Let's Just Talk it Out

"With just a few words, you've broken my heart. How easy it is to tear me apart." Erica spun away, covering her face with her hands. Before Arnel could comfort her, she flung her arms out wide, threw back her head and belted, "I know you love me, but don't you know? I just can't stand for you to treat me so!"

"Can't we talk about this, Sweetie?"

"Stop! Haven't you done enough harm?" Pressing one hand against Arnel's chest, she draped her other hand across her forehead, eyes closed. "I will not be wooed back by you and your charm. Please, let me be, My Love, My Dear...Our time has come to a close, I fear." Erica wiped back a tear, kissed her fingertips and, pressing them against Arnel's pursed lips, tiptoed backwards and collapsed on a park bench, burying her head in her arms.

Arnel stood for a moment and sighed. Closing his eyes briefly, he took a deep breath, said a quick prayer and walked over to where his fiancé sat sobbing, shoulders quaking. "Erica, Honey, I think you're being a little overdramatic here. All I said was that I didn't have any opinion about whether you should have baby's breath or pussy willows in your bouquet. If you want pussy willows, you should have pussy willows, okay? Please, let's not blow this completely out of proportion." Cautiously he laid a hand on her back. She flinched, but she didn't scoot out of reach, so he left his hand on her trembling shoulder. "I want this day to be exactly what you've always wanted for your wedding, but I can't read your mind and...honestly I've not spent a lot of time thinking about any of these details. I trust you completely to create the most amazing wedding day, right down to the smallest details like the colors for the tea lights in the centerpieces and the width of ribbon in the boutonnieres. I trust you and I want you to be happy and to enjoy this entire process. Okay?"

Erica sniffled, looking up at Arnel with red-rimmed eyes. Her lips trembled. "Really? Do you mean it?"

"Yes, I do." He slipped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, giving her a gentle squeeze. After a quick kiss, he cleared his throat. "And, uh, one more thing. My one request." He shifted in his seat. "Could you maybe tone down the drama? I need you to try not to break out in song every time you feel a strong emotion. I can't handle anymore theatrics." He smiled hesitantly, hoping she would smile back.  She did.

"Alright, Love. It's just that...You're the man I've always dreamed of! The man to whom I can give all my love..."

"Erica, please."

"It's a happy song." She batted her eyes at him, teardrops still clinging to her lashes. "Just one more?"

Arnel sighed again. "One more and then we give good old talking a try."

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I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.

~Robert Frost

Five-hundred words inspired by the quote above. And inspired by a similar, but less musical, interaction between Brett and I at BeauJo's Pizza while we were planning our wedding...something about our processional (poor Brett sat there dumbfounded...he's a patient man). Also inspired by the fact that the Frozen soundtrack is on constant repeat in our house. And, finally, I've always thought that life would be more fun if we sang more..."Would you please pick up all your socks, before I throw you out and change all the locks??"

My Personal Paparazzi

"Can I play wit dis?"

Turning, I see Lydia, head cocked to the left and hip cocked to the right, smiling at me clutching our camera in her pudgy hands.  The strap lays crookedly around her shoulders and her finger is already on the trigger.

I spy an opportunity for this little one to be busy and happy while I finish up the last load of laundry.  As "helpful" as she is to match socks, her folding skills leave something to be desired, as she typically resorts to the wad-technique.

"Alright.  Just keep the strap around your neck, please."

"Tanks, Mommy!"  She skips off to the living room, clicking off random shots from belly button-level.

Flash!  The dusty windowsill bathed in sunshine.

Flash!  The fireplace, complete with ancient ashes and two long-lost pieces of popcorn.

Flash!  The big toe on her left foot with the spiky nail.

Opening the dryer, I drag jeans and towels from the machine, dumping them into the laundry basket at my feet.  Peering in, I see a lone sock left in the back, just out of reach.  Leaning into the mouth of the dryer, I stretch to snatch the forgotten sock.  Flash!

"Look, Mommy!  I gotchu!"

Peeking over my shoulder, I see the picture frozen on the camera screen.  My backside illuminated in the blinding light of the camera.  Her proud smile almost makes that snapshot okay.  Almost, but not quite.

