do you notice?

Kooka wants to know if you notice anything different about her. She asked Medea to come along for moral support and ice cream. She is feeling quite fabulous right now.

what in the . . . . ?

I'm clearing Punk's chip - the one in his digital camera. The kid takes that thing everywhere, and is constantly snapping away. I would venture to say he is almost as bad as his father in that department.
He has over 150 pictures on just one chip. "Of what?" you ask . . . well - plastic dinosaurs in threatening poses, his sister stuffed under a giant pile of pillows, the dogs in various states of attack, toads, homemade scarecrows . . . and these . . . I do not even pretend to know what these are about. But he said I could post anything that looked interesting. I'd say these fall into that category:

christmas secrets and poison toads

Christmas is a big deal in our house - a BIG deal. There are secrets, surprises, candles lit, music on, 24 Christmas books to open, treats to be made, red pajamas, elf ears to be worn (yeah you heard me - Punk is sporting a pair in this picture). Like I said, it's a BIG deal.

So when Punk's fairy godmother called and asked if she could give him
something special for Christmas - I said yes.

Soooooo - three days before Christmas she shows up with not one, but two firebelly toads. She also delivers a ten gallon terrarium with light, a water dish, bedding and a bag of food - which in case you are unfamiliar with the diet of firebelly toads, happens to be crickets - live crickets. Punk is ecstatic. Delirious with joy. First he tells us that I can take back all of the presents under the tree - because nothing could be better than this. Then he comes up to both of us and says, "I'm just so happy I could swear!"

I ask her if they are male or female - she isn't sure. I ask her how big they get - she isn't sure about that either. I ask how long they live - again, not sure. Still I am not terribly concerned - her baby boy is due any day and whatever she dishes out to me, she will get back tenfold and she knows it.

So the two of us go into Punk's room to watch him deliver the warty little dudes into their new home. The whole while we are laughing about how little we know about these animals - joking that they are probably toxic - like dart frogs from the rainforest.

Ha ha ha.

I look them up on the web later, to see how to care for them - and . . . wait for it . . . YES - indeed they are toxic - can make your tongue swell up - give you a rash - blur your vision. So Punk who has never been a hand washing freak, has now been cursed to a life of near constant scrubbing. Ha ha ha - maybe the joke is on HIM.

This one is Tyrone. Theodore and Tyrone are their names (Theodore named after Rooseveldt - and Tyrone . . . I have no idea)

merry christmas part 2

This just cracks up Punk and me.

merry christmas

This is a real house in Sherman Oaks, California. When I was little, I always said that when I grew up my house would look something like this one. Needless to say, I have fallen short. If it were up to Punk we would decorate like this for every holiday. Merry Christmas!

traditions

We have a lot - of traditions, I mean. There are the 24 Christmas books - unwrapping one each day until Christmas; each kid picking a new ornament for the tree; cocoa almost every night; Christmas Eve at Pa's; Christmas Day at Grandma's; handmade stockings; and CHEESEBALLS.

I have been making them since the fourth grade - every Christmas. Giant rolls of cheese with chiles and garlic - hand squished. Both Punk and Kooka really get into this tradition which is fine by me - today they grated ALL of the cheese, and mixed the stuff too. They said they put "extra love" into this year's batch - so if you get one of these from us, be forewarned - I am not sure what "extra love" means - and quite possibly, it is just a fancy word for "spit."

Enjoy!

happiness

"Happiness is learning to whistle, tying your shoes for the very first tiiiiiimmmmeee!" The lyrics are from "You're a Good Man Charlie Brown," and Kooka has been singing them all morning. Today was the first day that she put on her shoes and tied them all on her own! And no bunny ears laces either - the REAL DEAL - just like a grown up! She's been working on it for over a year - so she is pretty proud of herself. We are too.

shopping

My kids do not need much - none of us do, but I like to go Christmas shopping anyway - especially at the mall. I love the lights, the music and the people watching. I like the people watching best of all.

The first guy I notice is working behind the counter at . . .Fun Gifts You Buy. I am not making that up - that is the REAL name of the REAL store. (It's sister store Fun Gifts You Steal - is right across the hall). It must be quite a specialty niche because apparently "fun gifts" consist of: toddler sized drum sets, Mardi Gras masks, $20 acoustic guitars, and refrigerator magnets. Those are the only four things the store sells - no kidding - one wall of each. But the man working there is so happy, smiling and waving to every customer in the store - he is just happy to be here. I almost convince myself that Punk needs a drum set for Christmas - almost.

Then I watch the man in Tony Roma's, sitting alone, eating pot roast, and I want to sit with him, because he looks so very lonely. He doesn't even have a book to read. But I don't intrude- I just watch, and I pray that his life is good.

