but she had an extra “make-up” class that she couldn’t use, so I got to go. I had a fabulous time! I ran around, did somersaults, danced, threw balls, popped bubbles, and flipped upside-down. Whenever someone looked at me I stretched my arms up as high as I could and then clapped for myself!

Mama said I looked like those people on wedding dance floors throwing their arms in the air and singing, “Shout!”

I know Mama’s doing all sorts of austerity measures, just like Greece, but I really think Mama should break open the checkbook and let me go to gym every week.

But anyway, that wasn’t the bad part. After class, we ran errands. We started at Target. As we were leaving Target, Mama picked me up and discovered I was wet.

Really wet. 

My bottom was wet. My front was wet. My pants were soggy.

Mama said, “uh-oh.”

Uh-oh? UH-OH?

What's the "uh-oh"? A good Mama would break out the diapers and wipes and spare clothes from the Mama Bag, and we would go on our way.

Mama is not a good Mama.

Lucky for me she bought some diapers at Target, because otherwise I would have been staring down the barrel of a roll of paper towels.

There was lots of talk about whether we had time to go home before we had to come back and pick up Sister. Mama said, “nope.” And that’s where it got bad.

She drove us over to Smith’s, where we needed to go anyway. It’s about three blocks away.

So I fell asleep. Soppy pants and all. Didn’t bother me one bit. Could have driven me home in a blissful sleeping puddle.

But Mama couldn’t leave well enough alone. When we got to Smith’s, I was rudely awakened, and carried at arm’s length into the store. Apparently Mama didn’t want to get pee on her shlumpy workout Little Gym clothes. Frankly, I think Mama was more worried about her shirt and the car seat than about my chapped bottom.

Anyway, Mama hustled me and my piddly pants into the bathroom.

Did I mention I’m terrified of public restrooms?

It’s all the unpredictable and unnaturally loud flushing. It’s the changing tables that suspend you mid-air over a chasm. You could fall to your death as quick as Mama says, “Now, where did I put those wipes?”

So I lay on the changing table and cried. Mama changed me and—here’s the bad part—didn’t put my pants back on.

That’s right. NO PANTS.

She said they were too wet. And she didn’t have any extras.

What? What? WHAT?

There I was, in the middle of Smith’s, wearing a big fluffy red coat, a diaper and . . . shoes. Can you imagine my embarrassment? It would have been one thing if we could have gone right back to the car and gone home. But no. Mama just had to buy milk.

Cause it wasn’t bad enough before. We had to stand in a checkout line to make it extra special. Then we had to walk back to the car.

Did I mention it’s winter? In Utah?

I was freezing my ham hocks off.

Mama tried to put her coat over me. Nothing doing. I cried until the tears ran down my cheeks and kicked that thing right off me. I wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easy.

Then we had to go pick up Sister at preschool. As if my mortification were not complete. More with the walking out in the cold. More with the public places. More with people pointing and saying, “Where are those child’s pants?”

OK, only Oma actually says that out loud. But I know people were thinking it.

I mean, this is Utah. You can’t even show a bare shoulder around here without someone calling in a BYU Honor Code violation.

When we got back into the car to drive home, Mama tried the coat thing again. So I kicked and cried again. Sister said, “Maybe when we get home we should put a little blanket over Linnea.”

Really? OR—here’s an idea—PANTS.

Love,
Mortified Nea

Be a Lion Not a Mou-ess

Dear Oma and Tante,

Let me tell you about my Big Sister. That little girl SCROWLS around the house and runs everywhere and organizes all our games and bosses me around and plays MONSTERS! with her neighborhood friends. She even invented the word "SCROWL!"

But she’s shy as a butterfly at school.

Big Sister has been going to school for six whole months, but everyday is like her first day. When we get to Big Sisser’s classroom, her teacher says, “Hello, Beautiful!” Mrs. Mulliner is very nice. But Sabrina just stares at her and then ducks her head into Mama's leg.

When we leave school the other children say, “Goodbye, Sabrina!” Those boys are girls are very nice. But Sabrina just stares at them and then ducks her head into Mama's leg.

Mama said Big Sister was starting to look rude.

