pink pajama mama

Today Annabelle told me I was the naughtiest mama she ever saw. Ain’t that the truth! 

The other night Henry woke up at 3am, rearin’ to go and play. He insisted George take him to play, but he was being so loud, chitchatting up a storm, that he woke up all of us. A storm came and we listened to the thunder and watched the lightning flash through our bedroom and giggled under the covers. Pure magic. The last thing he did before FINALLY falling back asleep was stare at his thumb and say “Bebe, fumb, bebe, fumb.” He is speaking so much, but still speaks in his own little language. A car is a “vroom vroom.” Stairs are “down down.” Dogs are “Voof Voofs.” Kitties are “titties.”The extraordinary thing is he’s potty training himself! He’s not even 2! He says “poop” or “potty”  and actually uses it. Completely amazing.

Oh my, magic everywhere! Today we went to Carly’s house to swim and have dinner. She is so magical and amazing with the kids! She told Annabelle there were all sorts of magical secret places in her house that only kids can go to, no grown-ups. Watching Annabelle and Henry run down the thick green grass pathway surrounded by  wildflowers on all sides and towering trees, the fairy tale house behind us. Annabelle was ecstatic. Every knob and nook and cranny in Carly’s house is pure magic. Swirling stained glass knobs, velvet pillows, the most gorgeous curtains I’ve ever seen, and every room a different fantasy. One area painted like a little farm by Margot Datz, then swirling stairs painted like you’re emerging from a pond with the lotuses into her bedroom with the most gorgeous desk you’ve ever seen, like the desk of a pirate/wizard. Then out onto a balcony with stunning views and through a lavendar door into the princess room that overlooks another lavendar and blue princess room, down more swirling stairs and into more magic, pink clawfoot tubs, hanging glitter purses, just MAGIC! There was a little tiny door going up the steps that she lifted Henry and Annabelle into and gave them a flashlight. She asked Annabelle what she found in there and Annabelle said, “Junk. Just a lot of junk.” Annabelle did pull a grammy out of there. Up in the bedroom, Carly encouraged Annabelle to climb under all her stunning clothes and find “the little man” which turned out to be her Oscar and a Golden Globe. Many more twists and turns later we were in the honeymoon cottage and then walking down a rambling old path to the horse ring. My allergies were so bad at this point I could barely open my eyes, but I hung in there, carrying the little prince on my hip who also has an eye swollen shut from a  bug bite. From there we entered the kitchen which has cathedral ceilings and a fireplace and literally glows from the colors of the woods–and she has a lavendar dishwasher–and a girl came in and sang for us and her voice was just staggeringly beautiful. It was completely unnatural to hear someone open their mouth and sing like that, no problem. Carly’s son, Ben, is so cute with the kids.  When he saw Henry’s eye swollen shut, he said, “If I see the bug that bit you, I’m going to give that bug a knuckle sandwich.”

Today we were swimming at Carly’s wonderland pool, and Annabelle said she had to pee-pee. I suggested she go among the flowers like a puppy so we wouldn’t have to go in the house in our wet suits. She obliged, and when Henry saw what she was up to, he decided he needed to go too. He pattered over the lawn to the flowers and squatted down. “No!” yelled Annabelle. “Henry! You’re a boy! You’re supposed to stand and hold your winkie!” Henry, being one of those unusual two-year-olds with selective listening, ignored her. I walked over to see if I could help. Now it was Henry’s turn to shout. “No Mama! I nee pivacy!” A two year old munchkin is telling me he needs privacy. Then there’s Annabelle reciting back to me the first chapter of the Nancy Drew novel we read over a month ago! She amazes me with her memory. Then Henry takes the book from her and starts to mimic her recitation. They love finding mysteries. Today when I walked in the door from yoga, Annabelle said, “Mom, I found something very mysterious. The door keeps opening by itself! We need to look for clues! Come on, Mom, let’s investigate.” We figured out it was the wind, but it was an exciting mystery to solve nonetheless. 

We were so tired this morning I wanted to sleep for five more minutes, so when Henry awakened and started puling on my nose, I said, “Annabelle, can you babysit Henry for five minutes?” Then they started wrestling and laughing hysterically. He was rolling on top of her and she yelled, “Mommy! This isn’t babysitting! This is struggling!”She did manage to finally engage him in a book, but I never got my extra five minutes of sleep. Today she drew a picture of a car and told me it was an old lady who lived in a car-house. And then she said, “Actually, it’s me, when I was 14, I lived in a car. Annika (her imaginary sister) lived next door.”All Annabelle wants to do these days is paint, draw, make collages, color, glue… She’s really interested in creating sailboats. Here’s one she made today our of leaves and seashells, one out of pasta, one out of crayons:Here are a few collages she made after picking our wilting hydrangeas and collecting wildflowers and grass and seashells from our yard.My budding Georgia O’Keefe. Now if only she could get her little brother, the budding Picasso, to stop drawing on our newly painted walls…

