Are you smarter than a 4-year-old?- (mixed up edition)

Three facts about Dimples:

Fact 1- She makes up words and/or uses random words at random times. She fills in the blanks of sentences with any word that may or may not be part of an existing dictionary.

When the lamp refused to turn on, she declared it was frustrated. And then asked what frustrated means.

One of her favorite words these days is dizzy. She uses it for anything, in any sentence, to describe basically any kind of emotion. Its a skill, really, to be able to do that.

And then there are other words that you won't find in the English language that we know of at least. Words like, kishikaala or sayviyaa or other words that only she can pronounce.

Fact 2- She loves wearing dresses. So much so, that she refuses to wear any other form of clothing. I have to threaten her that all her pants, shirts and shorts will go to the poor and needy if she does not want them, for her to sometimes consider my pleas. Yeah yeah, I'm a bad mom.

Fact 3- She loves Chuck E Cheese's. Me, not so much. And I mean not just the place, but the actual mouse. Yes, my 4-year old gets all jittery and weak in the knees when Chuck E walks by, and I am not even kidding. I wish I was.

*********************
So the other day when Hubby announced, 'Let's go to Chuck E Cheese's!' Dimples was literally doing jumping jacks.

And as if she wasn't high enough on that news, I picked out a dress for her to wear. She giggled, she laughed, she glowed when she smiled.

Thanks Mama for picking a dress for me, I wanted to wear a dress. I like this dress. Oh its so pretty, Mama. I always want to wear a dress, right? I think my head is a little . . . mixed up.

I could not keep myself from laughing out loud. And since I have explained to Dimples that I don't laugh at her, but because I think she's cute, she laughed with me. (Yes, it wasn't easy to laugh at her cute remarks before I explained this to her. Now she knows. Now we laugh)

Dimples: I'm serious. My head is all mixed up. My mind is all silly.

Me: Its not silly, cutie. Its smart and cute.

Dimples: No its silly sometimes. And mixed up. Why do you yell at me?

Me: (Whoa! Where did this come from?) When did I yell at you?

Dimples: Sometimes.

Me: Oh. Yeah. . . sometimes. I shouldn't.

Dimples: Is your head mixed up too?

Well if it wasn't, it is now.

For more Are you smarter than a 4-year-old? check out the Loser edition.

Sundays in my City - A day at the Park

These pictures were taken a month ago, on a beautiful day at a beautiful park. Sorry, I have been cheating for the past few weeks, but I will shoot some new pictures for next Sunday hopefully.

Going through these reminded me of how much fun summer was. It also made me realize that I am obsessed with pictures of water.





For more Sundays in my City from around the world, visit Unknown Mami.

Chatty Dry-Cleaners in 'What the Hell??!!'-Wednesdays

There are too many times in one's life when one feels the need to say, 'What the hell??!!'

I will keep it sugar-coated the rest of the week, but on Wednesdays I will let it all out. You know how you feel bloated after eating beans, or something milk-based if you are lactose intolerant, and you HAVE to fart to feel good. And it feels sooo good once you do. On Wednesdays, dear readers, I will fart. Or burp. Whatever helps.

I go to these dry-cleaners that are nameless. They are the $1.75 Dry-cleaners. That's all they have up on their window and on their receipts. They do a decent job dry-cleaning, so I don't really care that they don't have a name. They are located pretty close to where we live, and I have yet to find any other dry-cleaners in my area, charging just $1.75 per item of clothing (certain restrictions apply). So I go there pretty often.

On one of the registers at the nameless Dry-cleaners, though, is a guy. This guy likes to chat. I don't. When I am running errands, the girls are either with me pulling at my leg, asking/crying/demanding to buy them candy from the candy machine that the nameless dry-cleaners have mindlessly installed at the entrance. Or, I have left the girls at home with Hubby, who keeps calling every minute to ask me when I will be coming home and telling me how one or the other or both girls are crying for Mama.

I'm not in a chatty mood in either cases.

I want to do exactly what I went into that nameless place for. Drop off and pick up. Nothing more, nothing less.

That guy has other plans. Every. Freaking. Time.

On this particular day, I was dressed up to go somewhere, and we wanted to pick up the dry-cleaning on the way. Hubby and the girls waited in the car, while I went in.

Damn it, he's there even at this time.

I waited in line and prayed that I would end up at a register other than his.

The line moved.

Next.

Next.

Next.

Damn it! My turn to go. His register open.

I go and before I can tell him my phone number, he says my last name.

Yes, that's right.

I do go there practically every day, so I guess I should not worry about him recognizing me AND my name. And being able to put those two together. I shouldn't, right? I did freak out just a little bit, though.

I looked at the shirts, jackets, dresses, trousers wrapped up in plastic moving on that moving machine dry-cleaners have. I think its pretty cool. I wish I had one of those at home, to move things around.