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Linking up (several days late!) with Trifecta: 33-333 words inspired by the single word mouth (something that resembles a mouth especially in affording entrance or exit).

Oh, My Heart

Ella sits with her back to the window, nestled in the overstuffed cushions.  Sunlight casts her shadow over the paper in her lap, she scribbles frantically, pouring out her heart.  A tear drops, momentarily magnifying a word - Love - before soaking into the parchment, leaving a bleary stain.  Ella sniffs loudly, looks at the ceiling and blinks back tears before returning to her literary lament.

A light tap at the door startles her.  Scrambling, she stuffs the paper under an opulent pillow, dabs at her eyes and calls, "Come in."  She stiffens, watching her mother sweep into the room.  Ella looks to where she hid the missive, careful to keep her eyes averted.

"Have you been crying again?"  her mother demands.  "Surely not."

"Mother, you know how my heart breaks.  You have been cruel, too cruel in this declaration.  Do you not care that my heart is rent?"

"Of course, I care.  But, what's done is done.  You'll live."

"O my heart, Mother, my heart.  La Douleur Exquise," Ella sobs.  "I'll never forget him.  You may believe that you have managed to blot him out, to erase him, but true love endures, Mother!  We will be together ... someday."

"Please don't be so dramatic, Ella.  You're only fourteen and there will be other dances," her mother sighs, rubbing her brow.  "The pizza will be ready in five minutes."  She treads to the door, pausing by the poster of One Direction.  "You have your whole life to fall in love, you know."

Overcome with grief, Ella snatches a pillow and flings it at the door as it closes.  "How, Mother?  How will I ever find true love, when you have me held captive, like Rapunzel, imprisoned and walled in?  How?" she wails.

The first notes of "What Makes You Beautiful" chirp from Ella's back pocket.  She snatches her phone, glances at the screen and answers it.  "No way!  You, too?  Ugh, we're prisoners of our parents."  She sighs and slips back into the cushions.  "Wanna watch a movie?"

Bancroft Tower, Worcester, MA,
courtesy of Hillarie Jason via Esty.

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Linking up with Write at the Merge this week - inspired by the picture above and the word:  La Douleur Exquise (French): The heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone you can’t have.  Word limit: 500.

What Made Me Laugh?

What made me laugh this week?  In a word ...

Lydia.

Three snapshots of the sweet silliness of this girl who is growing up too fast and yet still has a way to go!  I love you Weeda Mae!

---

In the cuckoo-head moments before Brett got home on Monday evening, Ashley was practicing her reading by perusing the many magnets and spelling tests adorning the refrigerator door.  She prided herself on using a variety of accents to read the Princess Bride quotes posted there.

"Inconceivable!"  

"Hallo!  My name is Inigo Montoya!" 

"As you wish..."

As Brett slipped in (leaving the arctic gusts outside), Lydia greeted her father with, "Anybody wanna peanut?!?" in a rather authentic Fezzik accent.

---

Riding home from the grocery, Lydia was carrying on a rather intense conversation with her baby doll. At my inquiry about a particularly curious phrase, Lydia proudly informed me, "We are speaking Spanish."  

"Aahhh ... Can you say something in Spanish for me?"

... silence for a few moments and then ...

"Cinco.  Twento."

Bien dicho, hija.

---

Finally, while waiting in the van at the crosswalk for the kids, Lydia pointed to an activity book filled with mazes.  "Can I do these?" she asked.

"Uh, let me see." I flipped through the first several pages of the easiest mazes and found them all completed.  "These look pretty tough.  I don't know."

"I can do it.  I can," she declared, kicking her feet impatiently.

"Okey-dokey, here ya go."  I handed the book back to her and found her a pencil.

A few minutes passed in blissful silence as she worked on her maze.  At last she declared, "I did it!"

You nailed it, Sis.  Well done.

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Prompt #5 - What made you laugh this week?

Liddy-isms

My sweet Lydia has become quite the conversationalist.  She loves to chat, sitting at the table with her cute, dimpled chin in her pudgy little hand, sharing with me about all the bests and leasts of her day.  And as if that isn't all adorable enough, she sprinkles her conversations with all sorts of garbly-gook.

