47 posts tagged “petunia”

Petunia turned 8 today, which is already yesterday to my East Coast friends.  It was a banner day, though non-stop for me.  This morning, my sweet girl was greatly looking forward to the day ahead.  She and the Guv woke me at the crack of dawn for present-opening ceremonies, after which we discussed the day ahead: Pajama Day at school (sporting satin PJs purchased last-minute, thank you Target) on "early release" Wednesday (school lets out at 1 instead of 2:30 every Wednesday).  After school, a three-girl playdate with friends we'll call ZeZe and KiKi, beginning with Rick's ice cream and ending with late-afternoon soccer practice.  A brief interlude would be followed by picking up birthday cake to take to the "potlick" (my kids, they get right to the point of the gathering) at Dash's preschool.  The day was jam-packed, and my only break would be in those precious morning hours of Dash's preschool.

Or not.

For at our crack-of-dawn session, while reviewing the day ahead, Petunia pulled me aside and said, "You do have party games for the afternoon, right, Mama?"

Naturally, I smiled and said, "Of course!  I not only have party games -- I have AWESOME party games!  You'll have so much fun with ZeZe and KiKi!"

Petunia: "Does Dash have to play with us?"

Mama (who never answers a question posed by a child unless she's certain of the answer): "Do you want him to?"

Petunia (shocking me): "Of course!  He's my brother!  We can't leave him out of my party!"

Mama: "Then play, he will."

Now, there are lies (Santa, the tooth fairy, etc.), and there are damn lies (weapons of mass destruction, dangling chads, etc.), and then there are birthday lies (yes I have party games, yes your brother can play too, etc.).  I fear the birthday lie going awry the most, because the last -- the very, very last -- thing that a parent ever wants is even a slight hint of disappointment on a child's birthday.  This is why we go to such extremes for parties, gifts, special moments (telling that birth story yet again), homemade favorite meals, cake... We want our kids smiling all day on their day, because they made us who we are: Parents.  And no matter what we achieve in life aside from the titles Mom and Dad, nothing else will ever seem quite as great.

So...

I did not ever drink my coffee today, I didn't curl up with a book as planned, I didn't work on my next blog post, and I didn't collapse from exhaustion (okay, that was a wee lie, because I just woke up from putting Dash to bed).  I'm also pretty sure that I forgot to eat lunch.

Instead, I dropped Dash at preschool, and Mission Last-Minute Birthday Party began.  First stop, Costco, checking for cake for tonight's "potlick."  No dice: almost all Costco cakes have nuts, a no-no at Dash's school.  Picked up Dash's "unbirthday" present, the Tonka garbage truck of his dreams, and snacks for Saturday's 8 am soccer match (damn it, there goes more sleep).  Saw PetSmart across the way; remembered that the guinea pigs are out of pretty much everything: hay, food, bedding.  Stocked up.  Took the 101 to Toys R Us to pick up a globe, another last minute request from Petunia.  (Note to all: globes in Palo Alto are $60; the exact same globe is $20 at Toys R Us in Redwood City.)  Marvelled at how Toys R Us has no party games.  Also marvelled at how I couldn't see beyond the "party packaging" and come up with something there.  Returned to car at 11:15 -- half an hour from preschool and an hour away from pick-up time.  Punched "Party" into the navigation system -- and voila!  Found a Party City a mile away!  Picked up party hats, a couple of inflated balloons, picture-based party bingo, an inflatable cake ring toss game, and Sarah Palin's favorite game, shoot the tail off of stick the tail on the donkey.  Grabbed some spider and bat rings and chocolates in case Petunia also expected party favors. 

Made it to preschool just in time to pick up Dash, who was naked down to his diaper and painted green.  I am not kidding.  The kids at his preschool are allowed to be in skivvies with body paint, which, in my day, was not allowed until one hit college age.  Yet I had a freakin' Oompa-Loompa before me, and he was suddenly no longer happy to be naked and dirty. 