Driving around the French Quarter in a horse and carriage, I felt so at home with the red leather seats and the rocking motion of the carriage. I know damn well I must have lived in the Quarter in a past life–most likely as a Madame of my own gorgeous bordello. I love everything about it–the wild and intense history, the romantic architecture, the literary inspiration. I’ve been madly in love with the writings of Tennessee Williams since I was a young lass, and the house where he wrote “A Streetcar Named Desire” on St. Peter Street is like a temple to me. Never mind the bookshop in Pirate’s Alley that was Faulkner’s house. The owner, Joe, says he occasionally smells cigar smoke when there are no cigars to be found–apparently Faulkner smoked cigars. You KNOW there are ghosts everywhere down there. My housekeeper Rose has a very different view of the Quarter. She cleans down there on Saturday, and told me she sees all sorts of nasty things going on down there, in addition to her car being robbed last week. I choose to ignore the seedier side of the Quarter and instead focus on my romanticized version of it. It’s a bit like the article I just read on the latest excavation of Stonehenge. They are saying now it was quite possibly a healing place or temple, because of the amount of sick and diseased skeletons they’ve dug up. I’m sure this is quite plausible, but I was always under the impression it was a portal to other worlds, other times, between the living and the dead. I told George this, and my little Virgo said that was preposterous. I can’t believe the man who loves Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter doesn’t believe in time travel, but I guess his analytical nature struggles with mind-blowing ideas. Of course Einstein was analytical AND he came up with the whole space-time continuum.In any case, I just read a book I loved called Sepulchre. It had all the elements of a good gothic mystery–tarot cards, devils and ghosts, romance and music… I got very swept up.Then I read The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. It is a jaw-dropping book. Amazing. One of my favorite books ever, I’d say. Deeply philosophical, beautiful, stunning writing, and a great story. Wow.Then I read Are You There Vodka, It’s Me, Chelsea by Chelsea Handler. I’d never heard of her when I ordered the book. It had a funny title and had good reviews, so I went for it. There were some really funny moments, and I applaud her for being so brash and brazen and outspoken, but at the same time, the book was a bit harsh for me. Comedy that offends people isn’t funny to me.But back to the French Quarter, a pretty blissful day is getting covered in powdered sugar eating beignets at Cafe Du Monde, although why I end up getting covered and the kids stay clean is beyond me, then taking a horse and carriage ride past the Napolean House, Lafitte’s Blacksmith Tavern, the Ursuline Convent… A trip back in time. 

So, the other day we were in Utah and I wanted to go to Pilates with my sister, Marlise, who has two adorable children she adopted from Haiti–Zoe, a three-year-old firecracker, and Watson, a sweet mellow 4- year-old. I asked George to watch all four of the kids so we could go. “No way,” he replied. I was expecting this and was prepared. “Sweetie, it will be fine. It will be a great opportunity for you to bond with your niece and nephew.” George is always a bit overwhelmed by my family I think, considering I have 21 nieces and nephews, five siblings and their spouses–and he has two brothers, unmarried with no children.I went to pick him up at the bookstore where he was working.  He complained the whole way to my sister’s, bitterly, but I’ve learned to ignore him. We walked into my sister’s house, and Zoe immediately said, “Marci, Annabelle slapped me.” I said, “Annabelle!” even though I couldn’t believe Annabelle would do such a thing–it would be totally out of character, and I was right. It turns out that Zoe actually slapped Annabelle, but Zoe’s going through a phase where she blames others for the things she does before she can get into trouble. Needless to say, Annabelle burst into tears, and then when Watson informed us it was Zoe who had done the hitting, Zoe burst into tears, accompanied by ear-splitting screams, and George turned around and said, “No way. Take me back to the bookstore. I’m not doing this.”"You’re going to be fine!” I said, and helped him sit down on the couch. Now, George is not an animal person (some of you may be wondering about our comraderie if you know about my love for children and animals, but what can I say? Opposites attract!) and my sister’s bulldog, Zeus, who is gorgeous but smells like a dog, came right up to him and started sniffing his knees and on up from there. George tried to shoo him away by waving his hands, but Zeus was too busy.I left for Pilates laughing my ass off, and shocker of all shockers, everyone survived and they even had fun!

Woke up this morning to Henry insisting on dressing like an elephant and feeding himself a banana. He got to feed carrots and bananas to the elephants at the zoo the other day, and it’s had a far-reaching effect. Annabelle rolled out of bed and immediately donned her little white kitten costume. She drank her milk out of a saucer and got her nose and chin covered in milk, much to Henry’s delight. We then had circle time and I asked them if they wanted to sing a song about elephants. Annabelle is in a phase where she loves to rhyme and write her own songs, so she said she would lead us in an elephant song. She had us stand up, dangle our arms in front of our bodies, and stomp around the rug while she sang a rhyming song about elephants. She made up a few more songs during circle time, about the “ducks and bunnies that come out in the Autumn.” Later on we had Ballet and I have to say that watching Henry do plies might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. He practiced his leaps and plies while Annabelle took class. All the kids in the class have to curtsey before they get a sticker as they leave, and each child did a tiny bounce. Not Annabelle. She crossed her feet and did a deep curtsey including a sweeping arm that would have made the Queen proud! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.