Mama said they could work up to speaking, but Sabrina needed to at least wave “hello” and wave “goodbye” when someone was speaking to her.

So Sabrina practiced that for a while, and worked herself up to waving.

Then Mrs. Mulliner said that Sabrina might be waving, but she just sits by herself during playtime. She plays with the baby dolls and doesn’t talk to anyone else.

Mama and Daddy were very worried. They were worried that Big Sisser might not be ready to go to Kindergarten because she never speaks.

That would be fine with me. Then Sabrina will play with me all day instead of going to that silly school and leaving me to my own devices.

Anyway, Mama asked Sabrina if Sabrina liked playing by herself. Because everyone in this family is good at independent play.

I mean, have you met Daddy?

But Mama was worried that Sabrina wanted to make friends, but was too shy and was lonely.

Since Mama didn’t speak to anyone until fourth grade, she knew from lonely.

Sabrina said mostly she likes to be by herself, which suits Mama fine. But sometimes Sabrina said she was just shy. And that made Mama sad.

So Mama sprung into action.

Every night she and Sabrina practiced playing. They practiced how Sabrina could ask other boys and girls to play with her. They practiced saying, “Would you like to play with me?” and they practiced just sitting down with other children and sharing toys.

Then Mama worked some magic.

Have you ever met The Little Brute Family? They were very unhappy. They ate sand and gravel porridge and stick and stone stew and snarled and grimaced while they ate. They kicked and hit and banged the pots and scolded the baby. Their kites wouldn’t fly and their sleds dumped them headfirst into snow banks. It was all very sad.

But then one day Baby Brute met a little wandering lost good feeling in a field of daisies. He put it in his pocket and took it home. Then the family smiled. They started eating salad greens and honey. They used good manners and flew kites in the springtime and played in piles of leaves in the fall. They asked that little wandering good feeling to stay, and everything was better.

Sabrina likes The Little Brute Family. So Mama gave Sabrina a little wandering brave feeling to put in her pocket. Whenever Sabrina is scared or shy she can take out her little brave feeling.

Sabrina and her little brave feeling made a goal. They picked out one little boy to play with at school, and chose a day when Sabrina would try to play with him. It worked! Sabrina just sat down. They shared some toys. She wasn’t shy at all, and it was easy!

Soon Sabrina was using her little brave feeling every day to play with other little boys and girls at school. She started talking during show-and-tell and sharing toys all over the place.

But I think maybe that little brave feeling worked too well. Today Mrs. Mulliner had to tell Sabrina to stop chat chat chatting and to be quiet.

Maybe now that Mama has given Sabrina The Nerve, she could work something out for the tin man and the scarecrow as well? 

Love,
Little Nea Noodle

Cheech? This is Chong.

Dear Oma and Tante,

Sister is in Trou-BLE!

That shy big Sister who doesn’t play with anyone at preschool?

Yep. She found a friend.

Sabrina met a chatty little girl in ballet class, and the two of them decided to ham it up. They were chattering and making faces at each other and sticking out their tongues and then dissolving into a pile of giggling tutus.

It was most unladylike.

Mama and Daddy were both mad. After about three seconds of squiggling tongues, Mama marched out and waded through a pile of pink little girls and told Sabrina to listen to her teacher.

While Mama was talking, Sabrina was nodding and saying, “okay, okay.” And she tried to listen to the teacher for a minute. But soon she was giggling in first position, laughing in lower fifth, sticking her fingers in her mouth to make clown faces instead of doing pliés, and sticking out her tongue instead of sticking out her toes in battement tendu.

Mama tried giving Sister THE LOOK and tried to mime “listen” to Sabrina a bunch of times, but Sabrina was laughing too hard to get it.

I don’t blame her. It just looked like Mama had an ear infection.

So Mama marched out there again and told Sabrina to knock it off. And Sabrina tried. She really did. She tried to hold all the laugh inside.

But then the other little girl made a face and all that laugh exploded out.

Suddenly the two of them were off — racing around the room like track stars and giggling and waggling their tongues instead of doing fairy princess walks in a tight little circle.

Daddy just shook his head and said, “Well, at least we know what’s going to happen the first time someone asks her if she wants to smoke pot.”

