Frog In North Georgia

Photo by Francisca Ulloa

Happy birthday.  For your celebration, come in and get your boobs squished into a freezing cold vice.  We’ll tell you if you have cancer.

Free Mammogram

I got a birthday card in the mail.  It says, happy birthday, and contains information about receiving a free mammogram.  That is quite possibly the most unexpected birthday gift I’ve ever received.

Don’t get me wrong.  I know this is actually a valuable gift.  Prevention is good.  But really, my birthday is a downer.  I just paid my birthday tax.  The State of Georgia also says happy birthday.  For your birthday, you pay the property tax and tag fee on your car.  So this week I pay a tax and there is the free mammogram?

Ick.

Regifting

My birthday is Sunday, the fourth.  Generally it is best ignored.  Because receiving a regift wrapped in Christmas paper because that is what people can afford, is well - a card or simple happy birthday voice mail is much better.

Okay, so that’s my, please ignore me if you can’t say something nice on my birthday even if you are an institution rant.  Taxing me and offering a medical procedure is not included in “nice.”

Grandma Update

Grandma is herself mentally and linguistically.  I spent fifteen minutes telling her that DD had a playdate with her friend E.  Grandma was confused by the name, didn’t understand that E is a person.  Once that was settled, I spent several more minutes explaining that E is a girl and her brother G is a boy.  Clearly, names that are not gender specific are lost on Grandma.  It is not a trend that she likes.

Physically grandma is not the best. She claims she is well.  Because she is well in spirit (see above).  I can no longer call at any time of day or evening with any certain that I won’t wake her up.  The oxygen isn’t really working so well.  And she just doesn’t sound well (her voice, not what she says).

Grandma and her Male Suitors

Grandma went to a holiday party that the little greek man threw.  I said, “You rejected him, then went to his party?”

She said, “Well, lots of people were there.”

I said, “Grandma, you were there.”

Weirdly, she had no response to that.

Her old boyfriend, J, also called.  She said, oh, it’s nice that he called, I thought he might be dead.

I asked whatever happened to D, who stopped calling, so she thought he was dead.  She said, oh yes, definitely dead.  I asked how she found out.  She said she doesn’t remember, somebody must have called her back.

Poor guy, he even asked her to marry him one last time.  She said she could never marry an Italian-American man:  too possessive.

When I told her about the free mammogram she said, well, at least when you don’t call me back right away, I don’t think you’re dead.

Tags: birthday gift, free mammogram, greek man, happy birthday, medical procedure, property tax, regift, state of georgia, tag fee.

Christmas Morning

Merry Christmas.  I hope everybody had a nice time.  Or happy holidays if Christmas is not your holiday. 

We had a very low key day.  We went to MILs on Sunday.  So the 25th was nice and quiet.  DD, in usual kid fashion asked if there weren’t more presents to open.  It seemed like less than it actually was since she had already opened so many things before Christmas day.

DH drove SS out to visit some family for a few days. Hooray, hooray.  He won’t be bored to death and sharing his misery with us.

DDs favorite gifts are a Barbie pediatrician and an Ariel cape.  Of course what she desperately wanted was an Ariel doll, which she plays with, but not nearly as much.  The Barbie is quite possibly the only Barbie ever who doesn’t look like a hooch.

Knowing the camera would be out, it was my thought to get up before DD and be dressed and have my hair and makeup fixed.  But of course the moment I stirred she was off to see what Santa brought.  And I wanted to see her open her gifts.  So there is the big hair, at 7:00 AM with me still in pajamas with no makeup.

Tags: ariel, barbie, big hair, christmas day, christmas morning, favorite gifts, merry christmas.

It is time again for the semi-annual purge of household items.  A few weeks ago, under tremendous protest, I gave away a lot of toys and clothing that had belonged to DD.  Most of it was too small, or too young. But there was a big batch of things perfectly age appropriate for which we just don’t have room that went to mother-in-laws house.  DD can play with it tomorrow.

I have ready to go in the trunk and deliver tomorrow, many baby items for SIL, for her baby on the way.

I have a stack of magazines and books to deliver to a friend who is temporarily housebound.  Which is really scary, because I just brought a giant stack of magazines to MIL at Thanksgiving.

