12 posts tagged “spit spot”

During a break in my ongoing battle against the damn moths that inhabit my cupboards and turn my grains (and nuts!) into disgusting breeding grounds of ooginess that destroy my best attempts to create a meal without needing a last minute run to the store, Clive and I took the girls to LACMA's new Broad museum and met up with some friends.

I love LACMA. Despite it's odd configuration. I love the windy paths and grounds, the museum store, the Japanese wing, the light at the top of the Broad's third floor, the orange lanyards for the NexGen kids campaign, and how kid-friendly it is (children are free and can take one adult for free). They also have a yummy cafeteria. I love walking over to the tar pits afterward and the easy parking on Sundays. It amazes me how empty the place is when we go. Maybe it's overflowing with single people at night, I don't know. But whenever I'm there I imagine what the crowd would be if we were in NYC and I'm baffled.

We had let our membership expire due to cost cutting measures but this weekend they were having a 50% off deal, so we rejoined, in hopes it will make Clive and I have more dates ( I never get to focus appropriately with the kids).

We thought the kids would love the new Broad museum, especially the Koons "balloon" sculptures and the pool toys, shiny egg, erector set bridge (by other artists). I was wrong. Spit spot was petrified of them. She liked the Twombly paintings and loved the Hirst installations (a sheep in fromaldahyde, a glass vitrine of animal skeletons, butterfly paintings), but the balloon and Michael Jackson sculptures just freaked her out (Queenie was concerned whether he was a boy or girl). Queenie also loved the Hirst room -- the "stained glass' butterfly paintings and the Spin Art circle painting. The Twombly's too. The giant Barbara Kruger elevator made a big impression on them both.

They didn't ask any questions about the big Cindy Sherman installation, and for that I was thankful. I walk the line on that sort of overt political sexuality as appropriate viewing for my girls. On the one hand, I would like them to be comfortable with the human body and  knowledgeable of how their role in society has been played out, the expectations of them, and their power to subvert them, to address them, to choose. I figure if they get used to that conversation, and those images now, then they will be stronger people as adults, stronger intellectually. On the other hand, I don't really want to have to explain a photo that includes a giant fake vagina open to the viewing public lying on top of where a real one would be on a woman dressed up in a disfiguring costume. Luckily, they were more intrigued by the giant table and chairs sculpture in the other room and I was spared.

Soon enough, they got distracted and whiny, needing bathroom breaks and  endless snacks. We ended with a chase game around the giant Serra installation and headed out for a walk.

As we were leaving we found a pigeon trapped in the big tar pit/lake in front of the La Brea Tar Pits. The kids and dads watched it struggle for a bit while the other mom and I went inside to see if someone could save it. Apparently, they used to have a boat for such rescues, but it got stuck and was retired. Now they can only save things that they can reach with a stick. The pigeon was too far in for that, and by the time we left for the cars, it could no longer be seen. Tar pit education in real time, but not a lot of fun, circle of life, or no.

I don't mean to end this on a sad note. The day was lovely. Spitspot fell asleep in the car on the way home while losing a "quiet contest," and we stopped at the pet store for some hamster supplies, and the grocery store so that I can make a decent New Year's dinner tomorrow night. Our lovely neighbor came for dinner and played with the kids and by the end of the night the kids tumbled into bed happy.

I hope when the girls are grown they have a love for museums and walks and family outings, and remember how we spent time with them, and feel lucky and loved.

On May 5th I officially leave behind the SAHM life I've been living for the last 4 years, and take on the role of Working Mom. Sure, I've been working the last 4 months at Queenie's school, but it's about as part-time as you can get, and you know, I'm still with the kids, so really it's more like just hanging out and getting paid (which I was already doing before the school started paying me).

I have a lot of mixed feelings about it. On one hand, I've got to leave my kids. On the other hand, HOLY SWEET MOSES, I get to leave my kids. I get to leave the meltdowns, the whining, the bickering, and the hangings-on. I get to go to the bathroom, or even Starbucks, by myself. So that could be exciting. And really, I'll be working for a fine organization that does a lot of good in the world, and I am being given an opportunity to bring about change, and create programs that I enjoy. So, until the great money fairy falls from the sky and whisks me away to a lovely house in West LA, I've got a good position working with friends, and am able to help dig my family out of the financial hole we've dug for ourselves. Not bad, right?

So, there it is. Thought I should mention it.