You Should See The Other Guy

 

The other guy is a couch. 

And One More Thing

Dear Oma and Tante,

Mama has made a February resolution. She calls it her “Just One Thing” Plan. She’s decided to get rid of Just One Thing from the house every day, until out little house in Provo is as clean as a whistle and as organized as Miss Brooke Frost’s house.

You don’t know Miss Brooke? Well, she’s super organized. Mama loves going to her house. She gets a little giddy. There are labels everywhere.

I don’t like the “Just One Thing” Plan. In the past week alone the following items have walked out of the house:

A bag of cat food
A bag of food from the pantry
A bag of tea bags 
A bunch of folders,
A bunch of hair clips
A butcher block cutting board
A coffee grinder
A curling iron
A diaper bag
All my 12-18 month clothes
A popcorn bowl
A rotating spice rack
A straightening iron
A spaetzle press
AND
A waffle maker.

I think Katie Dog might be next.

Mama gave away all those things just this week. You don’t want to know all the things that have left the house this year. We’re lucky Mama has left us some pants.

Some things she takes to Deseret Industries. That’s the Mormon Thrift Shop. I think she’s trying to make up for all the ways she tests their faith.

Most things go to Freecycle. Mama types away on the computer and then flings some bagged item onto the porch. Before you know it some nice person drives up, hops out of the car, grabs what’s on the porch, hops back in the car, and zooms away. I’m pretty sure that if you just hung out on our porch for a while you could score some pretty good stuff.

If you see me sitting on the porch, will you come and get me?

Love,
Little Nea

P.S. Mama says, “Don’t worry, it’s not the one you gave us for our wedding.”

A Prisoner of (Un)Conscious

Dear Friends,

I write to you from the darkness of my prison cell. I have smuggled this letter to you, written in crayola washable marker, on a scrap of a fabric that I quietly tore from the single sheet I am given. I scribbled furtively by nightlight. It has been carried on the backs of camels and secreted in the jackets of Bedouins over rocky and unforgiving terrain. I hope you may be of help.

My situation here is a desperate one. After 514 days of freedom, it has all come to an end. Ten days ago there was a coup d'état. The government of my youth was replaced by another, surely unconstitutional, dictator. This brazen move was foretold the week before by a pamphlet distributed throughout the land and called, prophetically, Linnea’s Sleep Book. Charmed by the pictures, I ignored its message. I now see my folly.

I have been imprisoned here for ten days. On the night of my arrest, I cried. I screamed. I howled at the guards. I finally fell asleep, exhausted by my efforts. The guards were unmoved. The second night I knelt in supplication, bouncing and making a repeated squeaking noise with my bed springs. Again, the guards watched impassively. On the third night I attempted to engage them by patting them through the bars of my cell and rubbing their shoulders. Nothing.

Mine is but a single cell, only a few feet long and two feet wide. I sleep on a single mattress, with no pillow and no blanket. A single sheet protects me from the plastic mattress. A single light bulb burns through the night. I sometimes hear the cries of the other prisoners, although the guards attempt to block out their pleas through the constant use of a “humidifier.”

Twice a day I am released from my cell. I am allowed regular exercise, although rarely outdoors. The recreation facilities are ample, and some entertainment exists—mostly in the form of propagandist “ABC” videos. I am allowed to speak with the other prisoners. We are sometimes transported to other facilities, but never allowed to wander on our own.

The food here is vile, as you would expect, with much emphasis on oatmeal and vegetables. We are allowed to bathe once a day, but then must return to our prison garb, which looks and fits like pajamas. Before bed I am securely wrapped in a fleece contraption. Unable to work the zipper, I must succumb to the straightjacket. It is most dispiriting.

I pray that you can do something to help my desperate situation. Perhaps Amnesty International or the Red Cross could be persuaded to provide assistance?

While I await your reply, I have begun a hunger strike. I have eaten nothing today but a single crayon.

Yours in Hope,
Linnea

You May Now Leave Your Comments

I think I have the "comment" button fixed. If I did it right, you may now leave a comment without needing to first create an account on one silly thing or another. You may even leave an anonymous comment.

Although I may be able to ferret out your identity. I'm just sayin'.

