The Itsy Bitsy Spider (According to Isa and Manu)
bitsy bitsy 'pider went up & bonked his head
down came the rain and the doctor said
mama and the sun and the monkey on the bed
no more 'pider jumping on the bed
Ring Around the Rosie
ring around the rosie
parker posie
ashes ashes
we all fall DOWN!
Reinterpretation of a Joke
Q: What did the lifeguard say to the hippie?
Real A: You're too far out, man!
I&M A: You far away, hippieeeeee.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
the writing on the playground walls
My monkey brain has been on overdrive for the last few months. My kids are old enough to go to pre-school, and I am ready (crawling-up-the-walls ready) to get back to work. But what should I do? My skill set belongs in an office, yet that is exactly the kind of environment that starts to eat away at my soul. Watching pretty days go by from a fluorescent lit cube, the obligatory co-worker birthday celebrations, office gossip, clock watching, boss trashing.... I want none of that. Yet, in some ways, I really love the nature of the work. Nothing makes me happier than tackling a neatly handwritten to do list. Few things are more satisfying than the deconstruction of the seemingly unmanageable into palatable bite-size portions. And being busy! How I miss being busy--work busy, brain busy, people busy! I'm so good at it. Now I need to find the next "it".
I know I need to brainstorm, think, write, plan....make lists of what I want and what I dream and how to get from here to there. But that's just it. I feel lost.
I know I need to brainstorm, think, write, plan....make lists of what I want and what I dream and how to get from here to there. But that's just it. I feel lost.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Vacation
I've been looking at RVs on Craig's List, and Jeremy's looking at me like I'm crazy. I don't get it. What's so crazy about wanting an RV? Airplane tickets for a family of four are not cheap, and road trips with screaming toddlers is not my idea of a vacation. Driving around the country in a motor home, on the other hand, sounds dreamy. Am I delusional, or do I just really really need a vacation?
Monday, February 16, 2009
que horror! que horror!
December 4, 2008
que horror! que horror!
Un dia paseando iba una vieja
Y una guagua de pronto la arrollo
La llevaron al Centro de Socorro
Y el Doctor Sotolongo la atendio--que horror! que horror!
Y el Doctor Sotolongo la atendio
Del buche le sacaron a la vieja
La retranca, los muelles, y el motor
La cabeza y los pies del motorista
La cabeza y los pies del conductor--que horror! que horror!
La cabeza y los pies del conductor
Caballero la cosa esta en candela
Cada dia poniendose peor
Los barrenderos no barren ya las calles
Y las cloacas despiden mal olor--que horror! que horror!
Las cloacas despiden mal olor
My grandfather sang this to my mom when she was little (early 60s Cuba), so she sang it to us, and now I sing it to my kids. I tried looking it up online to see if there are more verses that I don't remember, but I can't find it. Anyone else know this song (and who wrote it)?
que horror! que horror!
Un dia paseando iba una vieja
Y una guagua de pronto la arrollo
La llevaron al Centro de Socorro
Y el Doctor Sotolongo la atendio--que horror! que horror!
Y el Doctor Sotolongo la atendio
Del buche le sacaron a la vieja
La retranca, los muelles, y el motor
La cabeza y los pies del motorista
La cabeza y los pies del conductor--que horror! que horror!
La cabeza y los pies del conductor
Caballero la cosa esta en candela
Cada dia poniendose peor
Los barrenderos no barren ya las calles
Y las cloacas despiden mal olor--que horror! que horror!
Las cloacas despiden mal olor
My grandfather sang this to my mom when she was little (early 60s Cuba), so she sang it to us, and now I sing it to my kids. I tried looking it up online to see if there are more verses that I don't remember, but I can't find it. Anyone else know this song (and who wrote it)?
Dear Santa
November 24, 2008
1) I want to wake up in the morning on my own terms, at an hour of my choosing.
2) I want to feel driven and passionate about my occupation.
3) I want to figure out what that occupation will be.
4) I want to travel to Australia, Cuba, Spain, California, Brazil, Italy, New York....in that order.
5) I want a neighborhood park and a neighborhood coffee shop, both within walking distance.
6) I want some new earrings.
7) I want a new tattoo.