Returned home, bathed a very unhappy "I want my pants I want my shirt I want this paint off of my face" Dash at top speed, picked up the party girls, fed them ice cream, and played Ryan Seacrest to their party games for the afternoon.  Here's an excerpt from the bingo game: "Oooh, I want a sun next, please!"  "Please let there be a sailboat next!"  "Call an apple, please!"  "Please can we play again?"  Yes, Petunia has actually made some friends why might be more polite than her -- and that's really saying something!

Squeezed in an impromptu meeting with a landscaper, with whom I'll be spending a day and a mint grooming and learning about my garden, including planting the coolest thing I've ever heard of: an espalier along my alley fence.

Bought nut-free cake at Safeway.  Made it to potlick after the Guv due to horrendous traffic -- the first time the Guv has ever beat me anyplace.

And these are among the many reasons why I fell asleep with Dash and am going back there right now.  Tomorrow's forecast is sunny and in my jammies.  Birthdays come but once a year because that's all a mom can take!  Phew...

Or not. 

Petunia's REAL birthday party involves bowling with her entire class, plus a few, two weeks from now.  Dash has his own lane.  Perhaps I'll paint him green for the occasion!

Petunia: Mama, why did Hillary get kicked out again?

Mama: You mean, why did Hillary lose the primary election?

Petunia: Yeah... wait, she lost because Obama won, right?

Mama: More or less.

Dash: Boo for Hillary!  Boo for Obama!  Yeah for Buttcrack!

(Obviously, the kid's been talking politics with the Guv again.  Or else he's a Republican already... wait, that's against the law in Texas...)

Princess Fiona Sarah Stephanie

When we first visited Vermont, Petunia was almost five, and Dash was five months old.  We toured the Vermont Teddy Bear Company and gave Petunia the gift of a very special made-in-Vermont teddy bear, which she named Princess Fiona Sarah Stephanie.  About a year ago, Princess Fiona Sarah Stephanie's back split open, releasing a little fluff in addition to a waterfall of tears from Petunia's eyes.  Remembering that the teddy bear came with a lifetime guarantee -- and remembering the teddy bear hospital from our factory tour -- I eventually went on-line and printed out some forms, which I finally mailed in with the bear just as we left Vermont for California.

Today, the Princess waited for us on the doorstep, not only repaired but also sporting a Southern Belle outfit.  A nice note from Dr. Helen accompanied the Princess, indicating that Princess Fiona Sarah Stephanie starred in a play as a Southern Belle during her time back at the factory, so they let her keep the outfit as a thank-you.  My daughter could not have been happier.  She would've been happy with just a returned bear, or a bear in a hospital gown, but this -- this fancy, refluffed bear -- well, this is Princess Fiona Sarah Stephanie, Petunia's #2 bear.  (#1 is Baby Brown, dating from age 2.)  Dash will get his own Vermont Teddy Bear when he's five, and I'll be giving these to special kids (young and old) a little more often considering how well the company has treated my daughter's bear.

Petunia: "Daddy, I'll bet you five cents that I can hang from this bar for ten seconds!"

the Guv: "Okay, it's a bet!"

(Petunia wins.)

Petunia: "Daddy, I'll bet you five MORE cents that I can hang from this bar for ten MORE seconds!"

the Guv, chuckling: "Okay, let's go!"

(Petunia wins again.)

the Guv: "Okay, Petunia, my turn.  I'll bet you one cent that I can do one pull-up."

Petunia: "Do it!"

(The Guv wins.)

the Guv: "So, who wins how much?"

Petunia thinks.  And thinks.  "Well, you owe me five cents, times two... and then you owe me one cent... so..."

the Guv: "Okay.  So I owe you five cents plus five cents.  What is the total?"

Petunia: "Ten cents."

the Guv: "And you owe me what?"

Petunia: "One cent."

the Guv: "So taking into account that I owe you ten cents, and you owe me one cent, what's the final amount that I owe you?  What's the net debt?"