Ding Dong! Avon Calling!

Dear Oma and Tante,

Our doorbell rings a lot.

Mama doesn’t like it much. First, she just doesn’t like talking to people that much.

Oh, wait, no—that’s Daddy.

Second, when the doorbell rings the dogs go tearing to the door barking up a storm, Boo the Cat saunters over looking for an escape, I toddle there as fast as I can to see if I can stick my finger into the door hinge, and Sabrina runs over in all her naked glory shouting, “I WANT TO SEE! CAN I SEE?!”

Mama says the whole bunch of us look like Cosmo Kramer on Seinfeld showing up at the door.

After Mama has ordered the dogs to the backyard, grabbed Boo, and shooed Sabrina and me away from the door, she opens it to find out who it is.

Sometimes it is someone nice, like a play date or kids on a scavenger hunt or carol-singers out wassailing or a neighbor with cookies or jam or bread or an invitation.

But lots of times it is No One We Know.

No One We Know is very nice. No One We Know would like to sell us steaks, bring milk to our door, paint our house numbers on our curb, check our windshields for cracks and fix them for free, aerate our lawn, mow our grass, kill our bugs, soften our water, check our furnace, and save our souls.

At least I think that’s what the Mormon missionaries and the Jehovah's Witnesses want. They never really say.

After Mama says, “Thank you, but no thank you” about ten times, she closes the door.

Then she says, “Only in Utah.” As in, “Only in Utah would two guys think I’m going to let them into my house when I’m home alone with two small children so that they can ‘check my furnace.’”

Apparently Only in Utah No One We Know is usually raising money for college or a mission. I guess they all want to go somewhere else and ring other people’s doorbells.

Last week No One We Know rang the doorbell during naptime. The dogs started barking like crazy, Boo slinked in looking for an escape, I sat bolt upright and started to cry, and Sabrina popped out of her room like a jack-in-the-box and shouted, “WHO IS IT?”

Mama answered the door with me on one hip, one hand on Katie’s collar, and a foot poised to stop Boo.

No One We Know said, “Hello. I’m wondering how your water softener is doing?”

Mama said, “It’s doing fine, but I’ll let it know that you inquired after its health.”

OK, not really. But she should have said that.

Instead she said, “We don’t have a water softener.” Then she said, “Thank you, but no thank you” about ten times.

The next day, Mama put a sign on the door that says:

Please Respect Our Privacy
NO SOLICITING

When Daddy got home, he said, “Why is there a ‘No Soliciting’ sign on the door?” Mama said, “Because I’m sick of people trying to sell me things during naptime.”

Well, Mama’s sign has pretty much worked. No One We Know doesn’t ring the bell at naptime anymore.

Instead he rings the bell at bedtime.

Last night Sabrina and I were in our pajamas. We had finished our bath and brushed our teeth. I was upstairs fussing and making the sign for “milk!” over and over again. Daddy was downstairs trying to get me milk and Mama was upstairs explaining to Sabrina why we couldn’t read “The Little Snowman” one more time when the bell rang.

Daddy grabbed Katie by the collar and kept a lookout for Boo while Mama shushed me and grabbed Sabrina before she could run downstairs shouting, “WHO IS IT?”

It was No One We Know. Two very nice Mormons wanted to charge Daddy $30 to hang an American flag on our porch on national holidays. They supply the flag.

After Daddy said, “Thank you, but no thank you” about ten times he closed the door.

“And that,” shouted Mama from upstairs, “is why we have a NO SOLICITING sign!”

Overheard, Part Deux

Mama: What’s the most important part of being pretty?
Sabrina: Pretty on the inside!
Mama: That’s right. What is most important is in your heart and mind . . .
Sabrina: And lungs!

Erik (responding to an email about our finances): Why don't we have Sabrina look for nickels around the house this afternoon? If she finds one we can huddle around it and bury it like squirrels.

(Sabrina and Mama are talking after Sabrina has thrown a tantrum. Sabrina didn't want to brush her teeth.)
Mama: Why do I make you brush your teeth?
Sabrina: To keep them strong and healthy. So we won’t have to get a flu shot in our teeth!

