A Rose By Any Other Name...

For ages, Josephine has named anything other than something with an obvious name "Missy". It's rather adorable. Steve and I set it up, and wait for it. We ask, breathless with anticipation, "And what is (whatever guy's) name?", and always act as surprised as can be when we hear the inevitable: "Missy".

Sometimes it's easy, and a fool could see where she's going. Deer are either Rudolph, Bambi, Mr. or Mrs. Donner (sorry, Dani - I can't get her to go for Donder) and there is one called Bambi. We have a Clarice. A white mouse named Maisy. We have dogs named Lady and Tramp, and one named Trusty. Cats are Boo Boo. Everything in Josie's world relates to a book, a movie, a story or something we've told her. For an otherwise incredibly creative and sometimes wildly inventive child, there is no room for originality. I mean, last year, her greatest hope was that a reindeer named Rudolph would jump into our car as we were driving and sit on her lap and ask to have its toenails cut. Just what kind of person comes up with that kind of shit?

So where does Missy come from? We don't know anyone named Missy. We don't even pull out the old "Stop right there, Missy!" name-calling bossy parenting schtick, no matter how retro it sounds. It's not just out of the blue -- it's out of the whole spectrum of colour, including those little flecks you only see when you have your eyes closed.

Say there's a guy that wouldn't have an obvious name. A generic pink teddy bear (and her blue teddy bear is named Teddy Bear Blue, but a pink bear is NOT EVER Teddy Bear Pink), or a...a...giraffe. Say there are three giraffes. Mommy Giraffe, Daddy Giraffe, and Baby Giraffe. They'll be referred to like that all right - but then, you ask her..."But what is Baby Giraffe's name?" Well, up until dinnertime tonight, we heard it was "Missy". But, you know, with her own delivery.

A special warm and almost bashful smile spreads over her face like buttercup petals unfolding, and she gazes down at whatever creature, holds it adoringly and says sweetly in a voice that makes it clear that after much thought, careful consideration and thorough research, she has come up with a name that should be written with a little heart dotted over the i on scented paper in purple ink: "Missy".

For example? She received this little box of mice for her birthday from a special new friend, and they are each named Missy, Missy and Missy.



So tonight, to draw out the rather stultifying play we were involved in after dinner, we asked her what Baby Giraffe's name is, expecting the usual "Missy", which we've heard since it came home with us a few months ago. But get this -- she tells us:

"Forty Eaty Leafy Fleecy."

"Again?"

"Forty Eaty Leafy Fleecy."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"REALLY?"

"Really it's Horny Earsy Nosey Eaty Leggy Taily Leafy Fleecy Baby Giraffe."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."


(Steve and I reach down, gather our jaws up off the floor with one hand, our heads that spun right off our necks with the other, re-attach jaws to heads and screw heads back on necks, then push our goggling eyeballs back in our heads, and slightly adjust our heads again)



"Has that always been Baby Giraffe's name and you've just never told us?!"


"Yes. I just call him Missy for short."




For the record - there are two other names in her roster that are unique. One explains itself. The other is a name she invented herself.

One is Baby Naked Farty. The other is (my spelling is an approximation of the pronunciation) Kinchy.


"Pass the beer Missy."

Three is a Magic Number

We lived, thrived and prospered through a weekend of birthday celebrations for Josephine.

Excuse me, but how did she get to be three?

On Saturday, a party for many friends. Cupcakes! Mini-cupcakes! Decorate your own mini-cupcakes! Toddlers decorating their own mini-cupcakes!


As I wrote in an explanatory letter previous to the festivities - as long as there was no blood, splattered brains or broken bones, it would be considered a success. It was.


The reviews are in: all had fun.

The adults were full of sushi, cupcakes and Pocky.




Toddlers were passed out in cars on the way home, they were recapping the events with glee, and my own toddler adored her many gifts:


though of course...


Some bubble wrap that came with one present was what occupied her for most of the evening.

That was, until I found a bunch of the pinata toys that had been hiding under the couch. Then they went for a ride in Babar's train.


And as the sugar wore off, and Josephine toddled off to bed, I noticed that Mr. Donner was more than happy to meet the new addition to the herd...


And I had enough tissue...

...and bags to wrap our presents to Josie (plus there'll be enough to wrap gifts for others for months to come).

*****************************************

On Sunday, my folks came over, bearing more gifts for her and us. Always welcome are cans of our favourite coffee, hominy, Progresso Chickarina soup, booze at cheap American prices, and, as Josephine found later, rather accidentally, while she was opening her presents...

meatballs. They'd been stashed in with the puzzles and books. Thankfully, they were still frozen, and she understood that Grandma did it by accident and that the meatballs are for the whole family, and that Grandma Nan is not yet crazy enough to give meat as a birthday present.


Lots of stuff. Some of it I have issues with, and I wonder why I do, but I do. I'm still digesting why I find certain clothes that other people would have no problem with so offensive. Why is it that there are some things that I just can't "see" on Josie? Is it because she doesn't really like or watch Elmo (or "Emo" as my mother calls him. And I would not have a problem with an Emo shirt)?