She has a wide vocabulary of almost-right words.  Words that are close to what she means, but not quite.  Here are a few that come to mind:

We have all had the sniffles for the past several weeks.  Not a cold that really slows you down, but an annoyingly drippy nose that keeps us close to the kleenex box.  Lydia frequently runs to the kitchen, grabs a tissue and declares, "My nose is coming out!"

Lydia is slowly fazing out of napping in the afternoon.  Sometimes she falls asleep, but usually she lays and reads in her bed and then gets up and plays quietly.  (No problem here ... I still get my mommy-time!)  A few days ago I asked her if she had slept to which she replied, "Yes.  I close my eyes and I open my eyes and I close my eyes and I open my eyes."  Ah-ha.  Kinda like blinking slowly.  And, no, that's not really sleeping.

My baby girl is infatuated with Shaun the Sheep.  Or, "Saun da Seep" as she likes to call him.  She has one episode in particular that she loves where the sheep sell all of the farmer's belongings in a yard sale.  "Everything must go" ... and all of it went.  Unfortunately, it took poor Lydia about three minutes of constant repeating, "Seep sellet, seep sellet, seep sellet" for me to understand what she wanted to watch.

And then yesterday, Lydia had her second ever dentist appointment.  Her first visit was a teary and sad affair and so she was a little anxious upon our arrival at the office.  She summoned up her courage and bravely climbed into the moving chair alongside Ashley and Aaron.  At one point, the hygienist was dabbing her eyes with a tissue and Liddy was wearing her "I'm trying to be brave, but my chin won't quit quivering" face.  I let the hygienist comfort her and before long her checkup was finished and she proudly strutted over to me with her new toothbrush and bag of goodies.  I told how proud I was of her and how brave she was to which she responded, "I didn't cry, but my eyes drooled a little bit."  Oh.  I hate it when that happens.

Someday she'll have all the right words ... until then, I'll enjoy deciphering her Liddy-isms.

a self-portrait

Weeda Mae

Raw Christian

Ten minutes to share a funny story ... here goes!

Our baby's name is Lydia Rachel.  So why is it that she also answers to Weeda Mae?  That's a good question.

One day, back when she was just a wee one, the kids and I were running errands around town.  Poor Lydia was beyond done and had resorted to whimpers and wails from the middle of the van.  Our third born was strapped into her car seat next to Lydia and in her sweet two-year old bigness, she was attempting to console and comfort her baby sister.

"It's okay Weeda Mae.  It's okay," she sang sweetly.  She shhhed and patted her little sissy and repeated her little mantra.

I hated to interrupt her loving response to Lydia's distress, but I felt it was important that she was clear about everybody's name.

"Sweetie, you are such a big sister.  But, your middle name is Mae.  Ashley Mae.  Lydia's middle name is Rachel.  Her name is Lydia Rachel."

Silence from the back ... except for Lydia's persistent crying ... and then:

"It's okay, Weeda Mae Wachow, it's okay."

I guess that's what you get when give your baby a name with r's and l's ... two letters your other kiddo can't pronounce.  We eventually taught Ashley how to say her sissy's name, but we didn't have to teach her how to love her sissy.  She's always had that down pat.

small things {hullabalooga}

small things #68 ... hullabalooga

"Welcome to Cranium Hullabaloo!"

The electronic MC announces the rules and Lydia heads to a purple Cranium pad.  Her goofy smile and bouncy feet tell me she's excited.

"Mommy!  You have to get on a purple guy.  You can stand with me!"

I step over to "Creative Cat" (and over the baby) and wait for the directions.

"Move over to a yellow."

I step over to the yellow triangle while Lydia dances over to the yellow circle.

"Fly to a square."

We flap our wings and head to the blue square.  Lydia dodges Baby S and her sorter box.

"Ha!  We sharing!"

"Crawl to an animal."

Lydia scurries on all fours to the elephant.  I stoop over and pretend to crawl to the monkey.

"Freeze!  Is anyone standing on the elephant?  If you are, you're the winner!  Winner?  Take a bow!"

Lydia claps for herself and bows deeply and dramatically.  One sweeping arm barely misses Baby S's noggin.

"I won!  I da winner!"

We step back on the purple pads.

"Samantha, no!  Mommy, Samantha has the elephant."

