Oddball...

Last Saturday the Good family attended the Oddball Open House , and Josie was thrilled to see her Daddy's band (noisy link) perform.


Steve says that one of the best moments in his life was when we arrived, and Josie ran toward the stage and shouted "HI DADDY!" She stood and watched them a bit (and thank goodness she was great about wearing her ear plugs), then retreated to my side to have some snacks and watch the band.



Eventually though, she wanted to get up on stage, as she'd been wondering if she could all week. My mind can only boggle that a kid who cringes and whines when a stranger on the streetcar even glances at her would want to get up there in front of a crowd of people who are doing nothing but standing and watching the folks on stage. I was curious about what she would do up there, and after a few songs let her run up there to ask permission.

Steve was happy to let her stand on stage. She stood there, bopped around a bit, then began to pull her shirt up and flash the crowd. Oh yes. She did. Here's the only SFW picture of that:



Steve was motioning for me to give her the hook. But then, she settled down to making her belly button sing for the rest of the song, and I was too helpless with laughter to move.




After the band played, we wandered around, talking to friends and enjoying the customs (and me enjoying the creative use of one of those nasty "hiding in a corner" dolls).




But one of the most fun things was the burn out pit. I know - pointless and weird, but kinda cool.
















And then, we watched a bit of our friend's band, The Royal Crowns. We stood around, talked some more. Just hung out. Even Molly enjoyed the day, snarfing up dropped food from the chip truck and startling unsuspecting people by sniffing their bare legs with her wet nose.



It had been a full day, full of new experiences and new memories. And full of the horror that our daughter's boobie flashing might show up in unexpected places for years to come, as the event was being filmed for SpeedTV.

Whatever, it had been a good day, and when we came home, we all felt like this - as the saying goes, dog-tired. :

By the way...

...the finish line is in sight. Am just giddy.

Run, Don't Walk

Last Friday, I was on a hunt for shorts. I had some time to walk through Kensington Market because if I was going to find what I was looking for, it would be there. Why do I have to look for shorts there instead of walking into any store like a normal person? Because Steve and I like a particular kind of shorts that seem to be disappearing from the face of the earth in gently used form, no doubt due to the resurgence in style in high end lines we can't really afford to buy, and we're not wearing them to be styley but to actually just wear because we like them. Our nearby Value Village, which seemingly SHOULD have a great ugly shorts selection, doesn't. Considering all of the old guys who dress like Mr. Roper in the world are um...experiencing attrition due to their demographic status...you'd think perma-pressed plaid old man shorts would be readily available in thrift stores around the world. They are not, because I've been checking. You see, thrift stores are now getting conservative. They only seem to stock what they think will sell, and so navy and khaki Dockers line the racks, crowding out more individual choices. I must also mention that Steve and I are particular about how ugly we want our plaid shorts to be too - there must be no doubt that we are wearing these bad-looking short pants facetiously. We do not want to be accused of merely having bad taste - we want to be commended for having good taste in bad taste. I found three appropriately hideous pairs, by the way.

But, because the best finds happen when you're not looking for them, I need to show this:


It doesn't get much cuter. It's a red and white cotton seersucker jumpsuit from the 1940's, with one long zipper up the front, with white piping at the collar and hip pockets. Josie is comfortable in it, I can't stand how cute she is in it, and she loved wearing it because it was light and comfortable and she could really move in it.

See? CUTE!


There were over half a dozen in red and white, and a few in pink and white, in vintage sizes from 6-8; I bought a size 7, and it fits my tall three year old who wears 4T . They're old store stock - never sold or worn - not used, if you're squeamish that way.

$5.


Five Dollars.


FIVE DOLLARS.


Kids "those days" looked so great. I'm so excited, because kids' clothes were often worn out and passed down until they were only good for rags. In that outfit, Josie looks wonderful and timeless - and like a kid, not a mini-adult. And, maybe like her parents have good taste. When I used to work in the vintage clothing booths at Antique World , I used to sell all kinds of great vintage gear like this to buyers from Ralph Lauren - and was always amazed that navy wool 1940's ski suit would show up a year later barely re-designed but with that label for hundreds and hundreds of dollars. Get in on the ground floor. Get thee to Courage My Love, and get one of these. I stand nothing to gain from this promotion but knowing that there are some more adorable, comfortable kids out there - and that Courage will keep buying such things so that there may be more wonderful finds in my future.

And if you see any size 34 mens' shorts of exquisite ugliness, the kind that hurt your retinas with their loud plaids and sear your corneas with their olive and orange colour combinations, please let me know so I can go and fetch them. Or you can just check the back of your father's closet for me - he's probably happily ensconced in Dockers these days anyway.

Problem/Solution

Problem: Blue Popsicle



Solution: Bubble bath in the kiddie pool.

