If Wishes Came True

"Hey!  Move your ass to the left a little."

"Do you have a wish today?" I asked The Cousin this while, she, Sweet Pea, Sweet Pea's mom and I were having cocoa and lattes at our favorite coffee shop in Pacific Grove, CA.

"I wish for fish" she replied with a newly acquired kind of smile that stretched with wit from corner to corner.

"Wish and fish rhyme!"  Sweet Pea sits across from the smarty pants, rhymer twirling and flinging the whip cream with her straw. Sipping's not in Sweet Pea's vocabulary.

"Do you have a wish?" I ask Sweet Pea.

"Yes! I wish for Halloween!"  

"Right on! Well, you loved Halloween, didn't you?"  "I like Snow White and Cinderelli.

Yes. And Christmas Eve." She continues.

"Oh! Christmas Eve? You wish for Christmas Eve?"

"Yes. I wish for presents."

All-righty then.  Basically, we have the makings of a literary poet and a capitalist.

You know, wishes are happening every second, everywhere by every human on this diverse and amazing planet.  Wishes for peace, prosperity, joy, good health, mended relationships.

Remember when you were a kid and you'd run outside to your front yard and wish upon the first night star?  "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight...Wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight."  

My childhood wishes fluctuated between meeting the perfect boy to wishing my parents would stop smoking.  And fighting.

Once I remember wishing I was Meg Murry from the book, A Wrinkle in Time.  Sure she had flaws, so did I. I was fat, pimple-faced and my clothes reeked of Kents cigarettes. I had warts on my right hand and was the weirdo who loved Wednesdays because Mrs. Miller brought in the plastic flutes. Meg (Murry) was a misfit too, but she evolved and gained so much understanding of life and of herself. She was also excellent at math and science, subjects to this day, I suck at.

But I always made wishes and I still do. For me, the term "wish" holds less baggage than the term "prayer". Wishes are non-denominational, belong to people of all religious and non-religious paths.  Wishes are fiction and sweet and don't raise debate.

This kid's a big-time wisher, and not just for fish!

"When I get to school, I'll show the teacher the ropes."

Her wishes extend like a world map to include sweet sentiments for her new baby sister, health wishes for her dad who has a "hurt back" and the biggest wish, which was also mine as a child; that her mommy not return to work.

Her mom's on a 6-month maternity leave and that feels just right for The Cousin.  And it should. Studies show that a parent that stays home with a child, especially in the first 5 years of their life, contributes to that child's academic excellence, positive emotional development and general well-being.  The Cousin and her mom are bonded like an extra-strength Elmer's glue stick.             

Her mama is one hellava woman. 

Often I wonder if that calm, language appropriate, positive self esteem building tone just goes to shit when no one's around!  This woman, who now has a 2.5 year old AND a 3 monther, is so calm that I feel the urge to check her pulse from time to time. Seriously.

A "stay-at-home" parent, especially one that is conscious about what a child needs during every developmental moment, is awesome in my book. 

However, unlike in Sweden where each set of parents gets 480 days of parental leave per child, which must be claimed before the child turns eight, the U.S. spends a majority of its tax dollars elsewhere.

( Graciously, I will not go ballistic or Code Pink on y'all!)

"I don't need school. I'm swimmin!"

And then there's Sweet Pea.  One of her parentals is home with her , and it's a blessing because this kid would run any child care provider into the earth and bury him/her deep!  She's a "no-holds-barred" kinda girl. Always has been since the day, around 3 months, that she fought me while I attempted to put a diaper on her. I had to pin her down, using elbow and forearm, as if wrestling.  Like The Cousin's mom, Sweet Pea's mom deserves an award. (or 50) She's patient, loving, steady and calm in the face of "all hell breaks lose" and she has a terrific sense of humor.  

Sweet Pea's wishes float away into the magical realm where fantasy and magic exist 24/7. When she hears the tune "Frosty the Snowman" she becomes Frosty. When you mention "Cinderelli" suddenly she's sewing the dress in the company of all the mice. And her mom is right there with her, pretend needle and thread in hand. 

I know I have quite a few parents that read my blog. Thank you very much!! I have just one question for you, and it blares through my veins every single time I'm around children for more than a few of hours: "HOW THE FUCK DO YOU DO IT?"

Today, I noticed a playful article of quotes, from Huff Post, by Tina and Amy and have placed the link here for your smirking enjoyment. The Gospel of Parenting According to Tina & Amy...

