Wave

Tree, Blue Deer, Blue Attack, Pink Bunnies (all 2006)

I just found out that an artist friend from NYC is having a baby.
Andrea is an art teacher at Friend's Seminary. (I'd love to send Georgia there.)
And her little bundle is to be named Wave...a clear eyed little girl on a longboard and a toddler with crayons clenched in a tiny chubby hand.
Peaceful and loved.

Congratulations Andrea!

A Long Weekend

Brazil Carnival 2010:

1. What could be more? The sum total of SPF protection on blistering shoulders this scalding hot holiday weekend or the number of pieces of confetti littering Copacabana?

2. Georgia is learning modesty. "Mommy, fix bathing suit. Bum-bum." (wet sand in bikini = bottom exposed) Georgia is learning vanity. Georgia. Flower. Hair. Pretty." (Isn't it, though?)

3. If you invite friends the day before Carnival to your *in-law's beach house, they might actually come. What to do? Toss them into the family stew without air conditioning and pray they still like you afterwards. I and G?

4. I like baking birthday cakes in my bathing suit. And I like when everybody eats birthday cake in their bathing suits, even more. Happy Birthday G!

We might not have swiveled our hips to the samba beat nor donned any feathers--or even watched a televised parade--but we threw our worries to the wind (if there was any breeze) and perspired together under the sweltering sun. Better friends. Better Parents.

Back to "Sampa" (São Paulo) Tuesday. There will probably be more traffic than SPF totals and confetti together. Ash Wednesday after 12 pm...the populations returns to reality as the holiday officially ends.

**Thanks to my in-laws...again!

Happy Carnival!

Is it any surprise my child cannot get to sleep? Is it normal for parents to be throwing confetti around the living room at 9 pm? Probably not. But we sure had fun. And we have an excuse. It's Carnival here in Brazil. Everyone is misbehaving until Ash Wednesday.

We are off to samba our toes into the sand...another extra-long holiday weekend at the beach.

Making of...Alice Part II

The Alice in Wonderland exhibition at Coisas da Doris is rapidly approaching. A bit more "making of"...stay tuned.

No?

Helena Garcia

I started my day searching for the plunger. Naturally, I couldn't find it. And the day continued to plummet downward--even if my flush didn't and later Sponge Bob did....

My cute as pie daughter spent the day in dress rehearsal for the famous (and not too distant) temper- laden days of turning two. She is definitely ready for opening night. In fact, she can skip the rest of the rehearsals. It's a simple part (except for the body language). It can't be difficult to memorize your lines when they consist of one word (one syllable): NO!

The script:

Mommy: Good morning Georgia. Time to have breakfast. Let's make some juice?

Georgia: No.

Mommy: Do you want toast?

Georgia: No.

Mommy: Yogurt?

Georgia: No

Mommy: OJ?

Georgia: No.

Mommy: Let's get dressed.

Georgia: No.

Mommy: We need to change your diaper.

Georgia: No.

Mommy: Let's brush your teeth.

Georgia: No.

Mommy: Let's get in the stroller.

Georgia: No.

And so the day went...on through lunch and into dinner. Nap time was a definite no (with some tears and no sleeping). By evening I looked like I had gotten a bad perm--frazzled. But I was hopeful. The lack of an afternoon nap was certain to make the evening sleep drama much easier. So we went to take our shower. Every toy I offered to toss into the shower box was a resounding, "No". And in frustration, I guess I threw Sponge Bob just a little too high. Bob "jumped" through the sliver of opened window and plummeted four stories. In rescue squad mode, I threw a large towel around my girl and headed down to the scene of the accident.

Mommy: Emergency. Sponge Bob jumped out the window.

Georgia: Ooo-gen-ceeee. Spun Bah jump.

And there he was belly side down on the city sidewalk. SAFE. His large nose continued to protrude outward and he didn't even break one of those skinny legs.

Mommy: Sponge Bob. Yay! Georgia, see....he's just fine. He's okay, okay?

Georgia: YES!

She said it. She knows the y-e-s word! But on the elevator ride back up:

Mommy: Okay let's go...Georgia and Sponge Bob to the shower.

Georgia: No.

