Once More...With Feeling.

Not your mama's babysitter

It's never too early to teach them the importance of proper pretty summer feet.

Sar, age 5.5.

Quotes from the Potty Training Seat, The Libinator, age 2.5

Lib: Mommy! Mommy! I did it! I did it!

The Mom: [inspects Shorty's port-o-can] Uh, no you didn't. Not even a drop.

Lib: Oh.....[thinks about things] I try again.

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(While handily courting the fruit snack bribe from Mom)

Lib: I'll take my fruit snack now.

Mom: When you've gone potty you can.

Lib: You can get it ready for me. ('get it ready' for her?)

Mom: Libby, when your done, I'll give you a fruit snack.

Lib: You can give it to me now. I'll just hold it.  Trust me.

( "you'll just hold it"? "Trust me"?? Uh...no.)

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On two separate occassions from her Aunt Kate and her mom, it's been asked what kind of underpants she wants.

So Lib, what kind of underpants to you want?  You want Princess? Dora?...

Lib: RED.

Yeah, I can't wait to see how this one grows up. 

Photo of the Day: The Dad and His Little Girl

The Rules - My sister's house, updated 1/13/08

These may or may not be directed to a certain 5 year old girl.

(ahem... )

1. No Irish step dancing in the shower.

2. No "bodyslamming" your little brother.

The last one was a result of said 5 year-old calling to her Ma who was just getting out of the shower "Mom, Mom, Owen's hurt, Owen's hurt."

[hears crying from playroom, walks and talks to playroom with the informer]

"I didn't mean to do it. We were having a pillow fight and I body slammed him and he got hurt. I told him I was sorry. .... I'm getting him some ice."

[walks into playroom to a stunned Owen]

{through tears} "Sawah bodyslammed me."

"It's like a station wagon."

Last night Mike and I visited with his family for in honor of his Dad's and sister's birthdays.  At some point during this evening the subject of vehicles came up.  This is one of  Mike's father's favorite subjects, as the man knows just about everything there is to know about them, has been a truck driver by trade, loves the classics and has even owned a few (a truck circa 1940s I believe was one of them).

Anyway, for as long as I've known Mike, he has said that when he moves out of the city, as we have now, that he is getting a truck again.  You see, for the past 5+ years he's been driving a Mazda sedan and while it's served him well, the time has come to say goodbye.

Prior to the Mazda, he had a beater truck which he loved. LOVED.  And now that I've just purchased my set of wheels (farewell, good Golf), the itch has been too hard to ignore. So Mike brings the subject up with his father, a man of vast knowledge and great haggling skills and Mike tells him he's not looking for anything brand new or fancy or even full-sized, just something that'll make the trip to Home Depot on the weekends, moving crap,  anything you'd imagine us suburbanites would use an F-150 for.

It is around here that Mike's father sincerely suggests, "How about an El Camino?"

I know I can't even look at Mike because I think I might start to get  a case of the giggles, and that would be bad.  So I instead nudge Mike's leg to infer, "WE ARE NOT GETTING AN EL CAMINO, RIGHT?" That "right" as in "YOU HEAR ME, RIGHT, CHIEF?"

So Mike informs his well-meaning dad that that isn't something he'd really be into, going back on some recent history where we'd borrowed one to get a lawn mower up to our house? The room factor, having to step down into it.   I don't know. Whatever it was, Mike wasn't down at all with the El C.

His dad, never one to be afraid to make his case, countered, "It's like a station wagon."

To which Mike responded, "I don't WANT a station wagon."

There might have been more said on this subject but I kinda went off into la-la land ala J.D. on Scrubs, imagining what Mike and I would look like bouncing around town in this thing, maybe with a little baby hanging on in the flatbed part, then getting busted by the fuzz for having a baby in the back, and then me crah-in' to  Matt Lauer that I just didn't know any better, I just country, y'all. I jus' want  peepl to respect my celebrity prah-vicy. We're jus' peepl.
   

Is it a car? Is it a truck? That's the fun of it: YOU decide! (this is the 1987 model, the last year the made it, meaning, it was suggested we buy a 20 year old car. Um, no.)

It was during the ride back home I finally turned to Mike and said, "Seriously, what EXACTLY is it about us that says 'El Camino'?"

People, I fear we may never know the answer.

My little peoples.

Bear in mind this is PRE-cookies:

 

 

She'd tell me and my camera to f*** off it it didn't mean I'd throw her in a pile of wet leaves, ...

so I get The Look instead.

The Torch of My Mom's Web of Lies Passed On; Yields Awesomely Inappropriate Results.

Say what you will of my mother (and heaven knows there is enough out there to field a few websites), but the woman is a terrific bullshit artist.  She has a lie tailored for every age group.  Arguably, some of her best material was used when we were small when didn't know any better.  Probably didn't hurt  her cause any that she gave birth to 4 of the most gullible kids on the  planet.  In retrospect, maybe she regarded this shoveling of bullshit as being clever, or possibly, a crutch to make her life easier. And maybe some of you moms pull this crap now.  I don't know.  But don't kid yourself,mommies, it's a Web of Lies.
 