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/01/09/tina-fey-amy-poehler-parenting-quotes-_n_4556970.html?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000009

Here's a quote in case you're a skimmer: “When you’re a twerking mother, balance is really important because you don't want to go too low and blow out your butt and bust your knee." 

-- Amy Poehler

If wishes truly did come true, I'd wish that all adolescents and twenty-somethings be required to live with screaming, bossy, needy, colicky children for a minimum of 6 months and also, live with a teenager for an additional 6 months prior to deciding whether to use birth control or not.

But alas! Calm down all you parents jumping out of your skin and wanting to rip my eyes out right now, as you defensively coo and ahhh over your contribution to over-populating the planet...

I never harmed the girls! Never laid a hand on them, and as you know, somehow miracles do exist 

because they managed to ooze their way into my parentless heart like a tube of honey or gooey berry jam.

"What'd you think of Doonesbury today, cuz?"

"Baa Bee?"
"Yes."
"Do you like funnies?"
"I love the funnies."
"Baa Bee?"
"You funny."
"Do you have another wish to share with me?"
"Yes! Ice Cream!"
"Well, let's go!"

~tpg

What Does the Fox Say?

GERING-DING-DING-DING-DINGERINGEDING

http://youtu.be/jofNR_WkoCE

Dog goes woof   Cat goes meow  Bird goes tweet and Mouse goes squeak...

Cow goes moo  Frog goes croak  And the elephant goes toot...

Ducks say quack and fish go blub And the seal goes ow ow ow

But there's one sound no one knows

WHAT DOES THE FOX SAY?

WA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-POW!

She's baaaaack. 

Actually, she never left. At least she never left my heart or yours. Right?

Today, The Cousin and I went to the library. Just her and I and, what seemed like, a million snotty nosed 2 and 3 year olds that drove me nuts, reminding me that I'm much more qualified, these days, to be a pole dancer than a pre-school teacher.

GAWD! It was like a nut house and the only sane one?  The Cousin.

Calm, cool, collected and VERY well-behaved, she patiently waited her turn to participate in Miss Linda's interpretation of the children's story "There was an Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly." (Weird messages throughout, but all in the name of rhyme, which I abhor.)

I gotta hand it to Miss Linda. Day in and day out, dealing with a room full of out-of-control toe-heads that do far more than just wiggle on their carpet squares. These punks throw full-blown, screaming tantrums and the moms, every once in a while, look-up from their IPhones.
I pray to God that Linda isn't a volunteer.
The Cousin and I positioned ourselves on a multi-colored beanbag.  She insisted on sitting on the patch of blue fabric, because blue is now her favorite color. (Man, I was worried it was going to be pink.) We were both poised on-lookers, and every once in a while, she leaned into me and whispered, "Valerie, what does the fox say?" Her giggle is infectious.
This is her new joke and her new favorite video. And that's right. She calls me "Valerie" now.

The days of "Wallery and roses" are long gone. Caillou too. (Thank you, Jesus!) She's shedding Elmo and Caillou like an old coat and turning to Madeleine and YouTube fox videos.
She's growing up.
She doesn't need my hand to get out of her car seat, nor an extra offer of support to climb 3 flights of stairs. Today, along with her usual books and movies, she wanted to check out a book to read to her new baby sister. Now that's maturity, people!  It's as if Superwoman has emerged out of the ashes...
Yes, I am now, and forever more, "Valerie" to her and together we will conquer this library story time madness, one screaming toddler at a time. 

And then we'll get the hell out of dodge. Have a little beverage. Chat about the old days. And read her new addiction, one square at a time!

She's a cool kid with a cool outlook.
We all should be blessed with this much curiosity and zest for life:

See a pile of fall leaves, jump in them just to hear the C R U N C H !  

CRUNCHING, PBJ IN HAND

Plop down in the middle of our shadow, simply because you want to "touch it!"

As adults, we've lost that "zest for life."  Seems we go about our daily routines, rituals and obligations required of us at such a pace, any zest that remains is just in the lemon peel of our cocktails.

