Thursday, July 23, 2009

Further adventures of JoJo

You all remember the story of the baby possum, right? It's still pretty much Lucy's favorite story, but as good stories do, it has been enlarged and mythologized. I thought I'd share some of the recent iterations for your enjoyment.

--In which the baby possum's name is JoJo, and she lives with us while trying to make it big as a singer-songwriter. She comes to us from New York with her guitar, but ends up leaving when Eleanor, in a fit of rage over stolen food, sends the remote control car after her. Then Jojo goes out to the backyard to find her mommy and daddy.

--In which JoJo and the Caliri family and Eleanor all join in the local parade, get our own float, which has a big sign: "Featuring Jojo, the guitar-playing baby possum!"

--In which JoJo sees a hot-air balloon and convinces us to try it out. So we all go for a ride, after promising that JoJo and Eleanor won't scratch the balloon and thus send us plummetting to our deaths. Lucy was a little scared when the balloon took off, but JoJo held her and made her feel better.

--In which JoJo sees an ad for a battle of the bands. She gathers her animal friends into a band: Eleanor on drums, Freddy Frog on bass, Henrietta Hippo on vocals, and Lucy (not an animal) on piano. They practice hard for six weeks, perfecting some hits, like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Human. Then they enter in the "All-Animal and Little Girl Band" category and take the competition by storm.

What's next, JoJo? Politics? Honorary Doctorates? Reality TV?

mascara conspiracy

Personally, I think mascara is mascara is mascara.
I mean, you could conceivably pay tens of dollars for mascara, or 3.99 at Target.

Challenge: Guess how much I spend?


Anyway, last time at Target, I had a chance to test my theory. See, in those commercials on TV, they always make mascara seem so sexy, and like it is the bedrock of your beauty regimen. The mascara will transform your lashes into false eyelashes, without the glue!

I was seduced by the Lash Stiletto commercials (come on, you've gotta love Drew) and then at Target, the two-pack of Lash Stiletto was less expensive than two of my regular brand.

So I tried it. And I will admit, I was kind of excited. (Perhaps I should get out more?) But really: my lashes are nothing to write home about, especially since both my husband and daughter have really fabulous lashes. I can use all the help I can get, Drew. So I withdrew the wand and...

Really, it didn't look any different than my normal brand. Maybe a touch less gloppy. No thicker or richer or stiletto-ish. Just my lashes, but in black-brown.

Personally, I think the mascara companies have their normal $3.99 formula, and then the "Let's put Drew Barrymore in a commercial and slap a new name on the slightly misshapen bottle and call it Lash Stiletto and charge $5.99 for it!" And then people buy it while the commercials are out. When that dies down, they call it Lash Sabre or Lash Staccato or whatever, and find some other movie star to peddle it.

It's a lash conspiracy, people.

Actually, now that I think of it, that's not a half-bad name for a new mascara.

this joke has spiraled out of control

Every morning and evening, Lucy takes a little gummi vitamin.
This is a major highlight of her day.
They come in three flavors, and are shaped like little bears.
Nothing wrong with that.

Except: one morning, many months ago, Dyami pretending the vitamin protested as Lucy lifted it to her mouth: "Don't eat me!!!" (In a shrill gummi bear voice).
Of course, this made the already-exciting ritual even more exciting.
So then we had to say, "Don't eat me" every time she ate the darn thing.

Again, we're still on the border of propriety here.

Then Lucy realized that if the gummi bear could say one thing, it could say others. Which led to the macabre conversations we've been having every morning and night:

"Hi, Bear Vitamin, what your name?"
"Orangy (or Bartholemew or Chrissy or whatever. We have come up with a lot of names. Once we name them...kaput.)"
"Hi! Nice meet you." Pause.
"So why did you get me out of that jar?"
"Cause I going eat you. See my sharp teeth?" (Big smile, very sharp teeth.)
"Oh no! Don't eat me!"

Etc, etc.

I didn't notice how awful this really was until a) my parents heard the exchange and b) the babysitters heard the exchange.
Then I was like, what are we teaching our child?
However, I am hard-pressed to know how exactly to end the massacre of the innocents at mealtime. Perhaps we bundle it together with the conversation about how that "chicken" we eat really is chicken.
Except we don't usually taunt the chicken before putting it on the grill.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

pronoun confusion

Lately, Dyami has been telling Lucy that she's his girl.

"Daddy my girl," Lucy told me today.
I did a double-take. "Your girl?"
"He my girl."
"Is Daddy a girl, Lucy?"
She laughed. "Nooooo," she said, with the tone, what, do you think I'm stupid?

Then, later at dinner with Daddy:
"Daddy, you my girl," she told him.
More double-takes. "Do you mean that you're my girl?" Dyami finally said.
"Huh, yeah," she said. "You my girl."
"No, if you want to say it, you'd say, "I'm your girl."
"You my girl."
"No, say, 'You my...'" He paused. "I mean..."

These pronouns, they're tricky.