Fourth of July

A few months ago, WCK and I saw a photo in a magazine of watermelon jack-o-lanterns. WCK became obsessed with the watermelon jack-o-lanterns. She asked me about them all day, every day for months. I promised her we could try some at Grandma's house on the Fourth of July. They turned out great, if I do say so myself:



Yeah, I found some patterns. I'm not that talented. One of the benefits of being a pack rat is that I found an old pumpkin-carving kit that I bought the Halloween after 9/11, when patriotic stuff was everywhere. It was even on pumpkins, apparently.

But it turns out that watermelons are much easier to cut than pumpkins, and, unlike pumpkins, you can eat the insides. WCK probably consumed an entire watermelon by herself.

We also went to a little parade, and we set off fireworks at my parents' house. We spent WCK's college fund at the fireworks store, only to have WCK claim that all fireworks were too loud and scary (even the smoke bombs), and refuse to watch them. We finally convinced her to watch from the living-room window, which actually turned out to be pretty fun.

Our neighborhood here in Kansas City always goes pretty crazy on the Fourth. I'm not sure what happened while we were gone, but Garland was still refusing to come out from under the bed when we got back. I guess you know it was a good fireworks show when cats are still scared one day later.

We need to stop teaching her about nature

Last night, I told WCK for the hundredth time that she needed to go to bed.

"I can't, Mama," she said patiently. "I'm nocturnal."

The plan

"I think the whole family should work together and build a new goose," said WCK, "and we can paint it rainbow colors!"

Aw. Sweet.

"And," she continued, "we'll put BIG SPIKES in its head to scare away anyone who wants to steal it!"

It's so crazy it just might work.

Chutes and Ladders

WCK has been begging for months for the game Chutes and Ladders. I don't think she even knew what it was, but she wanted it desperately. We needed to run some errands on Friday, so I told her that if she cooperated with the errands, she could cash in a Target gift card that one of her friends gave her for her birthday. Of course, she selected Chutes and Ladders, as well as a book about frogs, and her very own copy of Watch Out for Jabba the Hutt. You can imagine how excited I am that we now have our own copy of Watch Out for Jabba the Hutt.

Anyway. While we were paying for everything, I was very distracted by WCK's constant questions about everything. This is how I go though life now. I don't pay close attention to anything. Someday, we're going to get into a fiery wreck as I'm trying to merge onto the interstate while trying to answer the question, "Why don't bees take showers? Why, Mama? Why? WHY??!?!"

As we headed toward our car in the parking lot, I started thinking that the total I paid was really low, even with the gift card. I checked the receipt, and sure enough, they hadn't charged me for the Chutes and Ladders game. For a few moments, I thought, "Cool. Free game," and I kept walking. I knew, though, that I had to head back into the store because

1) It's important to be mature and set an example here, blah blah blah
2) If I shoplift, I am no better than those lowdown, dirty goose thieves
3) It's bad enough to shoplift anything; it's really, really low to shoplift Chutes and Ladders. I mean, shoplifting is even worse than any of the bad deeds depicted on the game, including pulling kitty's tail, eating all of the cookies, or skating when the sign clearly says, "NO SKATING." I could not play a Chutes and Ladders game day after day knowing that I really deserved the biggest chute of all.

So, I turned around and headed back into the store, where the lines were now enormous, and WCK was screaming that she wanted to go home. The checkout lady looked at me like I was insane, and she even seemed a little annoyed that she had to ring it up again. I felt much better, though. Now I'm headed up my ladder toward some great reward, instead of sliding down a giant chute into the fires of hell. Whew.

Goose theft

This morning, WCK and I went to the front window to wave goodbye to Jay as he left for work. We were stunned to discover that our concrete goose had vanished. Yes. SOMEBODY STOLE MY GOOSE.

Here is a photo of the goose in happier times, dressed as an apple for WCK's first day of school:




My grandpa bought this goose for my grandma maybe 20 years ago as a special present. My grandma had a great sense of fun; she had lots of outfits for the goose, and she'd dress it up for holidays and family gatherings. When my grandma passed away in 2001, I inherited the goose and her collection of outfits. I continued to buy my own outfits for the goose, mostly from a great web site: www.gooseclothesgalore.com. I try to remember to dress the goose up for all the big holidays. Every time I dress up the goose, I think about my grandma.

Since WCK was born, photos with the goose have become a big family tradition. When WCK turned one year old, I bought a special birthday outfit for the goose. We took her picture with the goose in the birthday outfit on every birthday. Every year on Halloween, I would dress the goose as a vampire and take a photo of WCK next to the goose in her Halloween costume. We even have a photo of a tiny, two-month old WCK in her baptismal gown, and the goose is dressed as a nun. (My grandma called this outfit "The Holy Goose").

Last fall, I bought the apple outfit, planning to take a photo of WCK with the apple on every first day of school until she graduates from high school or becomes annoyed with me.

NOW MY GOOSE IS GONE. Who would do this? Who? That thing is solid concrete and probably weighs about 80 pounds, so they probably made a big effort to steal it. Sure, I can -- and probably will -- get another goose, but it won't be my grandma's goose. It won't be the same.

WCK was devastated. She cried for a lot of the morning. She insisted that we go for a walk though the neighborhood to look for the goose. I filed a police report and e-mailed the Neighborhood Watch Lady, but I'm not sure what good it will do. I feel like Pee Wee when his bike got stolen. I believe the Soviets are involved.

My only hope is that it's part of some kind of whimsical prank, that someday we'll get a Polaroid of the goose, say, in front of the Great Wall of China, and then he/she will be returned in time for WCK to pose with the apple again before school starts.

Happy travels, goose. Happy travels.

Wax on, wax off

When I took WCK to her four-year checkup at the pediatrician's office last month, she completely failed the hearing test in her left ear. They had her wear a pair of headphones, and a voice told her to point to different pictures on a big piece of cardboard. She just sat there doing nothing and looking a little confused. The doctor looked in her ears and said there was a lot of wax in there, so that was probably the problem. I'd never noticed that WCK had any signs of hearing loss. She talks nonstop and has a pretty big vocabulary. Still, we were pretty freaked out, because Jay has a hearing loss, and we have no idea if it is hereditary.

So, the doctor sent me home with some drops to put in WCK's ears, and we had her re-checked yesterday. The drops apparently did not work at all, so they had to squirt water into her ears with a giant syringe. She was extremely brave during this procedure, and, my goodness (and please stop reading the rest of this sentence if you are easily grossed out), the entire supply closet from Madame Tussauds fell out of her ears.

She then passed her hearing test with flying colors, and the doctor gave her a popsicle. All the way home, she kept asking me, "Mommy, why is everything so loud?" If that's not bad enough, this morning I explained to her yet again that the doctor took the wax out of her ears to help her hear better.

"I want to go back to the doctor and have her put the wax back in, so everything's not so loud!" she cried.

Oh, dear. I guess she was much happier in her muffled little world.

LHOTP update

Today I spent a harrowing 44 minutes and 30 seconds absolutely certain that Half-Pint was going to die of Mountain Fever. In the final 30 seconds of the episode, Doc Baker revealed that it wasn't Mountain Fever after all! It was merely poison ivy!

The logical part of my brain knows that a) this has got to be the worst TV-show ending ever and b) it's also a total ripoff of the "Jan's not allergic to Tiger; she's only allergic to Tiger's flea powder!" episode of The Brady Bunch. The Little House on the Prairie part of my brain, however, was so shaky with relief that I could have kissed Doc Baker.

I think I'm trapped in an abusive relationship with Little House on the Prairie.