Seems we've also lost, what I often refer to as, "the art of conversation."  Look in your mailbox. Any cards, notes, letters from friends or simply bills and consumer ads?
Now, look in your email box.
Less and less, right? How about on your voicemail of your phone? Any calls from friends lately? Maybe, but not as much as a few years ago. Lots of texting to converse and lots of Facebook to share stories, opinions and pictures. The idea of calling a friend, on a regular basis and meeting at a cafe to "catch-up" or sharing recent photos, offering a hug (real arms not virtual)...
Those times are less and less. 

I propose to you, that this lessening, is removing the zest from each of our lives. 

So, what does the fox say? 

Call a friend today! Meet on an unknown trail and take a walk with that friend or by yourself.
Sit smack down in your shadow! Put a box, from your remote control car, on your head and pretend it's your helmet!

Play the video at the beginning of my blog, and dance around your living room!

Locate "The Cousin" inside yourself! She's there waiting.
Let her soar today!

~tpg

P.S. Next week... Interview #5 with Mina; a polished gem who's a very long way from home.
Stay tuned in, pals.

The Metamorphoses of a Blog

If you live in Monterey, then you know that summer begins in September. Tourists pile in by the thousands, beginning Memorial Day weekend and continue pouring in through Labor Day.  They wear shorts, tank tops, sunglasses. They're equipped with beach umbrellas, coolers, rubber floaties.
And to their surprise, they freeze their asses off because it's foggy as all hell May-August.

I can't get enough of this delicious sunshine. I can describe it much like Goldilocks described the 3 bowls of porridge she tasted at the bears' kitchen table..."This one is much too hot... This one is much too cold... But this one (Monterey) is just right."  And it is. It's been a delightful 78-82 degrees for a couple of weeks and holding steady.

And I'm holding steady too. Holding steady to the unflappable truth that the only thing in life we can be certain of is change. I'm holding steady to dreams and personal ambitions as well, be they small, be they simple. I have a handful, as I'm sure all of you do. Mine tend to hover in the writing/photography, art and publishing realm. They're the kind of dreams, though, that have vivid, detailed beginnings; ones you easily recall upon waking, but whose endings fizzle away into incompletion with no recollection.   
I dream of a poem being published in The Sun Magazine or my screenplay being read by someone who matters.  I daydream about my blog picking up a big corporate sponsor or two and actually earning bank for my writing. And yes, I dream about having "follow-through". I can't begin to imagine what that feels like. I've started 6 or more short stories, 3 children's books, a box full of interviews, a folder of photographs, stacks upon stacks of poetry. I've hoarded about 50 skateboards, that my dear mother-in-law picked up for me at yard sales for 2 bucks each, because I will in fact do artwork on them again one day. I'm the girl with the ideas.  I'm the girl who could come up with a hundred business plans, but YOU, not me, will have to see the project through to the end.

I'm holding steady to the idea that I can move forward on some of these projects and if I don't? Well, if they all just spill out of my soul and into boxes, folders and computer hard drives, then at least I can say that the spilling brought me quiet satisfaction and released a part of me that needed to be un-caged at that moment. I'm particularly interested in interviews. I have this deeply rooted desire to ask and listen, ask and listen. I would like to interview individuals, one each week, for this blog. Simple people. Complex people. Misfits. Trend-setters. Whatever. The desire stems from a firm belief, that is wedged, etched, carved in my core; that individual lives, individual stories are worth hearing and are what truly matters.

Oh yes, I can spew about the economy, war versus peace, women's issues, lgbtq rights, animal abuse, poverty...but really, at the end of the day, it's an individual's experience that is worth remembering.  Think of your own lives. Can we really recall points, figures, images as much as we  can recall a conversation that moved us?

I have a hobby: I like to watch. ;) I can sit for hours on a park bench, at a bus station, in a coffeehouse and just watch people.  My dream is to interview them, not just watch them. Kind of win their trust, open them up a bit with sincerity and charm, and then ask some interesting and important questions. Then, listen.  Just listen to them, which is a skill in and of itself and sometimes challenging. I'd like to sit back and let them spill because most people like to spill. That spillage is the story, the significant piece of non-fiction that we can all relate to.  Listening to individuals connects us as humans and frankly, we all need to feel connected.