"That's okay.  I'll trade her this toy for the pad.  You get on a red pad."

"Slither to a musical instrument."

Baby S walks by with the piano.

"Get on a blue."

Lydia grabs Baby S by the hand and "helps" her find a blue.

"Hop to a triangle."

Lydia hops around Baby S and lands next to me on the red triangle.

"Freeze!  Is anyone standing on the red triangle?  If you are, you're the winner!  Winner?  Do a funky monkey dance!"

Lydia be-bops around the room, arms flailing and feet kicking, narrowly missing Baby S, who is also frenetically boogying.  I do my own rendition of John Travolta's "Stayin' Alive", much to Lydia's delight.

As we head back to our purple pads, Lydia protests that Baby S is putting the pads away.  Sure enough the baby has gathered up three pads and is walking back to the box.  I rescue the pads and redistribute them around the floor.  Frustrated, Baby S flaps her arms and plops herself down on the blue circle.

"Try this Hullabaloo move!  Put your knee on a circle.  Annnd ... touch your foot to a green.  Annnd ... put your nose on a food." ... annnd balance over the baby who is crawling under your belly.

We stretch and pretzel ourselves to reach the three pads and I fear I might not get back off the floor.

"Everybody stand up!  Walk on your tip-toes to a green."

We tip-toe to the spaghetti pad and Lydia hangs from my leg.

"Freeze!  Is anyone standing on the frog?  If you are, you're the winner!  Winner?  Do a victory jump!"

We look around.  Baby S is sucking on the frog.

"Samantha!  You da winner!  Jump!  Jump!  Jump!"

Baby S cries as she gets jumped and bumped to the floor.

"Want to play again?  Get on a purple Cranium pad to start."

Whew!  I'm about Hullabalooga-ed out!

Hullabalooga ...  Ashley changed the name and Baby S changed the rules.  It's a lively game where anything goes and everybody wins!

small things {lucky}

small things #65 ... lucky

Sitting on the step I can feel the crisp air from the swamp cooler on the nape of my neck.  Norah sits between my knees on the bottom step.  I ask her to hold still while I comb out her hair.  Baby S is toddling around the living room:  a rattle in one hand and a Matchbox car in the other.  Both are equally delicious, it appears.  Beside me on the step, Lydia holds the hairbrush and the little cup of rubber bands.  Ashley sits behind me and plays with my hair.

Pinched between my left ear and shoulder I hold the phone and try to have a conversation.

I comb out a little rat's nest and Norah winces. 

"Hold still, please," I whisper, interrupting the caller on the line.  Gratefully my friend knows that this isn't the best time to call and she's prepared to be interrupted.  She continues with her train of thought.

I hold the comb between my teeth and wrestle with an unruly ponytail and a too-small rubber band.  The phone almost slips out of it's place in the crook of my neck, but I catch it with my hand.  "Sorry.  What was that last bit?"

I move on to the next ponytail and spot Baby S with a magazine in one hand.  One corner is a bit soggy.  I motion her to come to me and she smiles and sprints away.  I whisper to Lydia, "Can you get that from her?  Give her a board book instead."

I return my attention to the caller and the second ponytail.  The caller chats on and the pony tail is being difficult.  But there's more.  Ashley and Lydia have decided to do my hair, too.  Now I wince as Ashley tugs on the rubber band in my hair.  I try to hold my head still as they comb, brush and twist.  In the midst of my one-sided conversation I hear giggles and whispers as my hairdressers braid and band my hair.

I finish Norah's ponytails and give them each a quick brushing.  "You're done," I whisper, "get a quick snack before we leave for gymnastics."  The girls behind be continue to clip and comb my curls.  A brief fight breaks out over a butterfly barrette, but one silent and stern look from me nips it in the bud. 

My phone call is close to wrapping up and a good thing, too, as it's almost time for us to head to Kidzplex.  As my friend takes a breath, I take the opportunity to describe to my current situation ... doing hair, having hair done and wrangling a toddler all in a four foot radius.  She laughs and says, "My, aren't you lucky?"

"Well ... that wasn't the first word that came to my mind," I retort.  

As I hang up the phone, I turn to look at my girls behind me.  They are all smiles. 

