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Archive for April, 2008

Ever since Grandma Penny skipped town, Ava has played Plane-Ride-to-Paris. This consists of packing up ponies, barrettes, books, dolls, socks, and flashcards into a gypsy assortment of purses and bags, then dragging these bags along with her animal entourage out the living room. She loads them up on the brown, velvet 747 that is taxied in our living room and then proceeds to fly them non-stop to Paris.

Of course by the time she has arrived at her destination, it looks more like plane wreck.

So in the evenings we play an equally fun, but not as enthusiastic game called, sort-all-your-toys-and-put-them-away. It’s nearly as exciting as pretending to travel to Paris, but not quite.

After nearly four months of transforming the living room into an airline hanger, Ava is well versed in the interworkings of transatlantic flights and how to prepare for them.

And if anything, Ava is confident. Confident in all the things that she is confident that she knows. And she knows how to pack for a plane ride to Paris.

So when Grandma Penny needed to refill her suitcase after her much-too-short visit home who better to help her than the expert.

Now Ava and Grandma hit a challenge that neither were prepared for or experienced in. Grandpa Lyle had left a sub-woofer in Grammy’s bag. It was not only large, but heavy. Ava and Grammy had to squeeze her things around the speaker without exceeding the fifty-pound limit.

After two attempts to fill, zip, drag, and weigh the suitcase, it was clear that somethings were going to have to be left behind. As the consultant, Ava tackled the problem with the intesity of a captain deciding who gets to ride on the lifeboat.

“But Grammy, you need your umbrella! It rains in Paris.”

“There’s no room for it.”

“But Grammy, you need it. It’s important. It fits right here. See.”

When Grammy pulled out her make-up bag in an attempt to rearrange, Ava bounded over to the bag and quickly rescued it.

“Grammy! You can’t leave that! You have to bring it. It’s very important. I’ll get it in. See. There.”

“See Grammy, it fits. You have to have your make-up! It’s very important.”

At three-and-a-half, Ava perceives that outer beauty is only skin-deep, so it’s best to have a good make-up bag on board.

Editor’s Note: Ava consulting services extend beyond packing and involve most aspects of domestic life, including but not limited too: pie-dough rolling, bread kneading, cookie cutting, plant watering, bath bubbling, clothes matching, dog feeding, furniture arranging, baby naming, and paper cutting. If you are in need of an “expert” on any one of these or other duties, please contact Ava at badgersontheloose@gmail.com. Rates vary on perceived experience.

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Today when I saw the short hand nearing the fifth digit, I thought I might be nice to transition from bathroom scrubber and laundress to pretty wife before Hungryman made his appearance.

I traded my hooded sweater for a sleeveless top with ruffles and my tennis shoes for open toed heels. I stepped in front of the vanity in hopes of masking the fact that I’d been cleaning all day. My shell earrings jangled as I returned to the kitchen to peel potatoes.

Ava skipped in and took a long sniff in my direction.

“Oh Mama, did you take a shower? I like when you take a shower.”

From the inflexion in her voice you would concluded that this was a monumental occasion.

“No honey, I didn’t”

Another long sniff.

“But you smell good!”

Evidently, Nate’s not the only one who benefits from a little personal grooming.

Speaking of showering, I’ve been asked to work on another educational video.
This one is on personal hygiene. Clearly, I’m the right person for that job.

That was to be the end of my story. Thirty minutes later, however, HungryMan stepped into our home clutching an equally fragrant bouquet of tulips. We were both delighted with our surprises. And I was reminded that a sweet-smelling, pretty wife at the end of the day is as lovely to my husband as a handful of brightly colored blooms is to me.

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would smell as sweet.”

Perhaps that’s true, Shakespeare, but I contend that no one would have heard of it. Given another name, a rose would be as forgotten and overlooked as these beauties.

They have all the subtle beauty and delicate refinement as their cousin bloom, but lack the poetic name that inspires dreamers and lovers.

I have lost untold minutes watching the metamorphosis from tightly fisted buds to sunbursts of paper tissue petals. If I had been Georgia O’Keefe, I would have painted these.

The poor dears have been condemned to a life of obscurity due to the most unfortunate of monikers.

Can anyone guess the name of my favorite flower?

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overheard

“Honey, why do you keep pointing at that brownie mix?”

“Cause, look.”

“You are seven years old! You do NOT need to worry about low-fat!!”

Amen.

Moms of seven-year-olds or older or younger, how do we protect our girls from this?

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self-portrait

Perhaps I need to invest more time in grooming Ava’s hair.

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remind me that my wardrobe is missing

this,

this,

and this.

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epilogue

On Tuesday night after my long day on set I put my weary, happy self to bed. Right as my dreams were beginning to wisp over eyes, I was startled by a great deal of moaning in the kitchen.

Hungryman: Oh man, I’m starving. I need a hamburger. Ahh, I’m sooo hungry. [Opens and closes several cupboard doors.] I need a hamburger! What am I gonna eat? [Opens refrigerator]. Ah, sweet. Rach! Rach! There’s leftover Chipotle in here. Is it yours? Can I eat it?

Me: Ah, we had Chipotle for lunch. It’s not mine. There should be a name on it.

Hungryman: [runs into bedroom and flips on bedside lamp]

Me: Dude!

Hungryman: Whose is this?

Me: Read it. It’s says “Jeremy.” It was Jeremy’s.

Hungryman: He was the sound guy?

Me: Yeah.

Hungryman: Hmmm. [walks back to the kitchen] Ah man, I’m so hungry. [Opens the refrigerator] Rach! Rach! Nica left a whole taco! [Opens microwave] Ah Rach!! [Puts it in microwave] It’s loaded. [Starts microwave] It’s huge. [Takes it out of microwave and carries hot taco to bedroom] Should I eat it?

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