Are you married?

Did he just ask me if I was married? Does he not see this rock I wear on my left hand? Or is he trying to tell me its too small for him to see? Well you want me to shove my finger in front of your face for you to see better, nameless dry-cleaner guy?!! I can shove a different finger too, that's right next to my ring finger, if you want. No, really you want me to do that??!

Yeah.

I waited for the moving machine to bring my Hubby's clothes. Can it move ANY slower? Jeez.

You look good.

I looked at him. I wanted to punch him right in the middle of his two eyes. Do I thank him, or do I tell him to F off? I should show him the finger now, right?

Thanks, is what I said.

Is that how you get dressed when you get married?

Can you SEE that I am trying here not to punch you? Can you SEE that I am in no mood to carry on this freaking conversation with you? Can you . . . wait a minute. WHAT?

I'm pretty sure I just looked at him with my mouth a little open, and a frown on my face.

Is that how you get dressed when you get married? Everyone does it differently.

Now I don't know where the hell he is from. I don't know where the hell he thinks I am from. But I did not look like I was going to my own wedding. I did look better than I do on most days. But I would look better than I do on most days even if I brushed my hair regularly. And take some time to take the crud out of my eyes. Okay that's an exaggeration. But I did not look like I was dressed for my own wedding. Already wearing my wedding band. And didn't he just ask me if I was married?

The moving machine stopped. It stopped, oh it stopped. I could jump in joy right then and there. He handed me the clothes. I snatched'em away. I wanted to get out of that nameless place.

Thanks, I said again. Because I'm a good person who does not punch people even when she wants to, that is why.

Best of luck with your wedding!

I ran out clutching on to my Hubby's dry-cleaned clothes, realizing he had not asked me if I was married in the first place. He had asked me if I was getting married. To which I had said, 'Yes'.

That cleared the confusion a bit. But still my perception of that creepy moron at that nameless Dry-cleaners remains the same.

And yesterday, he winked at me. I took my eyes off of the moving machine for a second to look at him, because I could feel him staring at me, and he winked at me.

What.The. Hell??!!

For more 'What the Hell??!!' - Wednesdays, check out:

http://mom-i-am.blogspot.com/2009/08/what-hell-wednesdays_28.html

and

http://mom-i-am.blogspot.com/2009/08/what-hell-wednesdays.html

10 not so tiny toes

I love Giggles but she has freakishly BIG feet.

Giggles is the bloggy name for my 18-month old daughter. She wears toddler size 8 shoes. To give you an idea of how freakishly big her feet are, let me tell you that my 4-year old Dimples has recently moved to size 10.

Don't get me wrong, I love Giggles. But she has BIG feet.

The morning after she was born, I remember the pediatrician coming into my room after doing my one-day-old baby's checkup in the nursery. After he told me that everything was fine with my newborn, he asked if I had any questions for him.

I asked, and I quote without any exaggeration: Are her feet too big?

Thank goodness the doctor understood that I was probably high on medication or tired from the labor and birth process, or simply not right in the head, and he did not laugh. At least not on my face.

Doctor: They are what they are, Miss ymK.

He did smile, though.

The other day Dimples asked me if she could paint Giggles' toes, and after a little convincing she made me say yes.

In a little while, Giggles came running, showing me her feet, saying 'Pity?' (Pretty)

I looked at her feet with 8 of her toes painted pink, 2 telling the tale of her squirming and making it impossible for Dimples to finish the task, and I said, 'Very pretty!'

Because when I think of the Top Ten Pretty Things in my Life, her big feet are right there close to the top.

They are pretty when she curls up her toes while she waits by the kitchen sink, as I fill up her sippy cup with water.

They are pretty when she spreads out her toes if she steps on something she considers dirty.

They are pretty when she tiptoes.


They are pretty when covered in sand.


They are pretty when covered in chalk.

They are pretty in her size 8 flip flops.


And they are pretty when she tries on other's flip flops.


And I tell her: With those pretty big feet, I mean big yet pretty feet, don't worry my dear, you are getting there.

Sundays in my City - Chicago

Chicago is not my city either, just like New York isn't. But I visit Chicago often as well.

During one of those visits, we visited Millennium Park.

The Cloud Gate was my favorite there.


Its mirror-like surface reflects Chicago skyline, which makes it a perfect place to take pictures of you with the skyline in the background.


You can even walk under it to take a picture of your own reflection, since it is shaped like a bean.


And this is what you you see if you look up standing under it.


We did get a bit carried away with the camera, which is nothing new. Happens to me all the time. Dimples, though, does not share my obsession, I mean passion for taking pictures. She got bored.

Dimples: This is embarrassing.

Me: What is?

Did she just declare at 4 years of age that her Mom embarrasses her? I am not yet ready for that. The kid was going to get a lecture.