A random sampling from my youth:

The Benevolent, TRYING TO GET MY JUMPY KID TO CHILL Lie:   

[upon being freaked out by the scary thunder]       

        "That's the angels bowling."
        "Oh."

(A sound theory rooted in meteorology, I'll give her that.)

The Mean Mother Lie:

        [upon hearing jolly bells from a large van passing our house selling delicious ice cream confections]

       "Mom! What's that?" 
        "That's the dog catcher."
        "Oh."

(YES - we actually BOUGHT THAT one for quite awhile.  Eventually WE GOT FRIENDS and smarted the hell up. Tricky, this one.)

The Let's Dodge The Bullet Lie:

        "The difference between boy babies and girl babies is that girl babies have curly eyelashes."

First, I think she was saying this to my seven years my junior brother.  Maybe she was joking, I don't know.  But as someone older (middle school? early high school?) I BOUGHT THIS ONE AS WELL AND REPEATED IT TO A GIRL IN A SCIENCE CLASS.  OH YES, OH HELL YES I DID.

Now, before you go all ape,  I am not a COMPLETE fucking moron.  I know the CORRECT ANSWER TO THIS QUESTION.  However, I thought this bit of (clearly) highly regarded scientific data was IN ADDITION TO the, you know, obvious ways you could differentiate boy and girl babies (wrist size, no?).  My Mom and her fucking deadpan, man.  No wonder we have our issues.

The "Fuck Sun, UVB Rays, and the Effects of Sun Damage, Let's Bring God into It" Lie:       

       "Mom, where do we get freckles from?"
        "Freckles are kisses from God."

As the most freckled kid in our family, I was all BOOYAH! GOD LOVES ME. FACE.  (and "boy, He was really not like Brian.")

Okay, yeah - sure, cute lie.  And by a certain age you know it's bull.  It's probably not even original.  But let me tell you, there are some consequences to this stuff.

Fast forward about 25 years, and my sister Kate  borrows from the Mom Web of Lies play book.  Her daughter Sarah is newly 5, the age of still believing this...this nonsense.

[at bathtime]

    "Hey Mom, look. I have a freckle here.  God kissed me on my oochie."

To hear my sister repeat this story in front of me,  her face so beat red, stabilizing herself with the corner of the chair, she was barely able to breathe between her words she was laughing so hard. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I peed myself.  We both knew what the other was thinking, and before I even blinked after her last word, I had at least 5 inappropriate one-liners in the queue. Before my head exploded, I was able to leak:

So God rolls like that, eh?

Well, that was the cleanest one that I let out. The rest would probably serve me up my Admit One ticket to Hell.

So, I ask you moms out there: IS IT WORTH IT? THE LIES? P.S. What is some of your best stuff?

And former kids: Some of the doozies you've suffered from?

Shiny Happy People

So....on a LIGHTER note, there are still some people who know how to make me smile - right here, in my own backyard.

(Or my sister's backyard, depending.)

'Tis PHOTOPALOOZA time agin.

First up, Miss Dare Devil Libinator:

I swear, my sisters make 'em this cute to make my ovaries hurt - ON PURPOSE.

 

"She-think-she-cute."
(if you know the Chris Rock sketch that came from, it really works.)

Next: Little Miss Model, Sars.

I could tell she was getting bored at my house (I am without toys, coloring books, Barbies, etc), so I whipped out the big guns:

"OMG, MAKEOVERS!!!"

If you look in the background, you can see that I gave her a full on manicure (complete with hand soak), did her hair, and let her go thru my jewelry box.  Then she modeled.  This is my favorite shot from the series.

Seriously, there is nothing for kids at my house to play with other than me. 

Take note my reading material:

Mrs. F (Mike's mom): "...and there's Molly Sims..."

Sar: "Where's Beyonce again?"

Then there's Mr. O.

I mean c'mon, right?? Yeah, yeah - token cute kid picture.  Sue me. I think it's one of the best pictures I've taken of him, so it stays.

The neighbors on my right let us use there swings and toys in the yard while they were away. 

He's in a little people house, talking on the cordless phone, holding and caring for a "baby" (piglet - they had a bunch in a small laundry basket). He cried when we told him we had to go back for dinner.

Captured - a sweet moment on the swings between mother and daughter:

Sars is just like her mom, rather chatty. Here they catch up on current events, like how she's gonna be 5! (FIVE!) in a few days. "THAT'S A WHOLE HAND."

Here Sar took it upon herself to drop off Miranda with Mike.

I almost didn't see this; I was on the way to take a few pics of the dining room to be, and there he (and Miranda) was (were), sitting back watching the Sox game. The "mother" to little Miranda was outside playing.

So glad she was able to find a sitter on such short notice.

The GUYS ONLY section at Sarah's birthday party:

Manly men, talking about - manly...erph...Fantasy Football probably.
I wonder who picked up Randy Moss.