Petunia: "Huh?"

the Guv: "That amount, that ten cents less the one cent that I owe you, that's called net debt.  What is my net debt to you?"

Petunia: "You owe me nine cents."

the Guv: "Nicely done, nicely done."

And then they whipped their HP-12C's out of their pocket protectors as they raced toward their next challenge...

I should let the blogosphere know that today was a much better day here in sunny California.  In fact in started off particularly well.  The children learned that the only dark place in the house (because there are skylights and light tunnels everywhere) is the dressing area in my closet, so they shut themselves in there with various types of flashlights for nearly an hour this morning, enabling me to get a lot done.  I would've gotten a lot more done had I been able to figure out how to lock them in there, but then my Very Concerned Friends probably would've finally reported me to the authorities. 

The minions were well-behaved enough that we planned an Exciting Trip Out to hit the big, huge, totally awesome Whole Foods in nearby Los Altos for a major stock-up, and then we boldly took a picnic lunch to the Guv's new office (blanket included, as he has no furniture yet).  We returned home to assemble my new co-pilot bike trailer, only to find it damaged/dented and impossible to securely put together, so we had Exciting Trip Out Number Two of the day to return it... new one will arrive Monday or thereabouts.  Since the day was going so smoothly, and since Petunia has been freaking out about school supplies, we decided to extend Exciting Trip Out Number Two, adding Part B by heading to a nearby Target (which, sadly, is not anywhere near as nice as our Jersey store was) to pick up odds and ends and a bike pump for the aforementioned trailer (and the kids' flat tires too).  (Wow, that was a horribly put together, long sentence.  Whatever...)

And the day doesn't end there... Exciting Trip Out Number Three was an exciting post-dinner bike ride to Petunia's new school at the end of our street.  I thought that her eyes were going to bulge out of her head when she saw the Totally Awesome (!!!) playground.  We found the third grade classrooms, climbed on all of the crazy, rope-heavy, obstacle course equipment, and headed home just past dark.  Petunia's assessment?  "Mom, I can't wait for school to start so that I can have recess!"  Hey, I'll take it -- or anything else that makes her happy to be here!

So, to all of my Very Concerned Friends, God is in his heaven, Dash didn't punch me in the face at all today, my children are in bed sleeping, the laundry drainage hose is reconnected properly, and I've just polished off a bag of Newman's Own wheat-free, dairy-free chocolate chip cookies, which have a big warning sticker on them about palm oil decimating rainforests.  Funny, I never saw that sticker back East!   Gotta love it here...

We're not leaving Vermont until next week, but I'm feeling broken-hearted already.  Everything we're doing these days is "the last" something of the summer... the last trip to the Montshire Museum, the last trip to the dump (the kids' very favorite thing to do), the last breakfast at the Farmer's Diner, the last hike down to the bottom of the Gorge.  On the one hand, I'm so excited about starting our new life in Silicon Valley... but, on the other hand, I want to stomp my feet and say "damn it, why can't life be like this?"

I've always claimed to be fearless, but I realized this week that's not true.  I'm very, very afraid of the "always on" society that is Silicon Valley.  I don't want to be out to dinner with my husband scrolling through messages on his Crackberry (then again, that's no different from NJ).  I don't want an I-Phone that receives Twitter updates from people who think it's very important that I know where they are every minute of the day.  I don't even want to Twitter at all!  I don't want to be where people answer their cell phones when I'm in the middle of a conversation with them.  I don't want to deal with my seven year-old's sure-to-come-soon requests for her own I-Phone.  (Gasp!  She doesn't have one yet.)

Of course, I realize that I've never lived in California, and my perceptions of it -- based largely on my husband's positive experiences -- may be way off.  I know that I’m generalizing, and I know that’s wrong.  In all fairness, I can’t wait to make some new friends out there.  I'm excited to try life on the Left.  I'm excited at being in what my husband insists is a more intellectual, more progressive place.  I'd rather talk about the potential ramifications of Obama's windfall tax than about whether or not LiLo's gay.  And I'll like being in a place where the latter is not so scandalous.