It's not because we have this need to be "cool" or "alternaparents" as has been much discussed in the blogosphere. It's just that Josie has her own style, whether or not we've inflicted it on her and Elmo's not part of it. And I resent money wasted, and Sesame Street doesn't pay us to advertise them on our child's stomach, and it's also just...not...her. And now I have to make a trip to a store we never patronize to exchange them for less than what was paid for them (without having gift receipts), because I have matured in this way: I realize that my mom's pleasure is in the buying - not the thinking about who she's buying them for. Which is why I am also frustrated by this - she is either so supremely unaware that these are not gifts Josie would like -- or so supremely confident that we'll just use them anyway that she doesn't give gift receipts.

So, I am from now on, not going to crush that. Essentially, they're free to us, and they are gifts. So once they've been given, we can do with them what we like. For the record, Josie has expressed that she doesn't like the clothes either. In her words exactly "I don't want Grandma Nan to buy me clothes." As well, the too-small black velour tracksuit (that my mom wanted me to find black dress shoes for Josie to wear with!) is covered in lint and she hasn't even tried it on; and the shirts with all the sequins and glitter already have loose pieces and stuff coming off. The pants have such a low rise her bum will show, which is why Josephine usually wears boys' pants. It's just all wrong, and the resentment of such things simply existing in the world, let alone in a box in my house smolders inside of me. In the past, I'd hand it right back. Up until quite recently, I'd have told her "Mom, don't buy clothes for Josie", and explain why they were wrong. But now? I said "Thanks" and put them aside. Okay, she did notice I put them by the basement stairs, and not in the basket to go upstairs. I'm not that mature yet. But I'm getting there.

What Josie did like?

The skirt I found at Sak's in New York for her, and bought with the credit card my mom pays for. It was originally $129, then marked down to $89, then to $49, then to $37, then 30% off that -- and then there was some other mysterious discount so that when it was rung up, it was about $17. And it is purple, her favourite colour. And it has "diamonds' on it, and it is a bit twirly. She wore it to the Backstabbers' matinee on Sunday, and danced like crazy in it.

But before we left for the matinee, our dear friend came over with heart-shaped pumpkin flans, which Josie loves. And another reindeer, which made Josie happy. Today she said "I am playing with my HERD."


And a darling tea-set with tea bags and sugar cubes and a birthday cake.


And a charming vintage book...


And all were wrapped in ribbons that we just had to put on Boo Boo...



When I think about all of the awesome things our friends chose for Josie - reindeer figurines, books, arty things, dvds with animals, stuff for her imagination, cute shirts that suit her...I can be most happy that our friends are like the family we'd choose if we could. Whether it's knowing her through me, and through the blog - or just spending some time with Josephine and really seeing the funny, quirky and creative kid she is - I love that so many saw the beauty in her this past weekend, rather than just seeing a beautiful girl.

Thank you, everyone, for liking us and seeing us for who we are, both of us (okay, and Steve too) -- and not just for who you want us to be. The festivities were successful because we have good friends.

All For The Want Of A Reindeer.

In yet another attempt to avoid writing about my three days in NYC, I'm going to tell you about our trip to the Toronto Zoo yesterday. What? Why is it that I can't seem to write about three days of museums, shopping, eating, sleeping and fun? Because, well, for me - NYC was huge and moving and in a way, transformative and I can't wrap my words around it right now. Also because I think I lost a few brain cells at Larry's party.

So. Yesterday. It was not ass-bitingly cold for the first time in too long, so we decided to tire out Josephine with a trip to the Zoo. I'd never been, nor has she, and Steve hadn't gone there since about oh...fifteen years ago with his niece. She'd been asking if she could see real reindeer, lately. Mr. and Mrs. Donner are big factors in her imaginary play lately - more so than Rudolph even. We thought it would be a nice family outing. We wish that a certain family member had told us BEFORE we left, rather than after three hours there, that she was "just in a bad mood today".

The Zoo, for the record, is HUGE. Without crowds, without sun and warmth and animals, it was just a giant trek along a path through woods and fields - and the difference between service roads to get lost down and the regular walkways wasn't so distinguishable. We walked every path except for the Canadian Exhibit, which was what we were aiming for, but had to give up on as it is just too freaking far. Also - no Zoomobile to hop on. No Restaurants to stop in. This is what it looked like a lot of the time:


We tramped for ages, at first only seeing hordes of honking and pooping Canadian geese. Then a few llamas pooping. Then the polar bear, pacing neurotically, already having pooped. Then! The panther! Who, in Josie's words "looks like a big Boo Boo". Great.



Thankfully, we had our senses of humour about us. After all - if you can't snigger at funny animal names...

...you're dead inside.


So, it took a while for the Zoo to grow on us. Josephine was only interested in finding a reindeer, because, well, she's STILL ON THAT FRIGGING REINDEER KICK AND OTHER COOL ANIMALS ARE NOT REINDEER.