Sabrina (pointing to a thermometer): What’s that?
Mama: What?
Sabrina: I think it’s a me-mom-eter!

(Mama is upset that she had to call an electrician to help install a light.)
Sabrina (in a soothing voice): You did a good job on the entryway light, Mama. You didn’t need any help with that one.

(Linnea has a cold, and is asleep but snoring and making a ridiculous racket.)
Mama (joking): What is that noise Linnea is making?!
Sabrina (giggling): She’s sleeping.
Mama: What?! I don’t make that noise when I sleep.
Sabrina: Oma does!

(Mama has been gone, and comes home to find Sabrina and Daddy building with blocks.)
Sabrina: Look Mama! I made a castle! I builded a waterfall and a gate—to keep the commoners out!
Mama: That’s great, Sabrina. Good job!
Sabrina: What’s a commoner?
Mama: It’s someone who isn’t royalty. Like Daddy.

(Linnea has been sick and getting a lot of attention.)
Sabrina: We need Linnea to hurry and grow up so that I can get more Mama snuggles.

(Sabrina is wearing a white dress and has a white dishcloth on her head.)
Sabrina: I’m a bride. I’m getting married.
Mama: How nice.
Sabrina: I have a newborn baby 'Nea in my tummy.
Mama: Then it’s a good thing you’re getting married.

(Linnea Screams.)
Erik: Linnea, did you wake up on the wrong side of Mommy this morning?

(Sabrina is putting together an outfit that involves four different shades of pink. It actually hurts Mama’s eyes to look at it.)
Mama: You may not wear that outfit.
Sabrina: Why not?
Erik (from the other room): Because it looks cheap!

(Sabrina climbs into Mama’s bed early in the morning, and promptly starts crying.)
Sabrina (wailing): Something smelly is in my nose!
Mama: Really?
Sabrina (still wailing): Something smelly is STILL in my nose. And it’s coming from your mouth!

I'm Sorry Winter, But We're Through

Dear Winter,

We need to have a talk.

Yes. That talk.

I know you think things are swell. But you’ve been cold for months now. I feel you're treating me rather badly.

Yes, I know you were never a warm season.

And I know that when we started this—this—thing—this relationship—whatever this is—I know I said there were things I like about you.

But it turns out I don’t like those things as much as I thought I did.

No, you’re right. You have lots of good qualities. Snowflakes. Frosty patterns on the windowpanes. Hot chocolate. Hot chocolate is lovely. Snowy evenings. Those are delightful too. Yes, especially with a fire. You’re right.

But—and here’s the thing—those snowy evenings always turn into sidewalks and front walks I have to shovel. There’s always a driveway covered in snow, and someone inevitably drives on it before the snow is cleared and then there are icy tire tracks to slip on until spring.

No, there are other good things about you. Yes, Thanksgiving is great. I enjoy cooking and drinking. Christmas is very nice too. And the lights over the holidays.

But (in truth) all the sweets give me a bit of a headache, I always gain weight, and the cleaning up is really a chore.

I know you don’t mind when I gain a little weight. That’s not the point.

New Years? Well, frankly, it’s overrated. If you stay home you always think you’re missing some great party and if you go to a party you never have all that much fun because everyone is trying so hard to have fun and you always wonder why you didn’t just stay home.

The New Years’ fireworks are nice, but they scare the dog.

Valentine’s Day? Don’t get me started.

Look, all those things about you are great. But they don’t really make up for the ice on the sidewalks, the lost and mismatched mittens, the woolly things that itch my skin, the outrageous heating bills, the frosted car windows that must be scraped, the colds and flu, the fourteen hours of dark. And I really hate it when it the oogie-googies in my nose freeze.

No, I do bundle up.

Yes, of course the northern hemisphere needs a rest. But must it last so long?

Spring will come in a few months? True, true. But then you’ll be back again and we'll fall into the same old routine.

So I think we’re going to have to break up.

No, there’s no other season.

Well, yes, I did just spend some time in Florida. Yes, I like Florida. Yes, the beach. Stop it now. I’ve only seen Florida the one time. It’s not like I plan to move there. At least not right now.

Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. It will only turn into ice.

I’m sorry, Winter. Really I am.

It’s not you. It’s me.