"It's a Congraduation Party!"

This past Thursday Josie graduated from...well...nothing really.

Last year, Kate wrote so eloquently about Alice's graduation, and this year it wasn't much different.

There were the boxes of Kleenex at the ready...


The cheesy decorations - including the silhouette of Josie that she couldn't stay still for, hence the jawline of a toothless senior citizen...


There was the table of bad party food...


And those who were unwrapping cracker packages at the last minute...



...though being extremely pregnant is a very good excuse for not going all Martha Stewart on this party.

Though I had no such excuse, and my sandwiches were well-received...

I really did try to work up a few tears during the AV-club style slideshow comprised of badly composed photographs of children and caregivers doing charming learning things. And I commend the director for finding Lou Reed's Perfect Day, which, if you just think about the lyrics as they are written, and don't consider that the last lines are likely intended to be all bitter and jaded, is a lovely song for a graduation. A college graduation maybe - but preschool? Maybe a little harsh. I don't expect Josie to get cynicism for another year or two.

I enjoyed the banner...



And I love seeing Josephine's name anywhere - nine letters really stands out, you know.


And I think of how, when we told my mother our choice for our daughter's name (after rejecting many of her suggestions, all of which ended in y), she told me "She'll have a hard time learning to spell it!" - of all the RIDICULOUS reasons, well, I still love our daughter's name.

It's always sweet to see her ponytails flying behind her on her way to do something, even if it's just to grab a rolled-up piece of blank paper...


Because she did realize that as soon as the program was over - past the "That's What Friends Are For" part of the slideshow and the medly of adorable songs ("I've Got Something In My Pocket", which is about a smile, has now become "I've got something in my bum and it's a wedgie") there would be cake, because, as she said, "It's a congraduation party!"

So there was bad sheet cake too...


And the kids got all hopped up on sugar, and started to climb the walls, and it was time for us to go.




The next day, a regular day there, though she'd graduated the day before, we received the actual diploma.




Which, I'm displaying next to her Kinder Yoga Diploma, lovingly made entirely by hand by her teacher, one for each little kid. She "graduated" from that on Friday, though she's going to a Kinder Yoga camp for a few hours each day in July. They both have value, but what I like best is on the back of the Kinder Yoga one:

Dear Josie,

I have so enjoyed having you at yoga. I love your smile and your laugh and your wonderful imagination. I hope you will always be your unstoppable self. Peace & Love, and remember to breathe.

I hope her teachers her whole life long feel this way too. I hope I can remember to feel this way more often too.

Oddball Open House

While I will admit to anyone who asks, and even those who don't, that I pretend to hate Steve's band so he has something to rebel against, I'm actually very excited that Josephine will get to see her Daddy's band play live at the Oddball Open House this coming Saturday.

She has already asked if she can go up on stage with him, and I have taken great pains to explain to her the etiquette of stage rushing. Because responsible parenting isn't just about the ABC's, you know.

I Don't Love You Any More...

Dear Fridge,

I don't love you any more.

It's not me, it's you.

I love the way you look. You're small and white, clean and bright. You look happy to meet me. Your insides are pale blue, as sweet as a robin's egg. In fact, you hold eighteen eggs - not twelve. You hold just the right amount of stuff in your door and on your shelves. You have the biggest crisper (actually called the Humidrawer!) a girl could ever hope for.


You were inexpensive. You're paid for. We rescued you from someone's garage sale, in fact.


Your fonts...how I love your fonts.


When I see Freezer written on you, I feel the freezing.


The cold storage tray? When it's not full of ice, and it is full of bacon? That is how it should be my friend.

There's the rub.

Or, shall I say, there's the Rube.

You see, when I push your buttons, nothing happens.


You don't defrost. It's a lie. That button does nothing. NOTHING, I SAY! LIAR!

Then, to warm your chilly heart and release all of my frozen meats, and the peas used to both nourish my family and soothe my daughter's boo boos, I must break out the implements of force. Butter knives and metal spatulas. I gently ease the ice away, and soon, all is copacetic.

And occasionally, on a day like today, when too long has passed, and in order for you to function properly because your cold cold heart of a freezer has overrun its bounds and is keeping my chicken legs at bay, I must contrive this:


And, when another angle is required to pull out the cold storage tray, I must resort to this:


Which also entails this:


And that isn't enough, so I must do this:



And then? And THEN?

I must do this:



Yes. (sob) I must eat the last of the chocolate ice cream, so that I have a container for your melting shards of ice. Damn you, you ICEBOX.

And so, I am warning you. Soon we will part ways. Your vintage adorableness is no longer enough to sway me from the frost-free lifestyle. I want to eat ice cream because I want to, not because it has half-melted while I engage in blow drying and ice chiseling antics. If you don't believe me, read my hips, because my hips don't lie.