There's the girl at Bath and Body Works. It's the same girl in every store, in every mall, in every town. I think they have to go through some sort of brainwashing ceremony before they are sworn in as sales associates. I'm standing in line with some sparkleberry lotion for Kooka. "Ooooh - those are three for 18 dollars," says the ponytailed girl. She is wearing an elf hat, and has already plucked two more bottles from the shelf.
"Thanks - I only need one."
"But they are three for 18 dollars. You need two more."
No, I don't. It is glitter lotion, nobody needs this - not even one.
"What about the gift set?"
"No thanks."
"Here is a cute lip gloss, same great sparkleberry flavor . . ."
I cannot - cannot deal with this. It is gluttonous, excessive, and ALL she has convinced me of - is that I don't need ANYTHING at all. So put my lotion on the table - right next to the gloss and I just leave.

In the hall I watch a mom pushing an empty stroller. She is disinfecting her toddler's Nuk, which is a great use of her time, since he is trailing behind her eating popcorn that he's picking up off of the floor.

And then there is Jesse - sweet Jesse - the Israeli salt scrub guy. He accosts me at a kiosk near the mall entrance. I need lotion - and in my desperation I slow down.
"You sit," says Jesse. He still has my hand, so I do.
He pulls out a silver tray full of lotions and potions and creams. "This is the beautiful tray. Only give this to beautiful girls."
"Yeah - then what do you give to the ugly ones?
"A slap." If nothing else he is quick.
He takes my glasses off and pumps something from a bottle. He looks in my eyes, "You no sleep well."
"No Jesse - I do not."
"Then, here - for your eyes."
"Uh no. No thanks Jesse. What is that?"
"It is special fluid." He rubs it by my eyes.
"SPECIAL FLUID? What? Like antifreeze? What is special fluid? Stop."
"No - special from Dead Sea. In just five minutes you look Chinese."
"Chinese?!"
"Yes. Your eyes be so tight and lifted - you will look like this," he pulls his hands tight across his cheeks, and his eyes get very small. "See? Chinese!"
I lean back, a tiny bit horrified, "Dude - that is not a selling point, and take that special fluid off, my eyes are burning."

"OK, OK," he says, pulling out a tub of floral scented salt scrub "I give you selling point. Ladies love this. And I love ladies." He is such a schmoozer - but pretty good at it. "I do love ladies. People say I am gay, I do not know why they think that, but I not gay." He stops scrubbing my hand and looks at me, "Did you think I am gay?"
"Well, yes."
"Why? Why you say that?"
I am a bit of an expert on this particular subject. "The nice clothes, the good haircut, the one earring - I don't know. It doesn't matter to me either way."
"Hmmmm," he says cocking his hip and looking at me, "Anyway, this scrub works for everything. EVERYTHING! It works on eczema, sunburn, scars. . . ."
"Wait - you rub this on SUNBURN? It's a salt scrub!"
"Oh yes - very good . . .and scars. See this scar?" He points to his arm. "I get this one in Israeli army when I was 17. A bomb explodes and hits my arm. I use salt scrub on it- now you can hardly see it."
I look at his arm - he is right - you can hardly see it. "Wait a minute? You used floral salt scrub? In the army?" He nods. "Honey, THAT is why people think you are gay."
He laughs at me and puts my hand to his face - "See - so smooth."
It is smooth, but I am not buying his stuff, not even after he gives me his "employee discount" - a 6 ounce jar for $57. But I do feel bad for his scar. He could have got it playing lacrosse at a private school for all I know, but his story about the bomb hurts my heart, so I put some money on his silver tray and leave.

I leave the whole mall, because really I don't need anything anyway - none of us do.

temptation

Math took 3 hours today. An hour per page - no lie. The thing is - every single problem was correct, it's not like he didn't know what he was doing, he just messed around until I thought I would SNAP.

Kooka was not much better - not today at least.

I can see the public school from my window - and it looks pretty tempting right now.

advice

Punk was dispensing advice today, and he really wanted me to buy some.

"Come on Mom," he says, "Dad bought some, and it was really good."
"What advice did you give dad?"
"Do unto others as you would have done to you."
"Hmmmmmmm, that is good advice, but I am pretty sure it's not yours. Sounds like you are ripping off other people's advice."
"Wow you are picky."
"Yes, well seeing how I have to pay a nickel, I want my money's worth."
"Come on," he says, "I won't disappoint you."
I fish into my pocket and pay him.
"OK," he says, eyes serious,"This is great advice." He leans in close looks right in my eyes and says, "Never, I mean never, take advice from a guy like me."
He jumps off my bed and runs out of my room.

At first I think that he riped me off, but on second thought - it is pretty good advice.

elf yourself

Wanna see something funny? Punk and Kooka got elfed. I'm not sure how, but Punk got the female body and Kooka the male (who is by FAR the better dancer). Check it out on this link: Elf yourself

sad - by Kooka

Kooka sobbed for two hours after the wrap party last night. She knows they took the set down and said, "it is like they just took apart my life."

She told me to put this on our blog:


I felt sad when our play ended. I miss my friends and I won't spend as much time with them. I liked when the audience laughed, but now there is no more audience so there is no more laughing, so there is no more happiness.

I think that play was really good and I tried my best to make the audience laugh and love it - and I think they did. I think I did a good job, but now I can't do it anymore, and now I feel very sad. No more giggles or laughs. No more great friends coming to watch me - no more beautiful dresses I get to wear. No more fun things - just nothing.

by Kooka