Dear Sisee –
I’m so glad you faired ok during Huricane Irene. Sorry you had to suffer the inconvenience of staying in a hotel and having to throw out a bunch of food. WHY DO BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE?? WHY?? Right, Sis? BTDubs – WORST hurricane name EVER. Who names these things? Irene? Really? It’s 2011, and Irene is soooo 1970’s. Why don’t they just call it Hurricane Sara, since that’s what they CALLED YOU IN COLLLEEGGGE! (Said in Party Girl voice)… WHAAA! Haha – don’t you love it when people boast about ridiculous nicknames like that? Boasting about nicknames takes just the right recipe of inappropriate and self-important, no? If you recall, we know a guy whose vanity license plate said “PARADOX” which I imagine made him feel extremely witty. (For our reading audience, I should clarify that said vanity plates were on a giant, banana-yellow Hummer. So really, if you think about what kind of guy drives a giant yellow Hummer with a vanity plate that says PARADOX… it’s not so much a “paradox”, yes? In fact, it’s the exact opposite of a paradox. It’s “I know exactly what kind of person you are and it makes perfect sense.”) Ah, Paradox, with your crushed velvet super-snug t-shirts… where have you gone?
Sisee, you and I have discussed on numerous occasions the rage that can suddenly come about as a result of trying to get kids to stand still for photos. This past weekend we had booked our “annual” family photos, and the rage, Sisee. The rage! I understand they are young. I understand a 3 year old and a 1.5 year old aren’t going to openly embrace the idea of posing repeatedly for a camera. But oh man alive, it was COMPLETE INSANITY. First of all – typical of Oregon’s own in-your-face, defiant weather – it had suddenly and for no apparent reason stopped being sunny and warm, and was now cold and drizzly the day of the photos. Having anticipated the shift, I had bought the boys sweaters, and I personally think overcast days make for beautiful photos, so nothing was gonna get me down.
So we get to the new location for the pics (a covered but still outdoors hybrid option, if you will) and as the photographer begins snapping away Evan suddenly decides he is STARVING and needs “cheesy chicks” RIGHT. NOW. (Yes, cheesy “chicks” – the Target brand version of Goldfish crackers, which frankly aren’t as good, but we had a box and he’d spotted them at some point and convinced Brett to put them in the diaper bag.) So… yes, 5 minutes into the shoot, every time he was asked to smile, sit, look at the camera, walk in a certain direction, look at a certain thing, his response was “I want CHEESY CHICKS.” Hey Evan, can you hold Daddy’s hand and walk toward Joshua? “I want CHEESY CHICKS.” Ooh Evan, what’s that over there – can you look at the flowers? “I want CHEESY CHICKS.” Ridiculous. And INFURIATING. It’s as though the thought of said cheesy chicks had wholly consumed him, and he was LITERALLY incapable of doing or thinking about anything else. At some point, Brett got a small cup out of the car and put some cheesy chicks in it, which he kept in his back pocket - we would placate Evan with a few in between shots. CRAZY.
Then there’s Alec, who God bless him, had taken on his usual stance of “I will do whatever I want, whenever I want.” There was a moment where the boys were on a (dry) platform, and Joshua was trying to get some candid pics of them laughing and playing, and I swear Alec KNEW – he just KNEW – to only bend, turn, face the EXACT OPPOSITE direction as the camera. At one point, I tried to gently rotate him, and he whipped his head toward me, clenched teeth and growled “Nooooo Mama.”
What?! What do you mean “No Mama”?? Actually, YES MAMA. Ok?! Yes. You WILL turn to face the camera, you WILL give Joshua your adorable smile, you WILL do something cute and charming which will result in your curls bouncing up and down, and you WILL understand that Daddy goes to work every day and works hard to provide you with a good life so that you can have food to eat, a roof over your head, clothes on your back and ANNUAL FAMILY PHOTOS, so you WILL be cute and adorable for the camera and give Mommy at least ONE 8x10 that will make Mommy smile every time she passes it in the hallway. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?? END OF STORY!!! ARGH!!! (Ps. He didn’t understand.)
We haven’t gotten the disk back yet, so Lord Almighty only knows how many good prints we can get out of that session. I'm just relieved poor Joshua didn't throw his hands up at some point and storm off. God bless people with more than two children who do this every year. I don’t know how they keep their sanity. Maybe they just wait and get family photos after the youngest turns 5. Not worth it before that. SIGH!
Sis, have you ever read the Three Little Pigs? For some reason, Evan loved this book for several months and we would read it to him every night. The book was a very condensed board-book version of the story, with the illustrations directly from the Disney cartoon. I think the reason Evan liked it so much was the “twist” with the Big Bad Wolf, who “huffed and puffed”… I think it’s Evan’s first introduction to a character who is the bad guy in the story.
Anyway to sum up the story, there are three little pigs who are supposed to build houses for themselves. The first two are lazy and don’t like to work (this is how the story describes them), so the first pig builds his house out of straw (which to me actually seems like it would be quite difficult – how do you get straw to stick together and form a house?! Not easy, but for the sake of the story, let’s assume it’s super simple.) The second pig is also lazy and likes to “dance and sing” so he wants to get the job over with and builds his house out of sticks. BUT… the third little pig is “wise” and works hard to build his house out of bricks, which he double-secures by painting it with “wolf-proof” paint. This is where my first major problem with the story comes in – if third little pig knew the wolf was gonna come along (as evidenced by the wolf-proof paint), why didn’t he tell his brothers? Were they SO lazy that they would’ve still preferred to build their homes out of inferior materials? Really?!
