Don't Touch My Apples

Today was the first day of Thanksgiving break at the Casa de Up Popped A Fox. Our kids are out of school for the entire week which means that we get to spend a lot of time together while trying to prepare the house for guests and plan the menu for Thanksgiving dinner. Did I mention that we are still painting the kitchen? We are because everyone knows that right before you host a big holiday dinner is the best time to paint your kitchen! And Luisa is still working and I am still trying to finish NaBloPoMo and NaNoWriMo (though I officially hit the goal of 50,000 words yesterday). So, there is a lot going on and when there is a lot going on, I need the children to behave like rational beings which appears to be an unreasonable expectation.

This morning, the very first morning of vacation, they got into an argument in the kitchen while preparing breakfast. I'm going to lay out a few facts to set the scene for you:

1. It was 10:30 a.m.

2. Zeca had already eaten breakfast an hour earlier and had made the meal herself.

3. Miguel wanted me to make breakfast for him and I refused.

4. Miguel has a slight germ phobia.

5. Zeca is fond of pushing buttons.

Zeca sat on a stool in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee and watching Miguel wander around the kitchen with bleary eyes and thought bubbles above his head that said things like "How does food happen?" and "There is no food in my mouth but I want there to be and why will no one take pity on me and make the food and put it in there?" Zeca looked on in mild amusement as she is the more practical of our two children and likes to watch her brother fail to meet his basic needs.

Miguel then asked, "Do we have apples?" and I suggested that he look in the fruit bowl where the apples have been kept for the entirety of his 13 years. He looked in the fruit bowl and exclaimed, "There are apples!" as if he'd found his fortune in the Great Apple Rush of 2014. He took one out of the bowl and washed it and then stood there with the apple dripping water on the floor and said, "How do I dry it?" I suggested that he use a towel or, if desperate, his shirt. "MOM!" he yelled in horror. He managed to dry the apple on a towel and then asked me to cut it. I suggested he use the apple slicer that he has used almost every day for the past week.

After he cut the apple, he fanned it out decoratively on a plate and went to the refrigerator to get the peanut butter. He spooned peanut butter onto the plate and when he turned to put it back in the refrigerator, Zeca plucked an apple slice from his plate and brought it to her mouth. She did not bite down on it or even touch it to her lips, it simply entered the air space of her mouth where it hovered until she was certain that he saw it and then she put it back on his plate with a laugh and said, "Sorry."

Miguel then began to scream because Zeca had:

1. Dared to take an apple slice, the literal fruit of his labor.

2. Had breathed on it and then put it back on his plate.

There was much yelling by one child and laughter by the other and I chose to leave the room before I felt compelled to lock them both in the basement. But then, from my safe perch on the living room couch, I heard Zeca scream and I ran into the kitchen to find the eldest child rubbing an apple slice all over the youngest child's face which is apparently how teenagers teach younger children not to touch their apple slices. I then yelled, "YOU DO NOT RUB APPLES ON YOUR SISTER'S FACE JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE ANGRY!"

So, that's how the very first day of our vacation began. How was your Monday?

*Full Disclosure: The picture accompanying this story was taken a few weeks ago during an argument about egg salad. Zeca wanted to teach Miguel to make egg salad but he did not want to learn to make egg salad. Zeca suggested that someday he might want or need to make egg salad for a loved ones and he felt they could go to the store and buy egg salad for themselves.

Very Special Advice for New Parents

Hello new and prospective parents! I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, "I want to do the very best for my baby!" Of course you do and that's why I have to give you some advice because sometimes doing the "very best" is actually the "very worst" thing to do. You see, I was once like you. I did all the right things and I have the pictures to prove it. My first child eating only tofu and veggies while all the children around him ate popsicles? Check.

The black and white board books? Check.

Talking to the baby all the time every day always and forever? Check.

Yes, I was just like you - passionate and committed and completely dedicated to the enrichment of my babies.

But here's what the experts don't tell you. Those babies? The ones that get the "very best" babyhood? They grow up to have incredibly high standards - standards that are more than a mere mortal can meet. So, please consider the following:

1. Diet

You wait to introduce solids and then do everything by the schedule recommended by your pediatrician. You brainwash your kid into thinking that fruit is a dessert.

One of two things will happen:

a. Your kid will hide under the couch eating Dum Dums like a wild-eyed troll and you will only discover this when you move the couch and find the wrappers.

b. Your kid will inform you that he will not eat school lunch because the meat is not free-range and the fruit and vegetables are overcooked and not even organic which means you will be packing lunches for the rest of your adult life.

Let them have some junk food once in awhile. Resist the urge to send cantaloupe to school as their birthday "treat." Also, do not make waffles from scratch. I repeat DO NOT. You will never be able to sneak an Eggo waffle past a kid who has grown up eating homemade. They will shun the Eggo and you will be the Prometheus of Waffles, forever chained to your waffle maker.

