It’s Christmas Baking Season and I’m out of ginger. Luckily, I am full of the kind of pluck that allows me to substitute chili powder in gingerbread men and then try to pass them off as a hostess gift. ‘Here! I made something that’s just for you! Because your kids will hate them.’
Frida, poor little soul, has been eating them because the only other treat on offer is 4 parts plain yogurt mixed with 1 part applesauce.
Max doesn’t have many words yet but is really starting to use signs. When offered a ChiliBread Dude, he smacks my hand away then takes off his glasses and throws them across the room. I think that means no thank you?
We are visiting preschools for Frida. The meeting at the Montessori school went about as expected, if you were expecting Frida to roll in and basically blow the principal’s mind with her ability to pour water from a pitcher through a funnel into a jar and back and then fill an entire ice cube tray with walnuts using only tongs. The entire tray! She’s 2! I know, I know, you’re thinking we coached her and yeah, maybe the 6:00 wake ups to practice carrying child-sized trays from room to room were a bit much, and maybe the child-sized broom gave her some calluses during those long hours of character-building sweeping, but it was totally worth it when the principal said that they technically are full and turning away applications until September but that she’d make a place for Frida in January because Frida was so clearly ready for the Montessori classroom. The principal smoothly moved into an explanation about school fees while I was still marveling over how Frida could, and I quote the principal here, ‘Do things that children who had been in the program since September still couldn’t do.’ Sold! Walnuts! Trays! Frida kicks Montessori ass! Wait, what? No grades? Shit, how’m I gonna be able to I tell if I’m winning at parenting?
Seriously, though, anyone else feel this thing about parenting where you’re like worryworryworryworrySHE’s FINE!worryworryworryworrySHE’s DOING GREAT!worryworryworry
I’ve got to go spruce up for a holiday party in a few minutes*, so this list won’t be complete, but here are the things I hate about the Curious George books:
- all the characters are male except for a very few whiny girls/women
- all the characters are white
- George is described as ‘naughty’ when really he’s just a victim of negligence on the part of his caretaker. Who leaves a monkey alone with a telephone? A puzzle? A jar of ink?
- the plots routinely rely on a coincidental meeting with the man with the yellow hat
- in the alphabet book, the authors got halfway through the alphabet and then gave up. ‘Big O is for ostrich and little o is for… little ostrich!’ ‘Big Z is for Zebra and little z is for… little zebra!’ Big P is for paycheck and little p is for trading in your integrity to meet your publisher’s deadline.
*Is it better if this pun is intended? Or un-? Either way, what a complete nerd! Ha!