But there is a happy ending. It is 8:30 and my angel is fast asleep. Hell Yes!

Fin.

Roots

My great-grandmother (on my mother's side) immigrated to the U.S.A from Hungary. We called her, "Ma." Ma was our babysitter when my mom went back to work part-time. Her neighborhood was full of Hungarian immigrants and Ma's two story home was like entering the outskirts of Budapest.

She was old world strict. To this day, my mother does not believe it when I tell her that she would chase my brother around the house with a stick when he misbehaved. Furthermore, she didn't always cook everything from scratch. Everyone in my family (except my brother and I) swears she fed us homemade Goulash and Chicken Paprika daily. We really had a bit more Swanson TV dinners. And although we may have danced to the Polka Variety Show once in a while, we spent a lot of the time watching (forbidden by my folks) afternoon soap operas with the television volume a notch below ear-shattering. (Ma was quite deaf.)

However, everyone would agree that Ma and all of her Hungarian girlfriends (Hunky Bubbas was the name we chose for them.) were the very best church going gossipers in town--a pious and well informed lot. They also seemed to primarily remember prayer vocabulary and naughty words in their mother tongue. (I still remember how to say God Bless You and dirty bottom in Hungarian.) The ladies wore big house dresses worn thin with age and never left home without securely tying a babushka under their chin. They were exceptional women. And they were so loved and now sorely missed.

As the generations pass, my mother and my aunts still make Hungarian pastries at Christmas time. But inevitably the culture gets watered down as the decades pass. It's hard to find a third generation Hungarian woman who scrubs her walls from top to bottom and never wears pants. But babushkas? Why not? They are so old school they continue to be cute--especially on small blonds with just a trace of Hungarian in the blood.

It's a pity that Ma isn't around to do a bit of babysitting. Georgia loved hearing about her Great-Great-Grandmother--even if she fussed when I tried to adjust those straps under her chin...but I'm not giving up. I also tried to teach her a few special words in Hungarian today. Naturally she adored that!

It (still) wiggles and jiggles. But it's gourmet!

I lied when I said that I only ate cheese buns and cake this weekend. I had some jello, too. And, trust me, this is not the kid's cafeteria variety. It is, well, gourmet jello. So leave the Cool Whip in the fridge and, please, skip those floating pineapple slices and/or mini marshmallows. Do try this recipe. Serve it to your guests and don't tell them a thing. The flavor will be a pleasant surprise. They'll want the recipe (like me). So thank you to the multi-talented Daniela for sharing her Auntie's recipe and history (plus a post in Portuguese--oba!). English translation follows...

Gelatina da Tia Marilu

Tenho uma Tia Avó Marilu , irmã mais nova da minha avó Dirce, sempre que tinha almoço na casa dela, na sobremesa era servida esta gelatina, uma mistura de especiarias. Este gosto ficou gravado no meu paladar. Quando meu primeiro filho nasceu e fui fazer seu primeiro aniversário, aprendi, frequentando outras festinhas, que gelatina era uma das coisa que se fazia para as crianças. No meu primeiro filho, eu estava muito naquela onda "não vou dar nada industrializado / corante artificial para ele". Então, lembrei da gelatina da Tia Lu, que era feita em casa com geletina sem sabor, misturando vários ingredientes. Na verdade, gelatina é isso: vc faz um belo chá de coisas que vc gosta e depois acrescenta as folhas de gelatina sem sabor, com ou sem corante, e pronto, vc faz delícias! Aqui vai a receita:

1 e 1/2 litro de água
gelatina suficiente para 1 e 1/2 litro de água - depende da marca, sempre vem escrito na embalagem
um punhado pequeno de cravo
3 paus de canela
4 colheres de sopa de erva doce
1 limão
casca de 1 laranja
açúcar a gosto (eu coloco 1 ch)
1 copo pequeno de vinho branco (mais ou menos isso)

modo de fazer
ponha a água para ferver. Quando estiver fervendo, separe 1/2 litro de água, misture a gelatina e deixe de lado. Com o restante da água ainda no fogo, coloque todos os ingredientes (menos o vinho) para fazer um grande chá. Quando vc perceber que o sabor dos ingredientes se misturou bastante na água, retire do fogo, coe com um pano e misture esse "chá" com gelatina e o vinho. Deixe esfriar e ponha na geladeira. Após aprox. 4 horas está pronto para comer...

