Chirps from the Blue Jay

On religion:
We overheard a song on the radio that included the lines "I am a friend of God/He calls me friend." From the backseat, J asked, "Does God REALLY call him Fred?"

On human frailty:
Upon waking up against her wishes: "MAMA! The brightness of the light, it pains me!"
If this is 4, I can't wait for 14.

On extraterrestrials:
J: "Mama, why does this book have purple aliens in it?  Aliens are green."
Me: "Well, nobody knows for sure if aliens even exist or what they would look like.  So artists can draw them however they want to draw them.  If I were to draw an alien, I might color it yellow."
J: "OK.  And if *I* were to draw an alien, I might color it green.  BECAUSE THAT'S ITS ACTUAL COLOR."

World Domination

I found the following when I cleaned up my 3-year-old’s art table.  Should I be concerned?

To-Do: Take over the World

Step 1.  Eat lots of carbohydrates and protein.  Pasta and rice will give quick energy for hand-to-hand combat.  Cheese sticks will help me maintain my lean muscle mass if food stores become scarce.  Vegetables and fruits are fibrous and result in bowel movements.  Bowel movements will only slow me down.  Besides, broccoli is for sissies.

Status: Excellent.  My plan is working.  I have subsisted on nothing but noodles and mozzarella (and the king of all foods, macaroni and cheese) for 2 years now.

Step 2. Perfect my hand-eye coordination.  Coordination is necessary not just for one-on-one battle but also for all sorts of technology: computer operation, driving, flying.  This is an ongoing process and one of the keys to my ultimate success. 

Status: Good.  I have come a long way from the days of being unable to grasp my own Rattling Device, but coordinating my hand movements with the motion of a computer mouse has proven trickier than originally thought.  I can operate scissors with relative ease, however.  Must continue to resist the temptation to cut my own hair, lest The Mother remove the blades from my reach.

Step 3.  Wear The Mother down.  She is the only thing standing between me and world domination.  Others will fall like dominoes in a line if (WHEN!) I am able to accomplish this feat.

Status: Fair.  This has proven more difficult than originally anticipated.  The Mother is short in stature but has an exceedingly strong will at times, stronger than I would like.  Perhaps her bones are made of titanium or similar.  Denying her sleep appears to be the key to her destruction, though this strategy is problematic for my own health as well.  My recent strategy of climbing into her bed at 3 a.m. seems the best compromise: I sleep sideways in the bed, with my head on her torso.  I awaken fully refreshed; she awakens exhausted.  This plan appears to be working.

Ways to get what you want as a parent. Or, What 3 years has taught me.

Give things fancy names.  When talking to a young toddler, call broccoli “tiny trees.”  Cutting fingernails can become “having a manicure.”  You get the idea.  This trick works better on toddlers than it does on preschoolers. These days, I can call broccoli whatever I want to, but if its first name is not “powdered” and its last name is not “doughnut,” my child is not going to eat it.  And any “manicure” at my house had better be followed up with a quick coat of PixieDust Pink, if you know what’s good for you. 

Give nonchoice “choices.” I’m not talking about letting your kid choose which superhero underpants to wear, though I think all of us parents can agree that that is a Very Important Decision, Indeed.  No, I mean those choices that are phrased like these: “Would you like to clean up these toys or would you like to go to timeout and THEN clean up these toys?” Or, “Would you like to put your shoes on and go outside, or would you like to stay here in this house all alone while I leave, keeping in mind that there will be no one here tall enough to reach the microwave to make you popcorn when you use up your scant fat stores and need to eat again?” Or, “OH FOR THE LOVE STOP SCREAMING OR I WILL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO SCREAM ABOUT.”  Or, um.  Wait.  Maybe not that last one.

Do not leave the house for more than 10 minutes without a snack in your purse, a potty in your trunk, and a trick up your sleeve.   Your “trick” will depend on the age of your child, but being able to fold a piece of newspaper into a pirate hat never hurt anybody.  My trick is that I am not afraid to make a total fool out of myself, anytime, anywhere:  I will dance in the yard, sing for no reason, and lower my voice to make the trashcan “talk.” You would not believe how entertaining that particular characteristic is to an infant/toddler/preschooler.  When my daughter becomes a preteen and teenager, I suspect my foolishness will be less entertaining.  However, it should serve me well as a means of punishment, and so I plan to keep it in my repertoire.  I anticipate many happy years of obedience in response to the words, “If you don’t straighten up, I am not afraid to sing ‘Brick House’ right here, right now.  AND I KNOW A DANCE THAT GOES WITH IT."