Spit Spot is thrilled (at least in theory) with going to preschool. It's on site where I work, so she's already familiar with the space and many of the kids who go there. We've gone shopping for her emergency kit and class supplies and she keeps practicing using her new pillow on a nap mat in the living room.

Queenie, however, is a bit freaked out. She's mentioning it to people at school which is huge as she never mentions anything troubling her to her teachers. She's private like that. So how do I resolve that problem? By providing her with a security blanket, something to help her feel safe, strong.

That's right, we've broken down and agreed to the hamster. Help us, dear G-d.

More on that later. We're just all kind of sad that we can't name it Waffles, as that is already taken by a schoolmate's dwarf hamster. But damn, it's a good one.

In the car this morning on the way to the gym...

Queenie (laughing riotously):

Spit Spot thinks she has a weenie! You don't have a weenie, you have a vagina!
Say "Vah-gi-nah."
Say "Vah-gi-nah." Vagina, vagina, vagina!

Spit Spot: Vaginas!

Queenie:

No! No! Not Vah-gi-NAHS, Vah-gine-AH!
Say it. Vah-gine-Ah! Vagina! Vagina! Vagina!

Spit Spot (whispers, smiling): vah-gine-ah.

Queenie: Yes! Vah-gine-ah! (more laughing)

Spit Spot: (pointing at something at Queenie's feet)  Backpack.

Queenie:

Yes, that is your backpack, and when you go to school you will bring it with your stuff and lunch in it.

Spit Spot:

Mama! I have a backpack and when I go to school I will bring it for me!
*****************************************************************************************

There you have it. Vaginas and Backpacks. Discuss amongst yourselves.

PS

I think I left out about 20 additional yellings of Vagina.

The other night while snuggling in bed, Spit Spot gently poked my armpits.

"Mama, what's that?" She asks.

"Armpits," I say. "You have them, too."

Spit Spot looks a bit concerned. Pokes again.

"No, mama. " She says shaking her head.

Pause. Think. Touch.

" Feathers."

Feathers! My daughter thinks I am a magical creature! A griffin! A goddess!

"Oh, honey," I say. "Mama doesn't have feathers. It's hair, baby. Pokey."

Heh. My kids say cute things, too, when they're not screaming in the car.

She has also taken to singing the Calm Down Song to any of us when she feels it's necessary. She just made it up and it's pretty hysterical in her little  high, soft angel  voice and floaty emotive arms.  Works, too. It goes like this:

Calm down, calm down, calm down.
Frogs are magic.
Calm down, calm down, calm down.

How's your sick house?

Here's our status (I'm bored):

Clive- A-ok. Mood: Copious stress over work/strike and tired of family.

Queen Soledad  - Still coughing, but improved. Health, that is. Off to ballet with Daddy.  Mood: Somewhat especially foul.

SpitSpot - Napping. Fever most likely gone (at 8 am it was 99.2). Has the most vile yellow snot I have ever seen in one of my own children. Every sneeze produces thick ropes past her lips. Eeeeew. Mood: reasonable.

Me - Throat no longer sore, glands lightly swollen, head ache gone, but still stuffy head. Mood: on edge.

We all need to be better and back to our normal (and Clive, improved) schedules so that we don't implode. Even a trip to our favorite ice cream spot last night did little to improve our overall cheer. Wish us luck!

The pestilence still reigns at our home. Clive is back to work, though a bit wobbly. Queenie is out and about on a play date but still has a cough and stuffy head. Both are on 10 days of antibiotics, which Queenie thinks is great fun. Spit Spot and I came down with some version of their stuff Thursday and yesterday, respectively. I am doing everything I can to get rid of it as quickly as possible and prevent it from getting into my chest. Free! Free! I want to be free!

Anyway, all this sickness has ended up with TVALLTHETIME here at home. Thank you, Universe, for 24 hr Noggin, which is so much quieter than Disney and causes the kids to yell, "My turn!" far less. My whole family has also become addicted very quickly to Yo Gabba Gabba! It kind of creeps me out, but I cannot resist its pull, and their songs are ridiculously catchy. I've been trying most of the morning to find out who sings the "Rest Your Head" song, and can't. I have managed to find some ridiculously cute tee shirts and hoodies (iron on!) but no info on which *terribly hip and indie band* is singing it. If anyone knows, please let me know!

Spit Spot sang herself to sleep at nap time one of their songs. Too cute.