Sincerely,

Marla


P.S.

Watch your icy spawn melt and die, and wet my floor no more. DIE ICE! MELT AND DIE! How do you like being chewed by a Bassett Hound, ice? HOW DO YOU LIKE IT NOW?!!!!!

There's A Picture Of Me Naked In This Post!

Within this family, it is traditional to make our own cards and to wrap presents with handmade decorations; with Father's Day tomorrow, of course one is due. There's a certain aesthetic Steve and I like best. We give great thought to meaning of each element, and for the execution of these projects, we often choose Kraft paper, we like interesting fonts and hand-lettering, and the look of traditional tattoos often finds its way into them. Each one is a little bit of folk art, they're often made with found objects and ideas.

(lousy pictures, sorry - we don't have a scanner - you can click on them to see them larger, but not better)

We like the look of traditional tattoos so much that we each have a few. Steve and I take turns getting them as the budget allows, usually for occasions such as birthdays or anniversaries, and each of ours marks something significant in our lives. Last summer (in fact, it was the Saturday of Labour Day weekend, because we went to the CNE that day, and I took this picture, which I still think is pretty funny)...


...my birthday present from Steve was having my Schlampenstempel coloured in.



It had been done in black and white as my first Mothers' Day present. But as she grew and her personality developed, I realized that no longer felt like this symbol of my life as a mother should be only black and gray. Josephine has brought colour to my life in so many different ways...



... and pain. Pain too. Mothering is colourful, and painful. That's right.


Josephine's been at the tattoo shop so many times now, she makes herself quite comfortable there. I've even changed her diaper on this lounge...

...and she's had to "go to the potty" in the staff bathroom a couple of times now. The artists there are not only familiar with, they have performed the "Josie made a poopie in the potty!" dance.


We play a game where we ask her which tattoo she'd get from each sheet of flash. She always chooses the biggest and flashiest, and likes unicorns and fairies or the tackiest cartoon characters. That's just one of the good reasons for making eighteen the minimum age for tattooing - toddlers have bad taste in design. Otherwise Josephine would have a huge British bulldog as a back piece, and full sleeves of Looney Toon characters with rainbows and roses having barbed wire stems.

I like these pictures that I took last time we were there...





The time has come for the next round of tattoos.

On Monday, I'm going to talk to "our guy" at TCB , Chris D. (we also like Andreas) about one to memorialize Beauty. Steve is also finalizing the design for his next bit of ink...which, and I love this, is based on the afore-pictured card I drew for his Valentine's Day 2006 card (you saw it earlier):


Now, if you click on that image to enlarge it, you'll notice a certain evil little creature in the shadow near Josie's face. Steve didn't notice at at first either. So, when he told me he was getting this design as his next tattoo, I wondered about that. Also, due to my lack of real skill, Josie's ponytail ended up looking like a beard under my chin. Hence, this email correspondence:

On 6/11/07 4:08 PM, "Steve Good" wrote:

He liked the heart piece and he has an idea to give the girl a ponytail without it looking like a goatee on the Mom.

Also, he thinks we can give your hair a shade of red that won’t compete with the heart. He’ll have a drawing next Monday at 1pm. You should come along and we can discuss booking your new piece as well.

S.

On 6/11/07 5:00 PM, "Marla Good" wrote:

But what about the cat?

M.

On 6/11/07 5:09 PM, "Steve Good" wrote:

Me: “Get rid of the cat.”
CD, smirking with an affirmative nod: “No problem.”

I think he thought I wanted Boo Boo whacked, so I assured him it was the tattoo I want the cat off of, not the planet. I’m pretty sure Chris is a dog guy.

S.

With all that in mind, I knew this occasion's card would have to be pretty special. After all, it too could end up forever rendered in his flesh. Looking for inspiration, after I checked out the Sailor Jerry site's gallery, I realized that a customized version of a traditional "Man's Ruin"/pin-up tattoo could be personalized to reflect our family very easily. This one, for example:


And so, I had a few minutes at work yesterday, and I grabbed some Kraft paper and a Sharpie - my favourite doodling tools. I let the inspiration guide me, and with a few chosen elements, here is Steve's Fathers' Day card, and who knows? A design that could possibly end up as his backpiece:


I just finished adding a few finishing touches, and colouring it with Josephine's crayons. Hidey pants? Those are Steve's swimming trunks. He wears them when he showers or bathes with Josephine - he's always been very modest that way. After she became aware of what parts males have, she dubbed them his "hidey pants", because they hide his "penit".

By the way, I'm going to see what it's going to take to have Chris D. sneak Boo Boo's profile back into Steve's new tattoo. Wouldn't that be excellent?