And I have a box each for Goodwill and the library.  Good grief.

On a funny note, I told DD that she needs to make room for her new toys that she will
receive as gifts and that Santa looks for clean rooms and sharing.  She
then polled her friends and quoted each of their responses to me.  Here are a couple:

DD: Mommy, my friends don’t have to give away their toys.
Me: Sure they do.
DD: No, B doesn’t give away her toys.  And they eat as many oreos as they want.
Me: B’s house is a mess.  And her mother is much fatter than yours.  Do you want to live in squalor with a really fat mom?
DD (frowns): No.  I don’t like that. E doesn’t give away her toys.
Me: E doesn’t celebrate Christmas.  Santa is going to fly right past her house.
DD: Why does Santa come down the chimney?
Me: Because the reindeer park on the roof.

wtf am I coming up with this stuff?  We also have been to the library this week and DD checked out a book about the food pyramid and vegetables.  Then we went to the doctor who talked about vegetables and health.  DD said on the way home, “I need to call B now and tell her about the vegetables and oreos so she won’t get fat.”

omfg, how to get her to understand that people cannot lecture their friends about vegetables and oreos.

Tags: baby items, christmas santa, food pyramid, household items, new toys.

Photo by Pullao

I called my cousin to wish him happy birthday.  In the background I hear my uncle.  “Is that Christina?”

Cousin: Yeah Dad.

Uncle: Is she married to a white guy?

Cousin: Yeah Dad.

Uncle: An American?

Cousin: Yeah Dad, a houle.  She’s married to a houle.

Uncle: How come I don’t know this?

Cousin: Because you don’t usually listen to my phone conversations.

Uncle: How many kids does she have?

Cousin: Dozens.

Uncle (shocked): Christina?

Cousin: No Dad.  One, she has one child.

roflmao.  My uncle is 90 years old.  He’s my dad’s brother-in-law.  He’s from Guam.  Last time I called he couldn’t remember who I was right away.

My cousin and I are the same age. He is so much younger than his sisters that they were in college when he was born.  His oldest sister and my mom were the same age.  I’m sure he’s going to have a really good time with all of them this evening telling them nonsense about me (because they won’t remember the truth), before finally clearing it up at the end of the evening.

He is really enjoying the family senility.

Oh, and translation, houle is a somewhat derogatory term for a white, American, state-sider (not Hawaii).  For years my aunt was so embarrassed that he married a houle that she told everybody that he married a French girl, which was true as a technicality.

Pronounced:  howl-y.

Tags: american cousin, derogatory term, french girl, good time, happy birthday, phone conversations, white guy.

Grandma called several weeks ago, “Christine!  I found a picture of Grandpa.”

I asked, “Your grandfather or mine?”

“Yours,” she said, “My ex-husband.  Oh, he used to be good looking.  I see why I fell for him… Okay, so you come get this picture so I stop looking at him.”

Right.

DD and I drive down there and have lunch with her.  The photo is nice, black and white, taken in 1940s France.  It looks very serious, like it belongs with a press pass, or passport dossier.  DD is fascinated.  But we forget it anyway.  Two weeks later we returned.  This time Grandma brought the photo down to the car.  DD immediately took custody of it.  Grandma had it wrapped in wrapping tissue held fast with giant rubberbands.  That is no match for a preschooler.

On the way home DD said, “Maman, tell me again who is this man.”

I tell her that is her great-grandfather.  She’s four and has never met him.

When we got home the picture was missing and I asked her what did she do with Grandpa.  She said, “He’s in my room.  I like him.”

Now she talks to him like she does her dolls and stuffed animals and carries him around the house.  He’s her new imaginary friend.

Today Grandpa rode to ballet with us, and Ballerina Bunny and Jolie (the bilingual doll).  Earlier in the week the three of them accompanied us to the grocery and he rode in the buggy with her.  I imagine that looked a little weird to other customers.

Tags: great grandfather, imaginary friend, press pass, stuffed animals.

This is the story of our busy, but not very productive weekend.

Saturday

8:00 AM  DH declares that the carpet is horribly dirty.  (It is.) And must be cleaned immediately.  DDs ballet recital is at 11:00 AM.