But... yesterday, I took Petunia fishing for the first time with a "local" friend who's dad's a farmer.  He doesn't have a cell phone, and they're practically off the grid altogether.  He’s a lawyer who gave it all up to lead the simple life, like taking his kid fishing with a friend on a sunny summer morning.  As Petunia caught her first fish -- a tiny little sunfish -- her smiling face stood out against the backdrop of the rolling Green Mountains, a little bit of fog lifting off of the river giving her a nice background glow.  I could’ve cried with the beauty of the scene.  My daughter has her own computer, a Wii, a Nintendo DS, a dozen Webkinz and way, way too much other stuff.  But in that moment, holding up her little fish on the line, the pride in her smile made me remember that the best stuff in life isn’t “stuff” – it’s experiences that matter, that last.  

My biggest fear about our move is that it’ll be more the “stuff” that matters.  My beautiful new house that meant quadrupling our mortgage might not be spectacular enough.  And, for shame, our cars aren’t even hybrids!  I don’t want to be in a place where I have to compete – or, more appropriately, where competition takes a toll on my wallet.  But mostly, I don’t want to ever again find myself in a place where I can’t just be me… which reminds me why I’m really happy about this move.  I never felt like I could just be myself in New Jersey.  I felt like I spent a lot of time trying to be someone I’m not, which is reflected in part in the hundreds of dollars worth of scrapbooking supplies that remain unused.  Oh, I didn’t have to go to the parties, and I didn’t have to buy the stuff, but that seemed to be what people did, so I did it too.  And I’m sorry for that, both for being a poser in that regard and for buying “stuff” I didn’t want or need.  I don’t want to Twitter because everyone else does, but can I avoid it and still fit in?

Regardless, this time around, I’m going to do things differently.  I need to remember that wherever I am, I need to just be myself – a girl from Appalachia that appreciates a simpler life because I grew up in a simpler time in a simpler place (and before anyone from back home gets all offended, rest assured that I mean that in an entirely positive way).  I also need to remember that I can share that kind of simple life with my kids.  Out West, I need to remember that when life gets too hectic, I can take the kids fishing.  I can turn off my cell phone, and I can ignore the pace of life passing me by.  I just have to be okay with the consequences of that, and I think I will be. When Silicon Valley makes that tough, I’ll remember that I always have these Green Mountains to come home to in the sweet summertime.  ‘Til then, I’ll keep that picture of Petunia in my head, remembering each time she asks for another “thing” that the best things I can give her are experiences.  We’ll have plenty of those to look forward to anew in our all new home.

Petunias

Today, during their tennis lesson, Petunia's 9 year-old friend Bee asked her how often she showers.

"Once a week," Petunia answered.

"Ewwww, that's not enough," Bee scolded.

Petunia already had her grump on today -- which is always comical, as she's only in a foul mood maybe three times per year.   She left her court and stormed over to me.  "Mama," she spat, "What's the deal with someone asking me how often I shower?  It's not like I stink!"

"How often did you tell her you shower?" I asked.

"Once per week!" she rolled her eyes, and threw her hands in the air, and crossed her arms.

"That thing that we do every other night, or every night after swimming, where I fill the bathtub with soapy water..." I started.

"THAT'S TAKING A BATH.  THAT'S NOT TAKING A SHOWER," she more or less shouted.

I called Bee over.  "Bee," I explained.  "Just so you know, there seems to be some confusion over showering versus bathing.  Regardless, Petunia is cleaned almost every day.  I promise."

Petunia looked ready to choke me as Bee said, "Oh, I figured that," and skipped away.

"Mama," Petunia asked, "Why did you do that?"

"Petunia," I answered, "Let's think about this.  Do you like to hang out with smelly, dirty people?"

"I'M NOT SMELLY AND DIRTY," she pouted.