There's a man, a black man with soft eyes and weathered skin. He always wears a red and charcoal flannel shirt and jeans, sometimes a baseball cap that's frayed around the edges. He usually can be spotted in front of the Starbucks in Seaside or at the bike trail where they hand out free meals each evening. His large cardboard sign reads, "VIETNAM VET. ANYTHING HELPS. GOD BLESS YOU."  This man interests me. He intrigues me and his story is my story and your story.  I feel as if I want to look into him, not simply at him from afar. Why, you ask? Because this man's experiences are part of a bigger tapestry whose threads stitch together the very fabric of our existence. Not just his!  You see from afar, we can think, "Oh, I hope he's ok." or "I wonder if I have a buck to give him." or some might think, "He's probably not really a vet. What a gimmick."  But to actually speak with him for 15 minutes, ask him his name, his opinions on various subjects, where he grew up and so on, might offer up an understanding and bring some enlightenment in the form of not just kindness but authentic connection.

It's perhaps the difference between looking out on a field of brown-skinned farmworkers and thinking, "Wow, that's difficult, back-breaking work" and sitting one-on-one with one of the workers, over coffee perhaps, and asking her about her life. It's the difference between noticing a store owner behind a counter and asking him how he's doing today. Sometimes, that's all it takes to spark a connection that brings people together. There in lies the understanding.
There in lies the element of being human.
This is my dream for my own personal growth and for this blog. Because by sharing those interactions/interviews with y'all, an even larger group of strangers unite in the commonality of being human. I've touched on this subject before, but never truly dissected it. I could, at best, compare it with dipping my toes in the ocean but never diving into the wave. I wanna dive into that wave now, head first! Could be frightening. Could hit hard on the ocean floor. Could tumble and crash against the rocks. It's a risk that I'm willing to take. I'm also listening to one of my best friends, who I can always count on to be straight-up with me. She told me, in so many words, that the blogs are getting a bit repetitive and that I had the ability to expand my writing, to venture out more. Her words, along with my personal desires and unfinished projects, have brought me to this moment.

Oh, don't panic! I will still be writing about the escapades of Sweet Pea and The Cousin! But there's small changes in the air for them too.  The Cousin is about to have her world rocked, big time, with the arrival of a new sibling on September 30! (Hopefully, the child will be born with a safety helmet on.) And Sweet Pea's mom will soon be in transition and between jobs, so she will be home with Sweet Pea more...Where does that leave the nanny?  Well, we met last night to discuss it and I basically said, "You're keeping me! End of story."  But life does bring change and that we can depend on. I roll pretty well with change. Hell, I intentionally change my hairstyle and color every other month. It's awesome when I want to remain anonymous in a crowded room.  So, beginning October, I begin my journey with them in new and changing ways. I'll still be bringing you the lowdown, just other things as well to kind of mix it up. Things like observations and hopefully, interviews.  But those little girls, who have melted my heart, and yours, like butter in mama's skillet, will certainly be hanging around too.
Perhaps, my first interview will be with The Cousin. Now that would prove insightful!

And readership, I'd love your feedback as my blog metamorphoses into new shapes, new conversations and explores unchartered waters.  

To be continued...

~tpg

"We be stylin"

"I love to get her to this manic state."

"Baa Bee, that's the funniest joke I've heard in a long time."

"I'll be back!"

Running Wild and Looking Pretty

Yesterday was rough. I'm talking Brillo pad. I was running on empty to begin with and they refused to take naps.  Now let me explain something to you about a 1.5 and 2.5 year old's refusal to rest their weary little heads. When toddlers refuse to take naps, it's quite frankly worse than building a bonfire inside an igloo. It sucks. It's chaos at its finest, and I embellish not when I say that the worst thing that explodes from every pore of their cute, pudgy, soft skin is a resounding, clear message of "I'M BOSS!"

Yes, there was a constant struggle yesterday for "boss rights" as 3 young, bright, talented women vied for this leading role.  It seems these two didn't get the memo that the nanny is the boss, and apparently, they will do more than arm wrestle with each other, to maintain the crown...
And along with this boss thing and the bossy, irritating behavior that accompanies being the head hancha, is this personality characteristic of wildness that seemed to split at the seams for 9 hours straight.

"I'm the captain of this ship."

"Let's have some fun!"

"Say what?"

Danger in the shape of something wild
Stranger dressed in black, she's a hungry child
No one knows who she is or what her name is
I don't know where she came from or what her game is

"This will really drive her crazy."

"No, Baa Bee! It's not clean-up time."

Hot child in the city
Hot child in the city
Runnin' wild and looking pretty
Hot child in the city                                              

"Give me the damn doll."

Things were basically crumbling by 10:00 a.m. 

Why I suggested making Playdoh as our project is beyond me. 