DH moves all of the furniture and prepares to clean the carpet.

Black Tutu

10:30 AM leave for Christmas in the Park recital.  Get DD to greenroom with other tiny ballerinas and dress and redress princess tutu due to costume confusion.  She begins in a very cute black and white tutu but ends up performing in a heart motif monstrosity that even a four year old knows is gauche.  She was none too pleased to wear it.

I explain several times that one little ballerina is absent due to religious beliefs.  DD is in the three and four year old class.  Three and four year olds really do not seem to grasp religious tolerance.  Each child asks me where is E, several times, rephrasing each time; because the answer makes no sense to them:  E and her family do not celebrate Christmas.  You will see her again in class.  No she is not sick. Everything is fine.  Enjoy your recital.

I could have given up and said, yes E is sick. But they would know on Tuesday that isn’t true.  And I think that would have been disrespectful.  They all were asking me because E is DDs friend.  And DD was asking me.  Again, and again.

DD is very unhappy when I leave her in the greenroom to go find a seat in the audience. You would have thought I was leaving her with wolves instead of her beloved classmates and teacher with the look she gave me.

DH was right where we left him in the lobby, doing work on his pda, but of course.  We found seats and were immediately surrounded by the other ballerinas parents and a lot of little boys.

I should be thankful more often that I have a girl.  Boy humor involves a lot of bodily noises.

Red Tutu

The ballet groups turned out to be a LOT of groups, four age groups, different days of the week, and some doing two routines.  Ugh.  It got really long, though very amusing.  The little girl on her left stood still throughout the performance.  And a three year old from the Saturday class wandered out toward the audience and just stood there.  There was a lot of just standing with the threes.

There was a group of hip-hop performers who were very entertaining.  Only one was male.  I applaud his security.  He wasn’t a bad dancer either.

Afterward we went to visit Mr. B, the organic beekeeper.  DD loves him.  He has started making new things with the honey.  I got the best smelling soap and some Christmas gifts.

When we got home I realized I had unplugged the crock pot, not the coffee pot.

Ugh.  Burned coffee and uncooked stew.

DH cleaned half the carpet.

Sunday

6:00 AM Cat wakes DH.  He moves everything to the other side of the family room, cooks breakfast and makes both rooms totally unusable.

7:00 AM The rest of us get up.  DH leaves things in a state of chaos until around noon when he decides to finish the carpet, but not put anything away.

I clean the kitchen, twice, put away cleaning items and move some of the furniture back.  Oh look, now it is 1:00 PM and I’ve accomplished pretty much nothing.  DH is asleep.

Right.

The carpet looks good.  The rest of the house is a complete disaster.  And I have baked nothing for Thanksgiving Day.

SS turned seventeen this week.  We offered to do something with him.  He declined.  Poor kid ended up at a funeral with his moms side of the family.  Needless to say, his mood is not fabulous.  I got him a cake anyway.

Our little princess is wearing one of her many princess dresses, this particular one purchased last year after Halloween on clearance, and a real tiara.

And I’m freezing.  For some reason my body has decided it would like to be two degrees cooler than normal and does not wish to resume normal 98.6 temperature.  I am wearing a ridiculous amount of clothing and could invest in warm drinks.  The other members of my family burn at a constant 97.6 all of the time, so for them 96.0 would be a 1.6 degree drop.  But for me it is definitely 2.6.  And I do not like it.

Tags: christmas in the park, little ballerina, princess tutu, religious beliefs, religious tolerance.

We picked up Grandma and went to lunch where we ran into Uncle Hugh, who if anyone remembers outranks me because he was born sooner.  He is not really my uncle, but a long time family friend.  He’s (obviously) been around longer than me.

Hugh is my favorite Englishman.  I don’t actually know where he was born or when he and his mother, who married an American, came to America.  But he can affect any form of American or English accent, which is a good party trick.  And of course the accents come and go of their own free will.

We just ordered when he appeared.  He works very close by.  So this was a nice surprise to run into him.  DD is mad about him.  I suspect she is still not convinced that he is not Santa.  Every year around November he grows a shaggy beard.  I had thought it was just for warmth.  But he told me today that no, it’s because the kids think he’s Santa.  And he thinks that’s damn funny.  DD told me today she knows it is Uncle Hugh and not Santa.  But she doesn’t seem certain.  When she was two she was certain he was Santa.