"Exactly," I said, "And now Bee knows that.  Telling someone you clean yourself once per week doesn't really convey that message."

"Whatever," she sighed, and, with another eye roll and a turn on her heel, she returned to her tennis lesson.  She hit tennis balls furiously hard and well.  I'm thinking that maybe I should piss her off before every lesson.  (Kidding!  Maybe.)

Just for kicks, much later in the day, I looked up the definition of Petunia on Wikipedia.  Since I've used the nickname "Petunia" for her pretty much since her birth, I figured that it was time to make sure that "Petunia" had no nasty secrets to it -- like only showering once a week or something.  And there appeared my answer to raising her up right: "If growing petunias, it's best to leave them in full sunlight and only water them when their soil is dry to the touch."

So, in other words, when the mud of the lake is caked on her feet, and the Har-Tru grit of the tennis court is sticking to that mud, and the zinc oxide sunblock has trapped all of the grime transferred from her hands over the course of the day, and it all dries, then it's time to get clean.  Okay, then.  Bathtime!

My Aunt Ess is in Afghanistan for a year as an attorney with the Department of Justice (after spending last year in Iraq), and she had the privilege of shaking future President Obama's hand.  My mom said that her sister's take on Obama was: "Nice ass, but I'm still voting for McCain."  Sigh...

*****

The kids, the au pair, Petunia's new BFF and I spent the day at Ben & Jerry's and running around Montpelier's state capital building, where there is this awesome portrait of former governor Howard Dean.  I love how Dean eschews convention by ditching the suit, tie and throne and, instead, had himself painted off-center with a canoe.  Does anyone else think this Presidential election has gotten dull?  I miss Dean and his barbaric yawp.

Where was I... oh, yes, today's travels reminded me just how glad I am that Petunia has a good friend up here now -- a friend that is the type that I'm happy to have over, to take anywhere we go, to spend the whole day with -- just a good, sweet girl like my Petunia is.  This friend, who we'll call Bee, is even patient with Dash.  Perhaps I should call her Angel for that reason alone!

In any event, the kids had a blast, and so did I -- and it's rare that I don't need three Motrin and some Goldschlager after a day-long outing with three kids, so that's really saying something!

*****

Lastly, Dash might have possibly decided that it's time to maybe start thinking about perhaps growing up a little bit. 

This came about because he woke me up four times last night saying "I want milk (which he prounces mee-yollk), I want milk..."  -- and I decided I've had it with sleepus interruptus.  We had a frank discussion in daylight about how there will be no more milk in bed at all, ever, because Mama can't get any sleep, and no sleep makes Mama crabby, and Daddy's gone, so crabby Mama means Dash might sleep in the bathroom closet if Mama can't take it anymore...

And I think he decided that the tile in that bathroom closet is cold and undesirable, because tonight, I didn't even bring up the no-milk-in-bed thing, and he calmly settled in and asked, "May I please have some water?"

I don't have to go to the fridge for water, so that's a big maybe, but let's see how often he wakes up and asks for it...

At least it's a step in the right direction.  Maybe.

To her father this morning: "I like it when I can buy lunch at camp, because Mama's not there, and it's private."

Mama's response: Yeah, that and you think you can get away with buying total crap to eat... But I'm onto you, sister, because I got a printout of your meal purchases.  Cakesters?  Let's see if you're allowed to buy lunch next year.

*****

To her father this evening: "We play this game for twenty points, you versus me.  Whoever wins gets to be the boss of the day tomorrow, and that's going to turn out very well for me."

Mama's response: Of course, because if you win, you'll think you're the boss, and if daddy wins, you'll still end up being the boss because he's a SUCKER.  Since you two have such a swell boss-day planned, can I have tomorrow off?

*****

Of course, not to be outdone, Dash had some last words for me before bed: "Mama, tomorrow I'm going to find some big, huge men, and do you know what I'm going to say to them?  PREPARE TO GET BEANED."