1. I am in a state of amused chargrin that my plans to run the Ragnar relay, New Haven to Boston edition, have been preempted by a commitment to get my ass kicked. Translation: A number of people in our dojo are being promoted to new black belt ranks and as a senior black belt and instructor, I have to be a witness/participant in the proceedings, which have been scheduled for that day. I am looking for some other crazy-running-type situation on a subsequent weekend instead. Suggestions welcome.

2. I got my Okinawan nunchaku in the mail the other day. It is a thing of beauty. What is most assuredly not a thing of beauty is the knuckle I whapped while insouciantly (read, flailingly) whipping the damn thing around. Did you know it’s possible to turn your knuckles purple? Well, now you do!

3. A person with whom I have recently had dealings, and whom I quite like, made reference to former frat brothers the other day. I have been snickering ever since over my internal reaction, which was, “Ohhhhhhhhhh! He would so have been my ENEMY in high school and college!” When I speak of my trepidation vis-a-vis teenagers, I am mostly speaking from a position of PTSD over my own behavior at that age. I have NO IDEA how my paranoid, judgmental little self was not strangled in my sleep by my parents, friends, relatives, teachers, etc.

4. Because we did not have time to do so yesterday before it got dark, I promised the Small Person that we would get up early this morning and build a snowman. Once we got ourselves outdoors we realized the snow was too cold to stick together and so instead we hid the carrot we were going to use as a nose. And then we went back inside. Ratio of time getting dressed : actual outside time = 3:1

I don’t know what is the deal with that bizarro expression, and also please ignore the fact that she was obviously wearing her pants backward again. (I don’t know why I never notice these things until she has gone out in public, although frankly, I’m just thrilled she has finally consented to dress herself instead of just imperiously pointing at the items in which she wishes to be arrayed.)

This week, they have been studying bears at New School (as we call the daycare program she now attends in the mornings) and THEY HIBERNATE, MOMMY! IN A LOG! and so this morning the monologue that fell out of her mouth as soon as she woke up was about how she felt she needed to dress like a bear.

I was commanded to produce black pants. She had already worn her only pair three or four times this week but I dug them out of the laundry because I did not feel like experiencing Angry Bear Child. Then, she needed black shoes, and black socks. We did not have the latter but she was appeased with creme socks because that is the color of polar bears. Then she dug out this ratty old hand-me-down Christmas sweatshirt because it has a bear on it, obviously.

At this point the story becomes a cautionary tale because dude, if you are going to go all METHOD, I am going to be right there to egg you on, and so I told her that what the outfit needed was for her hair to be done up like bear ears. She enthusiastically agreed, so we rigged the above hairstyle, and then for reasons that remain obscure to me the bear needed a pink headband, also.

Finally, she declared herself done and dubbed herself Icing (because she was a winter bear, as opposed to Honeybear, who is a summer bear, Jesus people, don’t question, just go with it!) and off we went to school.

Jim’s high school friend LM and his partner, DW, have been visiting us for the past few days, and with all apologies to everyone else who has ever stayed with us, they are currently my Favorite Houseguests.

Aside from the obligatory complimenting of the food and the voluntary-but-encouraged presenting of gifts to the child, LM sealed the deal last night by enthusiastically allowing himself to be sucked into the post-dinner entertainment.

Eliza insisted on dressing in her Angelina Ballerina outfit post-shower, and after dinner (interrupted, hilariously, by her standing up and shaking herself because she had gotten a bunch of broccoli florets stuck in the tulle of her tutu) she was dancing around happily while the adults sat around digesting until Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance came on, whereupon she delivered a loudly-and-perfectly-timed “Rah-rah-ahahahah! Roma-romama-ah! Ga-ga-ooh-lala! Want your bah-RO-min!”

Which was apparently the signal for everyone to start dancing around, and then things took a detour into Blur-land, and then suddenly we were all singing Bohemian Rhapsody (Mama-MIA-mama-MIA-mama-MIA-lemmeGOOOOOOH/Beelzebub has a devil set aside for meee, for meeee, for MEEEEE *headbangheadbangheadbang* HEY MOMMY IT’S THE GUITAR SOLO!), and then Eliza and LM were air-guitaring and then at some point the child was borne aloft and twirled about the living room and flashlights were deployed for laser-light-show effects and finally we all slap-slap-CLAPPED our way through We Will Rock You and it was time for Eliza to go to bed.

I am realizing, belatedly, WHY it makes Jim twitchy that we have no curtains on the living room window, because I’m sure it looks totally insane from the outside, and now, now!, (now!), we’re recruiting other people into the cult.

***

Aside of the night, from Jim to me, after Eliza had said something amusing/smart to our guests and been lavishly complimented therefore: “Hey, what other parlor tricks can we have her do?”

I used the phrasing “who doesn’t like…” in conversation with Eliza a while ago, likely in the context of pizza.

She is quite taken with it and uses it all the time in connection with her favorite foods and activities.

“Who doesn’t like chocolate?!” she says.

“Yeah,” I agree.

“Mommy!” she barks at me. “who doesn’t like chocolate?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“BUT, WHO DOESN’T LIKE CHOCOLATE?!”

***

Sometimes we have conversations about stuff she doing now and about how maybe I did them when I was a little girl.

“Did you ever go ice skating, Mommy?”

“Yes,” I say.

“When?” she snaps, turning a gimlet eye on me.

“I don’t know, when I was littler.”

“But, WHAT DAY was it?”

The only way to close down this line of questioning is to make up a date.

Eliza likes to send people text messages. For a long time, they were just gobbledygook letters and symbols mashed together, but lately, she has been trying the word thing — complete with spaces.
Noted here for posterity is the message she sent tonight while we were waiting to be seated at a restaurant:
Deer gramu tekses i AM a var ee nis grl eliza

My mom totally can’t play because she figured it out, but anyone else care to translate?