8) I want my kids to feel Cuban.
9) I want my friends to love my kids.
10) I want my family to visit me.
11) I want you to burn me your favorite playlist.
12) I want to learn to play the drums.
13) I want to kiss Eddie Vedder, for old time's sake.
14) I want to play piano with my grandmother.
15) I want something delicious.
1) I want to wake up in the morning on my own terms, at an hour of my choosing.
2) I want to feel driven and passionate about my occupation.
3) I want to figure out what that occupation will be.
4) I want to travel to Australia, Cuba, Spain, California, Brazil, Italy, New York....in that order.
5) I want a neighborhood park and a neighborhood coffee shop, both within walking distance.
6) I want some new earrings.
7) I want a new tattoo.
8) I want my kids to feel Cuban.
9) I want my friends to love my kids.
10) I want my family to visit me.
11) I want you to burn me your favorite playlist.
12) I want to learn to play the drums.
13) I want to kiss Eddie Vedder, for old time's sake.
14) I want to play piano with my grandmother.
15) I want something delicious.
the power of fiction
August 8, 2008
The headline story on this morning's CNN.com homepage read "Family Vows Suicide After Daughter's Rape". Underneath the bold typeface was a photo of a distraught teenage Afghani girl shamefully shielding her face with her hand. On any other day, I would have quickly scanned the story, shaken my head at the atrocity of it all, and clicked on the story about the Brangelina twins (about whom I know way too much already). But since I am in the last few chapters of The Kite Runner, a story set in pre- and post-war Afghanistan, I read the whole article, understood the general meaning of words like sharia--Islamic law--and noor--honor, and almost wept for this family whose whole world has been irreparably shattered.
More than likely, we will not get the "Shamed Afghan Family Commits Suicide" follow up story because some celebrity piece will trump the human interest story. Because we follow the stories of the rich and famous with more interest and attention to detail than we follow almost anything else in the media. I can tell you that Brad and Angelina's kids are named Maddox, Zahara, Pax Thien, Shiloh, Vivienne Marcheline and Knox Leon. But the president of Afghanistan? Something Karzai, I think?
As a child, I was a voracious reader, and an indiscriminate one at that. I read anything from Danielle Steele to Judy Blume to V.C. Andrews to R.L Stein to Christopher Pike to Charles Dickens to the Bronte sisters. Whatever. I just wanted to read. The internet didn't exist, and I didn't like my family that much. I didn't have a TV in my room so reading was my ticket to ride. It was my escape.
I spent 9 years in Catholic school but learned more about the sons of Isaac from The Red Tent. I've never been to Russia but have been haunted for years by the images of St. Petersburg in Dostoevsky's "Dream of a Ridiculous Man". And we've been at war for almost 7 years but this is the first time that words like "Taliban" and "jihad" evoke more than just (a) frustration with the Bush administration's oil thirst, and (b) fear of getting on an airplane. I wonder how things would be different if there was a reality show on Bravo about life in Baghdad.
I guess I can go to the library and check out any number of books on the conflict between Israel and Palestine. I can do a quick google search and get a detailed outline of the key players in this senseless war. But I'd much rather have someone tell me a story about it. Because then I would know what it smells like when "US Puts Violent Iraqi Prisoners In Crates".
The headline story on this morning's CNN.com homepage read "Family Vows Suicide After Daughter's Rape". Underneath the bold typeface was a photo of a distraught teenage Afghani girl shamefully shielding her face with her hand. On any other day, I would have quickly scanned the story, shaken my head at the atrocity of it all, and clicked on the story about the Brangelina twins (about whom I know way too much already). But since I am in the last few chapters of The Kite Runner, a story set in pre- and post-war Afghanistan, I read the whole article, understood the general meaning of words like sharia--Islamic law--and noor--honor, and almost wept for this family whose whole world has been irreparably shattered.
More than likely, we will not get the "Shamed Afghan Family Commits Suicide" follow up story because some celebrity piece will trump the human interest story. Because we follow the stories of the rich and famous with more interest and attention to detail than we follow almost anything else in the media. I can tell you that Brad and Angelina's kids are named Maddox, Zahara, Pax Thien, Shiloh, Vivienne Marcheline and Knox Leon. But the president of Afghanistan? Something Karzai, I think?