Auntie MariLu's Jello (English Translation)

The weekend was fun.

The weekend was so fun. (I'm having trouble editing the photo selection.)

And it was extremely hot. Moderation was thrown to the wind. And if Friday through Sunday were a play, the Birthday song was the chosen score.

1. Extreme heat - Fried egg sizzling on the sidewalk scalding. Sunburn on the scalp. Citywide shortage of ice cubes. "Muito Quente. Very very hot," said Georgia. Poor thing stepped in a patch of sizzling sunlight while jumping on the trampoline. And later stole a bite of a Tabasco-laden empanada from her Daddy's plate. "Muito Quente. Very very hot. More." And my brave girl went back for seconds--on both.

2. Moderation was thrown to the wind. More pao-de-queijo (cheese buns) and cake (of the chocolate variety) than necessary for any adult--way more than necessary for any child. We sort of "substituted" for meals and forgot the existence of green and leafy. We'll do better on Monday.

3. Birthday song. Samuel. Moshe. Daddy. We spent the weekend surrounded by friends (old and new) and family. We were just dipped in carinho and feeling so lucky.

Can you imagine our Sunday night blues?

Parabens Moshe!

The weekend is chock full of birthday celebrations!

Add Moshe to the list, please. He'll be two. A big day. Perhaps that is why my "little" monsters turned out so large--humongous actually! I think they are the biggest cookies I've ever made (15 cm high!).

I guess monsters are supposed to be kinda huge. But, no worries Moshe, these are the sweetest (and friendliest) guys you'll ever meet!

Samuel is five.

Samuel turned five in January and is having his bash today.
He's invited Astro Boy (and Georgia) to the party.
We're bringing the chocolate cupcakes.
Mmmm....can't wait!

Happy Birthday Daddy!

My idea was to have an incredibly cute photo shoot with Georgia and the cookie message. I explained to her that it was Daddy's Birthday the following day and that we were going to take a picture with his special cookie.

This is the one and only shot. She wanted to eat that "U" so badly. And I tried to explain that it was for tomorrow. We'd sing and all. And since she is learning sharing this week, she rightfully inquired, "Daddy, share." But the "not now" concept of time is still future lessons away. So I had to swipe the sugary treat and settle for a single click of the shutter.

But I know I'll get some better photos--chocolaty mouths and all. Daddy and his girl sharing...a birthday and a lot of love.

Feliz Aniversario Amor! We are two very lucky ladies...your better than any cookie worth snagging. xoxo

Playthings

It really is difficult to control the amount of toys in the box. Especially when I like playthings almost as much as Georgia. And, in the case of Pecanpals, I probably like the little figures more than my daughter. And I feel the need to collect all the wooden pals in the bunch.

But I really am trying to teach Georgia to value each and every item in the chest. Because she has so much (and she's not even two). I do remember having a lot of toys when I was a child. Yet we mostly acquired them on our birthdays and Christmas. There wasn't that pit stop in the gas station impulse plastic purchase (namely junk) that occupies a child until the next red light. And I think we valued our toys more--even if our folks told us that they only had a bicycle and a ball.

If you talk with most parents, it seems our little consumers grow more voracious with each generation--and less satisfied. And I am just as guilty as the next. Because the stuff is so darn cute--actually irresistible. But I have a system in place. I've promised myself not to continue to buy more bins for all the loot. I am rotating the toys. The surplus is stored in the closet. And after a few rotations, I plan on saving the sentimental (for tiny fingers of the future) and then making some donations. Because there are still kids who don't even have just a bicycle and a ball.

I will make an exception for the Pecanpals. I think they'll go on my office shelves. (And I probably won't be doing much rotation).

ROYGBP

1.2. 3. 4.

Spent

via

A Monday night after a weekend without a moment of hibernation.

I don't have the energy to squeeze the water out of my daughter's bath toys and I'm hoping my husband will eat a sandwich.

And blogging....well.

Forgive me? Night night.