So the brothers 1 & 2 are hanging out together, singing and dancing (what lazy kids did before the advent of X-Box, I imagine – those activities would be considered extra-curricular, and beneficial, today.) Long story short: Big Bad Wolf sees them, chases them, follows #1 to his house of straw, blows it down, #1 gets away to #2’s house, that gets blown down too, and the two of ‘em hightail it to 3rd little pig’s brick house. Pig #3 is all “Whoa, come on in! DON’T WORRY. My crib’s totally made up of bricks YO, so like no problemo Little Dudes.” Should not have put quotes there, I made that up. Yes, Third Little Pig is Keanu Reeves in a number of movies made before 1995.
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| Creepy photo of Father, anyone? |
So… BBW comes to the house and tries his whole huff and puff schtick. Doesn’t work. He climbes over the roof and tries to go down the chimeney, at the bottom of which a random and totally nonsensical giant caldroun of boiling water is awaiting him. His bum gets burned, and he books it outta there and swears to never chase the little pigs again. Then… THEN… (this is the part that irritates me to no end)… the 3rd little pig and his selfish, lazy brothers live happily ever after. That’s it. C-Ya!
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| Just dancin' it away. No consequences for their actions. |
Ok… WHERE do they live?! In that little studio brick house with the creepy picture of their father as a Ham hock? All THREE of ‘em?! And the two other little pigs just get to live somewhere safe and don’t suffer any consequences for their laziness?! WHAT?! I’m so annoyed by this ending (and what is frankly a terrible lesson): Hey lazy kids, no worries ok? Your hardworking responsible family member is always like totally gonna bail you out, ‘right lil dudes? Tubular! (Yes, Keanu, again.) What is that all about?!
So every single time I’ve read the story to Evan, I have added a few senteces to the end, like:
“Then the 3rd little Pig allowed his brothers to live at his house for 2 weeks until they built their own brick houses and moved out.”
Or: “And the first little pig and the second little pig paid their brother rent until they could get back on their feet again.”
Also (this one’s my fave): “And the third little Pig taught his brothers how to build brick houses for themselves and in exchange they cleaned his place and cooked for him while they lived at his house.” MUCH BETTER moral of the story, riiiight? As the French (who sound infinitely more wise than other nationalitites because of their charming, difficult to understand accents) say: “Tres Ridicule!”
Kids stories from our day had some pretty scary things in them, right? I was thinking about Snow White, and how her stepmother hated her so much, she tried to KILL her with a poinsoned apple! Because she didn't like that Snow White was more beautiful - that's it. OH! – And when she found out Snow White wasn’t dead, she hired someone to kill her and bring back her cut-out heart as evidence. Oh! Em! Gee! Can you imagine reading this to Sofi?? Yikes!
OK, can we talk for a minute about hipsters? I feel like one of the perks of having moved to the East Coast is that you don’t have to deal with hipsters aymore. Their off-trend skinny jeans and wrinkly plaid flannel shirts, with some sort of “vintage” tee underneath, and that weird parted-from-waaaay-too-far-one-side-of-the-forehead hair. Living in a $550,000 1912 bungalow, which either mom and pops rent for them, or they bought themselves with their 3/4 –up-the-latter management position at Addidas salary, which is not in the ubber rich “inner” east side hood, but in that one pocket that’s been “up and coming” for like 7 years, which everyone pretends hasn’t REALLY been gentrified, but good luck spotting dark skin anywhere. Raising chickens, and getting their farm shares (both of which admittedly, people in my suburban neighborhood do too – further evidence that the most conservative person in Portland may probably still be a crazy left-wing liberal in Texas) and driving the “best” version of the Prius. Talking like they’ve got a PhD in agricultural studies whenever the subject of “certified Organic” comes up – because EVERYONE knows that the REAL organic farms do waaay more organic-y stuff and wouldn’t ever stoop to try to get that sell-out certification, anyway. Growing beards without regret, and wearing hemp clothing. Anyway, you get the point.
So while I was at a Starbucks on the east side (aka: hipster side) of town recently (after a certain appointment where I was assaulted with a high-powered laser – please see last blog entry. We both know I don’t leisurely stray east of NW 10th.) I noticed a couple waiting for their lattes, all plaid and glasses, pouting on each other, the male of the species senselessly wearing one of those 80’s arm sweat bands, just in case his one arm suddenly starts profusely perspiring. I had paid for my Americano with the Starbucks app on my iPhone (YEAH. THAT’S HOW I PAY. BACK OFF people!)(Seriously, only reasons for not doing this: A) jealousy, B) no iPhone/Droid, C) being too good – for Starbucks, iPhones, Whatever. Only possibilities.) Two women behind me noticed my payment method, and both asked to see what was going on. I showed them, and they agreed that it’s some seriously awesome business not having to tote your wallet into Starbucks, and as I turned toward the finished-drinks waiting area, I TOTALLY caught hipster duo give each other The Look… about me! I was like WHAT! I KNOW YOU didn’t just give ME The Look! Me? You’re giving ME The Look? No! I am giving YOU The Look, hipsters. Whatever, I Iet them pout on, and as I was leaving, I saw that they were driving a Mercedes S Class. I was like, Wait, what kind of hispsters drive a MERCEDES?! Then I realized, Ooooh that’s riiiight – the same hipsters who go to Starbucks… aka: FAKE hipsters. So, I guess they weren’t real hipsters after all. In fact, I’m guessing they are from California, and within a year they’ll be selling that $700K remodeled 1924 Craftsman and moving into a micro-mansion in Cedar Mill, which’ll be awesome for his commute to Columbia Sportswear.
Well, Sis I had more to say, but my kids are trying to go into the garage and play with potting soil in an unused flowerpot. I’m actually considering it, if it buys me another 20 min.
Love you – and Happy Birthday, my beautiful Sisero!
XOXO
Ava