In an attempt for us to enjoy the Zoo, we took a circuitous route, hoping that other animals would charm Josie and stop the whining about wanting to see the "raaaaaaaynndeeeeeeeers".

Baby Gorilla? Right up against the glass, trying to touch Steve's nose?


Nice. "Can we go see the reindeers now?"

Steve's favourite guy, for the record, was the big daddy Gorilla. He really was fascinating, and I liked him a lot too - but I've had the benefit of having Italian uncles who were not dissimilar in their physiques, eating mannerisms and scratching habits.



My very very favourite thing? Seeing this baby crocogator thingie half hatched. There it is - half out of its egg, just chillaxin'.



And then? It's going to grow up and look like this:


"Can we go see the reindeeeeeeeers Now?"


I don't blame Josie for not being terribly excited. I mean, a lot of the animals were phoning it in. Like, the meerkats. Look at this:

Left meerkat: "Dude, it's your turn. Get up there and do the meerkat thing so they can take their picture and then go away and leave us alone."

Centre meerkat: "Yeah! Yeah! Come on!"

Front meerkat: "Why can't we all do it. Why does it always feel like I gotta be the one to do it? What, are you two broken or something?"

Front meerkat: "Fine. Everyone happy?"

And those were the guys who worked it a little. Others couldn't be bothered.




Then there was explaining to Josephine what things were doing to other things. Like "Um...that turtle is eating algae off the gator's back. That's it!"

(Whispers - "Steve! That turtle is being SEXUAL with the gator!")


The orangutans were lovely. All piled up, cuddling with the baby, looking at us with eloquent eyes...



And then, right after that, there was the accident. Except, it wasn't an accident. Well, that is to be argued - but my take on it is that on days when Josie is in a "bad mood" (4 out of 7), I have to be a little bossier. She is never, NEVER an acquiescent child. Nothing is ever easy. And on the days when I have to get all Supernanny on her ass, with lots of talkings to and warnings, I think she chooses to pee herself because she can. Steve is more inclined to believe she might have an incipient bladder infection (which she's never had, despite trips to the doctor to check) - but since she answers yes to each if asked about both possibilities (and chooses to pee just fine at other times on the same days) - at any rate... There was an Accident.

Twenty minutes with the whole family in the ladies' room, trying to dry underwear, tights and polar-fleece lined jeans with the hand-dryers. Nothing like the smell of hot piss to permeate your day! And trying to keep the bare-bottomed Josephine sitting in the stroller on my coat throughout!



We finally got to see the RAAAAAAYYYYYNNDEEEEEEEERS. It was the best thing, she said. Not the monkeys that made her giggle, not the cool wall of fish.



Nope. When Mr. Fuzzy Business Antlers came over to see her, she was thrilled. "He is coming to see MEEEEEE!"


And then he pooped.


But I must confess -- these pictures are misleading. I hit the "enhance" button in Iphoto to give them a little more oomph. Maybe I'm changing our memories by making it seem like the day was brighter and crisper than it was. It looked more like this:



All gray and dark and poopy, with one-antlered guys eating crap off the ground in an enclosure that was a little barren, and pretty close to the road.

But that was what she wanted. It was good. Just good . And good is good enough some days.

So, we were the last car in the lot...


...and then it just became a matter of keeping her awake on the drive home, so she could go to bed early and Steve and I could toast "good" with a glass of wine. Except, it wasn't really toasting. It was more like a balm on our frayed nerves, tired feet, chilled hands - and an attempt to take the smell of hot piss out of our nostrils.

We Baked Cupcakes This Morning!

Ar!Ar! Shrinky Dinks humour!

Dinner's On The House

I have mentioned previously how it's not just Valentine's Day around here, and so I must beg forgiveness for yet another mushy post. I, too, would have thought the last one was enough overkill.

But no.

You see, our dinner plans fell through. So rather than a fancy dinner out, we had a fancy dinner in. Well, fancy in that Steve got creative with his jambalaya presentation. And it's jambalaya in that it's rice and spicy sausage and chicken and spices and every vegetable and potato in the house that needs to be used before it gets yucky.


But it was lovely, and now he's rocking Josie to sleep while I putter around. It's been a good day.

Show Me Some Love

While Steve and Josie were out playing in the snow just now, I ate four Charbonnel et Walker truffles and was so transported by the love drug that must have been inside them (and um, the peace and quiet) that I looked around and saw all of the Valentiney-type hearts and hugs and kissing and love business that's scattered about our house every day. Of course, I must reiterate the fact that Steve was out with Josie was love in itself.

So, here is an exercise that you can do every day: Walk around your home, and look for trace evidence of love and romance (and maybe even some of the naughty stuff too) that's just lying about. I'll bet there's more than you think. Of course, if you need some Vitamin Chocolate-type hallucinogens to help you along, who's to tell you no?

This is just some of our obvious stuff, nothing fluffed or even dusted, with hearts and hugs and kisses and all, that anyone could see without even looking all that hard. Some of it is self-explanatory, some of it has stories that require huge hand gestures and no small amount of liquid courage to bring them out. But the last image? That's also love, chez Good, and I hope I never forget it.