As a child, I was a voracious reader, and an indiscriminate one at that. I read anything from Danielle Steele to Judy Blume to V.C. Andrews to R.L Stein to Christopher Pike to Charles Dickens to the Bronte sisters. Whatever. I just wanted to read. The internet didn't exist, and I didn't like my family that much. I didn't have a TV in my room so reading was my ticket to ride. It was my escape.
I spent 9 years in Catholic school but learned more about the sons of Isaac from The Red Tent. I've never been to Russia but have been haunted for years by the images of St. Petersburg in Dostoevsky's "Dream of a Ridiculous Man". And we've been at war for almost 7 years but this is the first time that words like "Taliban" and "jihad" evoke more than just (a) frustration with the Bush administration's oil thirst, and (b) fear of getting on an airplane. I wonder how things would be different if there was a reality show on Bravo about life in Baghdad.
I guess I can go to the library and check out any number of books on the conflict between Israel and Palestine. I can do a quick google search and get a detailed outline of the key players in this senseless war. But I'd much rather have someone tell me a story about it. Because then I would know what it smells like when "US Puts Violent Iraqi Prisoners In Crates".
brain, child
June 23, 2008
Out of respect for my mental and emotional health, I'm taking a break from people, and moving back into my head for a little while. In preparation for my social hiatus, I've made a couple of trips to the library, and subscribed to a new magazine--Brain, Child: The Magazine for Thinking Mothers. In addition to the quarterly issues, I also purchased a collection of their greatest hits, all 194 pages of which arrived today.
After reading a couple of the essays while my kids splashed in the kiddie pool at my feet, I dragged them inside, put their clothes back on, and drove to Target to purchase a reading lamp for my bedroom. It's almost like discovering the eighth Harry Potter--I cannot put it down.
An excerpt:
From "Why I Hate Dr. Sears" by Cynthia Eller
(Of course that was the first essay I read. I've got some serious issues with Dr. Sears, and this woman articulated them beautifully and with way fewer cuss words than I would have used.)
Want to stay at home with your kids? Then do it. Do it because you want to and because you can. Want to leave your kids with someone else while you go work, or play, or follow out your own interests? Then do it. Do it because you want to and because you can. If you don't have a choice, do what you must out of necessity, and know that love, real love, matters more than time or money either one, as generations of children from many classes and cultures can attest.
But when you have a choice, don't choose to do what you'd rather not do out of a sense of beleaguered duty. Don't suffer on your children's account. Chances are, they will not thank you for it. Love them, enjoy them, let them see who you are (who you already are, not the Stepford Mom you think you need to be). Given enough time, they will become whoever they will be.
Out of respect for my mental and emotional health, I'm taking a break from people, and moving back into my head for a little while. In preparation for my social hiatus, I've made a couple of trips to the library, and subscribed to a new magazine--Brain, Child: The Magazine for Thinking Mothers. In addition to the quarterly issues, I also purchased a collection of their greatest hits, all 194 pages of which arrived today.
After reading a couple of the essays while my kids splashed in the kiddie pool at my feet, I dragged them inside, put their clothes back on, and drove to Target to purchase a reading lamp for my bedroom. It's almost like discovering the eighth Harry Potter--I cannot put it down.
An excerpt:
From "Why I Hate Dr. Sears" by Cynthia Eller
(Of course that was the first essay I read. I've got some serious issues with Dr. Sears, and this woman articulated them beautifully and with way fewer cuss words than I would have used.)
Want to stay at home with your kids? Then do it. Do it because you want to and because you can. Want to leave your kids with someone else while you go work, or play, or follow out your own interests? Then do it. Do it because you want to and because you can. If you don't have a choice, do what you must out of necessity, and know that love, real love, matters more than time or money either one, as generations of children from many classes and cultures can attest.
But when you have a choice, don't choose to do what you'd rather not do out of a sense of beleaguered duty. Don't suffer on your children's account. Chances are, they will not thank you for it. Love them, enjoy them, let them see who you are (who you already are, not the Stepford Mom you think you need to be). Given enough time, they will become whoever they will be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