Dimples: Sitting in a baby stroller. For a long time!

Well, if she had not been running around and complaining about getting tired, I would not have strapped her in her baby sister's stroller, would I?

I told her she should not let things embarrass her so easily. But she did have a point.

So we took her to another attraction at the park, The Crown Fountain.

She had a great time getting drenched in the water flowing out of strange people's mouths. Everyone has a different definition of embarrassing, it seems.

For more Sundays in my City from around the world, visit Unknown Mami.

'What the Hell??!!'-Wednesdays

There are too many times in one's life when one feels the need to say, 'What the hell??!!'

I will keep it sugar-coated the rest of the week, but on Wednesdays I will let it all out. You know how you feel bloated after eating beans, or something milk-based if you are lactose intolerant, and you HAVE to fart to feel good. And once you do, it feels sooo good. On Wednesdays, dear readers, I will fart. Or burp. Whatever helps.


Have you ever seen what you make your kids watch on TV? Some of it is CRAP. Yes it is.

Take for instance an episode of Dora the Explorer. Yes, that little girl that is never home, going around the world with no adult supervision, on random adventures.

Baby Jaguar, who is Dora's cousin Diego's friend, (since we cannot call him his pet, God that would be so wrong) is hanging from a branch of a tree, and is about to fall into some thorns or something prickly and scary. Two other friends of Dora's are in trouble too at the same time on different locations. So ofcourse Dora and Boots (Dora's friend monkey) try to decide for what seems like a good half hour, which friend to help first.

Baby Jaguar is the lucky one to be picked first, and off they go. Now you would expect they would hurry the hell up, since the poor jaguar baby is hanging for his dear life, calling for help. But first Dora has to find a short cut.

And who do we ask for help when we don't know which way to go?

The map!

Now the silly song plays for a good five minutes, while Baby Jag is dangling in air.

I'm the map, I'm map. Okay yes we know, can you hurry it up please. You stupid son-of-a ... map.

They find a short cut, and are on it. Finally they reach the tree, but do they save the freaking, hanging jaguar? No.

They have to play games even at this crucial point in Baby Jag's life. Freaking arrange the pictures in the right order game.

Which picture comes first? Take the ladder out of the backpack. Give the ladder to Baby Jaguar. Or Baby Jaguar giving us a hug?

Take the ladder out of the freaking backpack. Take. It. Out. TAKE IT OUT NOW.

By this time, I am sitting at the edge of the seat, biting my nails, cursing out loud. Finally Baby Jaguar is safe. If I were him, I would have eaten both Dora and Boots right after their charade of a saving mission was accomplished.

I mean, what the hell??!!

Then there are Max and Ruby. Max is the most annoying kid you would ever come across. No, really. If you think your kid is annoying, or that a kid at a certain playdate was annoying, you have not seen Max. He communicates in words rather than sentences, repeats the same word all day long, and does not listen to anything his sister tells him to do. Yes I said sister. Because I have never seen their parents. Never.

Ruby the big sister, who keep in mind still sells girl scout cookies, takes care of Max. She feeds him, takes him for playdates, cleans up the house, does all the gardening, even changes his jammies a hundred times to puts him to bed. Without ever yelling at him. She talks in that honey-drenched tone that makes you want to punch her in the face. She is better than a lot of us Moms. And that is what makes her annoying.

How is it not child labor, I fail to understand. I mean where the hell are their parents??!!

Dimples loves Max and Ruby, but after I noticed that she had adopted Max's one-word language, I told her she is not dealing with no silly Ruby here. If Max was my kid, that one-word lingo would not have stayed for long. That kid would have gotten his ass whooped. But thankfully, Dimples understood. And no ass whooping took place.

And what the hell is up with Tigger and Pooh? I think both sound like pedophiles. Eww.

Mommy's little princess

The first time I left Dimples at a daycare, she cried and screamed and held on to my leg as if never to let go. In the car, I sat and cried before driving away.

This happened for a few weeks. I cried every day.

But one day, she didn’t even notice that I left. I kept looking through the window at my baby busy playing with the toys, in the daycare lady’s arms.

That day, I cried the most.

With time, she grew up into a big girl and I grew used to her being one. Or so I thought.

Today a chilly morning woke me up to the end of summer. It was Dimples' first day of pre-K.

She went to her new classroom, shook hands with her new teacher and sat down at a little desk. I took a few pictures, gave her a few kisses (okay, more than a few) and left the room. As I waved to her from the doorway, she waved back.

And with a big smile, she whispered, 'I'll see you later.'

No screaming, no crying, no pulling at my leg - she would see me later.

But I did not cry today.

Maybe because here's what I made her wear to school. And she loved it. So maybe there is still some time before she turns completely into a big girl.

And that is a good, warm feeling.