More than you ever wanted to know.

So.  A few weeks ago, I applied to win a date with a man who owns several restaurants.  The deal was, he'd take the winner out to one of his restaurants and then go to see a taping of Rachael Ray.  Applicants were to explain why they thought they deserved such a date.  I applied.  Because, I mean...why not?  I did not win, friends.  I know you are shocked.  Shocked and chagrined.  I am telling myself it's just because they ended up drawing names from a hat.  At any rate, this is my application.  I am sharing it with you now because...why not?

First of all, I realize the assignment is to tell you why I want to go, not why you should want me to go.  But what kind of terrible marketing would THAT be?  Let me tell you, the salesmen who suck me in are not the ones who say, “Buy this car so I can win Salesman of the Year and get a trip to Hawaii.” The successful ones are those who say, “You need this car like a cowboy needs a belt buckle as big as his head.”  You know what I’m saying?  But then again, you’re requesting applications for a date.  OBVIOUSLY you know what I’m saying.  So.  I’m going to tell you why YOU should want me to go, not why I want to go.

Here’s why I’d make a great date:

I appreciate good food...I like to cook it; I like to eat it.  But I don’t appreciate it in quite the same WAY Rachael does.  I can’t roll my eyes as far back into my head as she does when she bites into something she’s cooked, for example.  But I’m ok with that, because my mother always told me that if I did that, my eyes would get stuck that way.   And who am I going to trust, some woman on the Food Network or some woman who went through 11 months of pregnancy followed by 37 hours of unmedicated labor to bring me into this world?  That’s right: Mama always wins.  And that’s because Mama’s got a mean right hook.

You will find it easy to impress me with your knowledge of current events.  This is because I live under a rock.  (No, I don’t mean that literally.) (Not that there’s anything wrong with rock-dwellers.)  (It’s just that I really, really like indoor plumbing.)  As I was saying.  My knowledge of America’s stars ends with the era of Nicole Richie and Paris Hilton.  After that, I found it too painful to continue to pay attention.  I understand those two have been supplanted by some more women called the Kardashians.  They are sisters, I believe.  Or possibly there is a whole tribe of women called the Kardashians.  Possibly there is an entire race of creatures called Kardashains on Star Trek, if that show is even still on the air.  I am not sure.   See how easy it will be to impress me?  Like shooting fish in a barrel. 

I won’t stalk you afterward.  Now, you’d like to think that goes without saying, wouldn’t you?  But then again, you are soliciting applications from members of the General Public.  And if there’s anything I know about members of the General Public, it’s that most of them are Grade-A Crazy.  I’m a little crazy, but in that “take your shoes off and run through the sprinkler” kind of way, not in that “make a shank from a toothbrush handle and run from the cops” kind of way.  It’s a subtle but important distinction.

I have sweet moves.  Not those kinds of moves.  Get your mind out of the gutter.  This is a family-friendly application.  No, I have the kind of sweet moves that once allowed me to drive halfway to work with an aluminum pie pan full of cinnamon rolls on the hood of my car.  That’s right: my hood.  Not my roof.  Or my trunk.  But my hood.  They arrived intact and still delicious.  This tells you two things about me.  The first is that I may be slow, but I’m also smooth.  The other is that I am fairly oblivious to what is happening around me (see also “current events”).  Both of these attributes can work in your favor if you let them.

I won’t correct your grammar.  I feel the need to say this because I am currently an editor and was at one time a high school English teacher.  When I tell people these things about myself, they immediately ask me not to judge their writing or speaking.  Of course, you probably don’t even need this disclaimer.  I am sure you have very nice grammar, the kind of grammar that calls its mother every Sunday and sends thank-you notes promptly.  But I needed to say it anyway.

What I lack in culinary skill, I make up for in culinary knowledge.  This is because I read cookbooks to calm down when I am stressed out.  (Yes, really.  Stop looking at me like that.)  I read them like novels, cover to cover, marking the ones I’d like to make.  I even read the conversion and substitution charts.  This little habit has resulted in my knowing scads of information that is virtually useless in everyday life.  I’m like an iPhone app.  Only crankier.  I’m not sure how this makes me a great date, but I am including it on account of You Just Never Know.