Check it out : http://www.yogabbagabba.com/

Clive has been incapacitated for the last 4 days with a wretched flu. 104 degree temp, chills, sore throat, and a wretched cough. He's been sleeping most of the days and nights away, poor guy, and dropping about 5 lbs every 12 hours.

I thought Queen Soledad caught it, too. Saturday, she attended a rousing 4 hour ice skating birthday party, complete with cake and cocoa. She had a blast, of course, but a couple hours later she had a low fever. Too much partying? Daddy's flu?

No, that'd be too easy. Seems she has managed to get strep again. Now, with scarlet fever. Wooo!

I blame the Hanna Montana toothbrush. I knew I should've thrown it out after the last bout, but thought a good ol' soak in hydrogen peroxide and GSE was enough. It was just a couple days old! From Santa! Damn.

Worst part is, tomorrow her class is having a Mardi Gras parade, party, and jazz concert. She worked on her float with her *krewe* all last week (theme, Summer) and has been planning her costume to the smallest detail. I had thought I could sneak her onto the scene to at least watch the parade, but now I fear she is too too sick.

Then, of course, there's the fact that Spit Spot and I are completely stir crazy. Sigh.

I love rain and that's good, because it's been raining non-stop for almost a week here in LA. And not just drizzling, no. It's been pouring. Record-setting. It's fun because I get to wear my fun fab boots, and the kids get to splash. My trees are happy on our porch, good and wet. Life's good for a tree in LA during a rainy week. It washes the 405 grime off their leaves.

What I don't love is the lugging. The multiple bags. The changes of shoes and the extra socks. The 3 pairs of pants that Spit Spot goes through in a day because of the aforementioned puddle-jumping. The two trips to the car each morning -- once to bring the multiple bags of foul weather gear, and once for the kids. The taking off of boots and coats before they get buckled into their car seats, and the putting back on before they get out of the car. The umbrella follies.

I'd never make it with kids in the Northeast, or Northwest for that matter. I'd go mad.

The girls are still sick. Their fevers are down to non-medicated stages, but Queen is still getting the chills, Spit Spot is clingy, and both are more crabby than quiet.

The parents, meanwhile, are restless. There's shopping to do, and rooms to clean, and peace to be had. But that's hard in a 2 bedroom apartment where we're all on top of each other, separated by disheveled blankets and pillows that have migrated out of the bedrooms. There are unruly piles of crafts, magazines, books, and toys half-finished with, tissues, and tea cups, and glasses of juice. In a word, ugh.

Yesterday, there were bits of peace. After a certain point, I gave up my plans to get things done and actually enjoyed going nowhere, doing nothing more than stringing Jiffypop for the tree, watching Clive help Queen with her reading and math But then I had an intense need to clean the bathroom, pick up the toys, shower.

Today I am hoping to escape a bit to the gym for yoga or spin. I intend on sending Clive to Whole Foods to finish Christmas meal shopping (his domain - Farmhouse chili and cornbread for dinner, pumpkin pancakes for breakfast), and get his own antsy self to the gym.

What I really want to do is to escape to the spa and the movies. Being home all day, I've caught up on much of my New Yorker reading -- all the art, jazz, movies I've been missing. So much to see!  In another week or so, our lovely Texan neighbors will be back from their vacation and will babysit for us, so that Clive and I can begin to get back out in the word again.

Babes restless and infighting again. Must go mediate yo-yo's and tiaras.

The girls are both sick, but not necessarily with the same thing. That makes it fun, kind of a challenge, because now we get to guess if one will give the other what they already have, and double the period of sickness, or if they'll both just kind of move along their own wretched tracks.

Spit Spot has a fever of about 102 and a case of the cling-ies. She's got *hot feet*. The Queen has no fever, but is living in phlegm city. She has this annoying habit of "power sniffing" when her nose is stuffed. She combines incessant snuffling with some weird hyperventilating-like breath. I can't stand to be near her when she's doing it. And lucky me, she's currently in my bed ("the Fever Bed" as Clive is fond of calling it) because when they're sick, both the girls must be on top of each other, and me. Doesn't matter how many times I move Queenie to her bed, she'll be back, determined to suck up the last bit of available space, even if it means sleeping halfway on the bedside table. She's a determined thing, if nothing else.

So I need to go to bed early, as a fear a lousy night of sleep filled with medicine dosing. Really, I'm just hoping for a vomit-free night.

update: No vomit, but now they both have the fever and we got no sleep. Sigh....