2. Free Time

You read to your baby many times a day. You shake those educational toys in your child's face as many times as she would tolerate. You sit and play My Little Pony for hours even though it makes you want to time travel to the past and kill the maker of My Little Pony so that you never become a Pony Parent. You play board games until the words "chutes" and "ladders" strike fear in your heart.

You know what happens when your kids get older, they will follow you around telling you that they're "bored" or "don't have anything to do" and ask 293 times per day if you will play with them. They will be your constant companion forever and ever. You and your child will put the "bro" as in Hasbro.

It's best to leave them alone. Give them a little space. Do not play Hide N Seek. Just play Hide.

3. Conversation

You narrate life as soon as they place your bundle of joy in your arms. You tell them you are drinking coffee and driving the car and making dinner and shaving your arm pits. You talk to them from the time they woke up until you tuck them in bed at night, convinced that your kids will someday dazzle the world with their vocabulary.

And they will. They will talk to you all the time. Think you can escape the words by having some private time in the bathroom? Fool! There is no private time! Your children will sit outside the door talking to you, telling you the tiniest details about the dream they had about a monster made of olives, "And he bled pizza sauce all over the carpet and you were so mad and then the cat came and we had a tea party and you know what we had at the tea party? We had tea! Now, let me describe the color and consistency of every leaf that was in my dream tea cup!"

They will come into your room at night while you are sleeping and talk to you like you have been in your room just waiting for them. These children do not believe consciousness is required for a conversation. My son once woke me from a dead sleep at 2 a.m. when he walked into our room and said, "Well, I just finished reading Despereaux and here is the thing about that book..." Do you want pre-dawn book reviews? Do you? I don't think you do.

I hope you can see from these tips that setting the bar lower is the key to your survival as a parent. Because, you don't know this yet, but your survival is much more questionable than theirs. Obviously, they are sly and know how to get their needs met. Why else would I be rattling my waffle maker as I type this?

Dear 14 Year Old Vikki Crying about Math

Dear 14 Year Old Vikki, I hope this letter finds you on one of those days when being 14 feels like a miracle, when you can't imagine life being any better. I want you to get this letter when you managed to get your bangs just right and your teachers found you particularly clever and you laughed a lot with your friends. I want you to be in a good place because I have some bad news that I need to share with you.

Perhaps you should grab a Diet Pepsi and sit down. And while we're at it, stop drinking that shit. It's bad for you and, though you'll eventually switch to Diet Coke (I know - the horror!) you're hooked on the stuff either way. Someday, they'll discover it actually leads to obesity which sounds absolutely crazy but whatcha gonna do. It's science.

So, back to the news...

You know how Algebra makes you crazy? You know how you sit at the kitchen table with Dad and he tries to explain it to you and you get really mad at him and yell at him that he's "not doing it the right way" and then you cry? You know how you complain constantly about how hard math is for you even though you get good grades and how you plan for a math-free adulthood?

The good news is that the plan works for the most part. You get through high school and go to college and only have to take one math course - Statistics. I know what you're thinking, "How did I avoid math and still get into the nation's top medical school?" Yeah, about that...you don't actually go to medical school but let's not ruin all the surprises. You do go to graduate school though (I'm not going to tell you what you study because you have to figure some of this out on your own) but the school doesn't require you to take any more math! That means you only have that one Statistics course after high school!

Very good news!

But I do feel an obligation to warn you which brings us to the bad news. You will have kids...and those kids will have to do math. I don't know about the  youngest yet because she's not to Algebra yet but the oldest one is just like you. He complains about math all the time and it's hard for him even if he does get good grades. And Vikki, my dear sweet younger self, you will find yourself sitting at the dining room table trying to explain math to him and he will yell at you and tell you that you are "not doing it the right way" and you will say the exact same words that Dad says to you, "But what does it matter if I get the right answer?"

This is to say that your perfectly planned and excecuted math-free adulthood will be wrecked by your children. You are doomed to cry over Algebra even though it's not your work. I'm sorry. I thought you'd want to know.

I have to go because I have to go yell at the kids to go to bed because it's a school night. Hard to imagine, right? Even though I'm living it, it's still sometimes weird for me.

Before I go, just a couple more quick tips:

1. I know you just got your driver's permit but be careful with left turns, especially on that hill by Pierson Park. Also, turn down the Go Go's when you are driving. Don't ask questions--just do as I say.

2. Clean that fish tank! You do not want to know what's going to happen if you don't.

3. Do not open all your Christmas presents while you are home alone. You'll be so disappointed when you open your Disc Camera on Christmas morning. Damn. I just ruined it. So, go ahead and open them but you're going to need another roll of tape to hide your crime.

That's all I have to say for now. Study hard and be careful with that curling iron!

Love,

46 Year Old Vikki