Grandma announced that she saw the French Presidents wife on tv.

I said, “Oh yes, Carla Bruni.  She’s a pop star.”

Grandma is pleased that Carla is a modern woman who has not given up her singing just because she married the French President.

Photo by beyrouth

I like that Sarkozy is of Russian immigrant parentage; and Obama is just as American as I am with his international background. Wahoo, first generation like me.  Then I mentioned that DH got very annoyed with me when I told him that because I was stunned that he did not recognize Sarkozy as a Russian name.

Really?  You didn’t know Sarkozy is Russian?  He hissed at me something like it’s a foreign name baby.

Right, we weird children of immigrant people all have weird names and are all alike in our weirdness.  No offense taken.

Grandma said in a conspiratorial whisper, “We always have a lot of White Russians in France.”

When she says White Russians, she means those with royal lineage, and often money.  I said, “Well now you just have a lot of Russians.  The Wall fell in 1989.”

On the way home we passed the sitting area in front of her building.  It has nice big garden boxes and lawn chairs and is somewhat sheltered from the wind.  It was empty.  Grandma announced, “No Russians today.”

I said, “No Russians today?”

She said, “Yes, we have a lot of them living here.  They like this weather.”

I said, “You mean cold, like the motherland?”

She said she guesses.

I said “Don’t guess, most of their ports are north of the 70th parallel and freeze in the winter.  It’s an excellent reason to invade your southern neighbors.”

She said, “Well, they like to come to France.”

I said, “Grandma, everyone likes to come to France.  The food is good and the economy isn’t collapsing.”

Tags: carla bruni, grandma, russian immigrant, sarkozy is russian, white russians.

Grandma called and announced that it has been about three weeks since we last visited.  So we should come.  That means me and DD. 

We would visit her every week of course - but her calendar is too full for that.  I made sure that she can fit us in.  She doesn’t invite us.  She calls and announces that our presence is required.

This makes me laugh.  Because she thinks this is how invitation works.

Tags: full calendar, grandma, summoned.

Socks

I have decided that my SIL has an amazing talent for choosing socks.  It could be her superpower even.  That probably doesn’t sound like the compliment that I mean it to be.  But I’m a practical person, and therefore a huge fan of talents that are useful.

Last year, or possibly the year before (I suck at chronology) she and BIL went to visit her family in great white North as I like to call it (Minnesota) or as DH says, on the frozen tundra, then returned to not as cold Georgia with socks as gifts for everybody.  I thought it was cute.  Until I wore the socks.  Now I think it is terrific.  I had absolutely no idea that socks could function this well as a foot warming device.

I could also be exaggerating her sock choosing talent because I might suck at choosing socks just as much as I do at telling time.  I’ve been a slow learner about dressing in layers and other techniques of keeping oneself warm.  It’s from years of living in warm climates I’m certain.

Whatever, at least one year later I am ridiculously pleased with these two pairs of socks.  I ended up with two by accident.  One pair was given to DH, but are too small for him.  So I have two pair, lucky me.

Tags: choosing socks, dressing in layers, foot warming.

DD is obsessed with dressing her brother for Halloween. She has suggested several costumes. She is three. He is sixteen.

For example:

• Mama, for Halloween I will be a princess. Bubba can wear the fireman costume. It is too big for me. And he is a boy.
• Maybe he can be the doctor. But I don’t think so.
• It is not nice that Bubba can’t wear the fairy costume because he’s a boy.

Shaun of the Dead

He is not pleased.

I asked him what he has in mind. He said, “Shaun.”

I asked, “Shaun of the Dead?”

He said yes.

Yes! I get cool points for that.

Today DD says, “Mama, for Halloween I will be a princess. Who will be the prince?”

I suggested Daddy. (Hee hee.)

She said, “And Bubba! Bubba can wear a crown.”

When her brother arrived home she told him of her plans for him to wear a crown… and cape… and tights. She’s sorry the wand is broken.

He is not amused.

Tags: brother, bubba, fairy costume, family, fireman costume, humor, princess, shaun of the dead.