To make this all worth you time, a real fug (unshowered, unmakeup'ed) picture of me during a painting session today.

THE ORIGINAL SUBURBAN GANGSTA.
(THAT DAISY IS STREET, ...YO.)

Peace out-
J-Lil.

The Importance of Being Papa

This week I attended my grandfather's funeral. 

Between the move to the new house (including a trip to the E.R. for Mike's Dad, which is another story for another day), unpacking, visiting my grandfather, his passing, unpacking even more furiously because of having family over for 5 days, buying an extra bed that may or may not be hot for said company, and being at services, I have hardly had a quiet moment to really collect my thoughts about anything much less my feelings about him (I mean much beyond the normal, "Boy, does this loved ones dying stuff suck.").

Now that the dust has settled a bit, I sit here trying to think of what to say about it.

I guess I could start by saying that I loved him. Very much. 

I could also say that I know that he excelled at many things: being a husband for 60 years, a father, a salesman, a member of his church, a committed volunteer to a number of charities, but most importantly, to me, it was at being a grandparent.

(You say, "Well, duh, Jen." I know, I know.)

Since he is currently busy catching up with his brother, Fr. Frankie, filling out Heaven HR paperwork (I bet you he's all, "You'd think they'd have this stuff on file.") watching over his wife, and checking in on his beloved Red Sox, I'll write what he surely could have written on his behalf:

Papa White's How To on Being an Awesome...Papa.

(he probably would have titled it better than I just did.  go with it, I'm in a weakened state.)

1. Have a sense of humor.  Don't take yourself too seriously. Know how to laugh. 

No really, close your eyes and put your back into it.

"Oh dear, there he goes again."

I believe I inherited his sense of humor AND his fillings.

2. When no one is looking, slip a kid a buck.  Or five.

He did this once in awhile when I was younger and I and was always super jazzed about it, because, to continue my theme of stating the obvious, as a kid I was always flat broke.  So I did what any responsible kid would do, I blew it on candy and stickers put that money in a Roth IRA so that in 2007 I would be able to purchase my first home.

3. You are there for your grandkids' amusement. This is just part of life's deal.

Before there was "Stuff on My Cat" apparently we kids invented the game "Stuff on My Grandpa".

Sometimes, we'd leave him with the kids:

To be an awesome granddad, you sit there and you take it-- you take it like a man.

Others, the whole family:

Here two year-old Em rounds out the 5th spot for The Little Village People.

4. Have a sense of style. Show the kids how it's done.

I mean, really, does anything beat getting to say, "My Papa is wicked suave looking?"

Look, we can't all do big arms!...I'll do big arms and you just look at me and go, 'Ooh, he's doing big arms.'

Oh wait, unless you would you count, "My grandfather is so debonair that even Cary Grant is taking notes."

I mean, I would.

5. When you are playing Stratego or Battleship against your junior high-aged granddaughter and she blows you up, pay her the highest compliment that comes to mind to encourage her competitive nature while still showing what it is to be a good sport.

You could, for example, refer to her as "Khadafi" every now and again.  Trust me, she'll feel like a million bucks.

6. As the years wear on, show them it's never too late to try something new. 

Say, oh I don't know, a new hairdo:

"Hello, 1986 called, and it wants its 'Flock of Seagulls" hairstyle  back."

7. Show that even the smallest of gestures, the ones that don't cost anything, can sometimes can mean more to a kid than a shiny, new Miata.

Up until recently, every year my grandparents would each grab a phone in their house and call me to sing Happy Birthday.  It was even more fun of they got me at the office because I would feel compelled to tell my cube neighbors why I wasn't talking to the person who'd just called me.

More often than not, my grandfather used a pitch pipe to start off the song, which killed me every time.  If I was lucky enough to get the live show, the 2 of them would be seen bowing in front of me as they sung with my present hidden behind their back.  Truly a Five-Star performance.

(and people wonder why I love my birthday so much.  WELL WONDER NO MORE, PEOPLE.)

8. Love the love of your life with all your heart.  Show the kids what true love looks like, how a woman should be treated (even if you do drive her nuts sometimes, even if she is one very sarcastic broad), so that if by chance things hit the skids with their own parents, they'll have a good frame of reference.

You hold on to the one you love tightly. You see, that is just good sense.

Anyway, while I'm here stating the obvious, I'll end  with I'm going to miss the man I called Papa. 

I know we all will. 

Girl Gone Hulk: A Toddler Roid Rage Story

Sometimes little girls are cute and sweet and precious and some more cute.

And sometimes... sometimes they go the way of The Hulk:

Pissed off for being denied  juice ("Juice, woman! I told you, I want some GOD. DAMN. JUICE!" [/taps baby vein]), Libs/mini-Hulk here turned green, grew 3x her size, split her shirt open, and took out her displeasure on some unsuspecting kitchen cabinets while spitting a string baby obscenities over her mother's bullshit call.

She's kicking the cabinets without shoes by the way.  That is some hardcore shit right there.

Yeah, I would not want to run into her in a dark alley, that I know.