Norah cartwheels into the living room with a granola bar in one hand and smiles.  

Baby S cruises past me, headed to the kitchen and the promise of a snack, smiling broadly.

Well ... I guess she's right after all.

Lucky ... it all depends on our perspective.

small things {music-er}

small things #60 ... music-er

Lydia is strapped into her car seat.  Baby S gazes appreciatively at her buddy from across the van.  She bobs her head and smiles with all seven teeth, clapping her hands with enthusiasm.  Lydia proudly plays Ashley's "music-er".

eeeeeeeehhhh-aaaaaaahhhhhhhh

eeeeeehhhh-uuuuuhhhhhhhhh

uuuuuuuuuu-eeeeeeeehhhhh

eeehh-uuuhh-eeehh-uuuhh-eeehhhhhhh

ooooooooeeeeeeeeeeuuuuuuhhhh!

The audience goes wild!  A round of applause erupts from the middle seats of the van as Lydia begins the next song in her lengthy repertoire.

uuuuu-eeeeh-uuuuuu-eeeeh-oooooooh ...

Music-er ... even a three year old can feel like Yo Yo Ma with a harmonica on their lips!

Take a Number ...

This past weekend, my kids got to download a couple of new tunes.  Which as you know, means that we have been listening to them on constant repeat.  The songs are really quite fun, but by the ninth time through, the lyrics start running a bit thin and the bee-bop-rhythm starts to give me a twitch!  I found myself making up my own words to one song in particular ... lyrics that come so easily to my mommy-lips.  And gave me a good chuckle, too.

You know you're a Mom, when you're tempted to ask for one of these for your birthday:

photo courtesy of SuperStock

I'm sure you fellow-Moms will appreciate this re-mix of Carly Rae Jepsen's "Call Me, Maybe".

And if you don't have this particular song playing ad finitum at your house ... here's the link so you can!

I’ll Get to You, Maybe

I threw the wash into dry,

That’s when I heard a sad cry.

I looked as you try to fly,

and now you’re in my way.

I shake my head at your whine

Feeling your hands clinging mine,

I need to get free from this,

but now you’re in my way.

Your grip was holdin’, Ripped jeans, booboo showin’

Long day, too much moanin’

What am I gonna do with you, baby?

Hey, you just biffed it,

and this is crazy,

but take a number,

I’ll get to you, maybe?

It’s hard to help you,

so many babies,

but take a number,

I’ll get to you, maybe?

Hey, you’re a big kid,

It’s still crazy!

Please take a number,

I’ll get to you, maybe?

And all these other kids

try to chase me,

Please take a number,

I’ll get to you, maybe?

You took your time with your chores

You’d think we’d finished these wars

You have done nothing at all

Your clothes are in my way.

I beg and borrow and pray

“Pick up your toys, please, today.”

Do you think I will pay ...

To get them out of my way?

This power struggle’s holdin’, Ripped jeans, Legos showin’

Long day with too much groanin’

What am I gonna do with you, baby?

Hey, I just asked you,

and this is crazy,

but take a number,

I’ll get to you, maybe?

It’s hard to find toys

Under so much, baby,

but take a number,

I’ll get to you, maybe?

Hey, did you hear me?

This is crazy!

Take a number,

I’ll get to you, maybe?

Who are all these other kids

trying to chase me?

Please take a number,

I’ll get to you, maybe?

I hear you hollerin’ my name

Whadya need so bad

You need so bad,

You need so, so bad?

You’re still hollerin’ my name

Whadya need so bad

You need so bad,

You need so, so bad?

It’s hard to keep smilin’

When you’re so needy!

So take a number,

I’ll get to you, maybe?

Let me go potty,

This is CraZY!

Please take a number,

I’ll get to you, maybe?

Please tell your sisters,

Not to chase me,

Please take a number,

I’ll get to you maybe?

I need a number-thing just

Like at the deli.

I need it so bad,

I need it so, so bad!

Yeah, you know that number-thing,

I need it so bad,

I need it so bad ...

Now serving #16.

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#3 - You know you're a Mom when ...  I hope you'll read this post in the silly spirit it was intended.  I love my kids .... but sometimes I'm just so very, very outnumbered!