"I'm having little voices in my head telling me where to toss this flour."

"And you don't take me seriously because? 

Hot child in the city
(Hot child in the city)
She's kinda dangerous
(Hot child in the city)
Young child
(Runnin' wild and lookin' pretty)
Young child, runnin' wild

"Naps are for sissies."

"This is the closest you'll get to changing my diaper."

"I'm done with highchairs."

Truthfully, I felt my control slipping away from the minute the moms left for work. The Cousin's mom hasn't limited her television time and, of course, the first thing out of her mouth when her mom left was, "Wallery, can I watch Caillou?" I exerted my control, mentally patting myself on the back for the boundaries I was putting forth. Well, she threw the biggest f@#king tantrum that could be heard three blocks away.

You know if you give in when the tantrum arrives, it's all over people. They own you.

So I held my ground, tried to bring out the new wood puzzles, bowls of blueberries, ANYTHING to gain jurisdiction over the situation.  Things did calm eventually.

I was a wild kid too. Well, I had my days. My mom once told me when I was two, I used to roll down the backseat car window and throw my books out. And she, being a new mom, would pull off to the side of the road and fetch them for her sweet daughter.  Evidently, this continued for a while and then one day, my mom just kept driving. I guess my tantrum was epic. And you can probably guess; I never threw my books out the window again.
My wildness took a hiatus through high school, as I became "born-again" and spent my free time giving out Bibles at the local mall.
(You can't be too wild when you're telling people they need to be saved.)
But I found my wild child again in my late twenties and throughout my thirties. WHEW! Welcome back, baby! Those were fun times; wild, free and fearless.
Many of you know what I'm talking about and here's the thing. Whether these two girls are wild or mellow or a pleasant combination of both, I'll surely be along for the ride.

Here's a few quotes by a few famous folks with regard to wildness.

"I was a sloppy kid, wanted to be just wild."~Etta James
 

“Some prefer the wildness. Some the calm. There's enough of both in the world for everyone to have their choice. And enough time for any to change their mind.” 

~Nora Roberts

"Take a walk on the wild side."~ Lou Reed

"I'd like more of the world to go back to being wild."~ Hayao Miyazaki

And one more for y'all. Perhaps, the one I'm secretly hoping will stick.

~tpg 

"I need this wild life, this freedom."~ Zane Grey

"Burrito! Burrito!"

What started several years back as a "friendship email" has become what today's culture calls a "blog."
In looking back over all of my blog posts, I am able to see which ones had the most, and least, views. I find it pretty interesting that it's not one from my tales at the trailer park, nor is it one of the adventures of Sweet Pea and The Cousin that has received the most views.  There's one, and only one, with hundreds of views and it's the interview I did with Ellen regarding the F-word. You people crack me up!!! Now, I 'effin understand y'all.
So, I'll begin this morning's ditty by attaching the link of that popular blog written back in May of 2012.
http://trailerparkgirl-vfern.blogspot.com/2012/05/one-girls-journey-to-find-answer.html
It has absolutely nothing to do with today's blog!

My readership asks me all the time, "Do you embellish your blogs about nanny life?"  
And the answer is rather simple, "HELL NO!"
I can't make this shit up and why would I want to? I'm like an umpire behind home plate; I call it like I see it. It's easier that way. Embellishment requires actually thinking. It requires tedious work and concentration.  Formulating interesting scenarios, that do not exist, would require my energy, time and also lead one to believe that I have nothing better to do in my life than to exaggerate.
Embellishment happens on CNN, FOX, ABC, NBC, The Simpsons.
We can all get our "stretched-like-salt-water-taffy truths" there.
But here y'all, is the real f!@king deal.

"I the burrito."

"Burrito! Burrito!"

"Cheese please."

I had a significant lapse in judgement yesterday. I taught them the "burrito game" using the curtains as the tortilla.  Basically, The Cousin wraps Sweet Pea up as if she were the carne-filling and then we'd all yell, "Burrito! Burrito!" The laughter filled the apartment. Instantly, the three of us turned crazy.
Sometimes, I'm a child. During these occasional "breaks" I lose all sense of who's in charge, who know's best, who's the individual that's being paid to keep the kids safe.

This week, I'm double duty; two days of such exhausting nonsense because the grandmother is taking a day off. She deserves it. This grandma is incredible. Unsure if the parentals truly appreciate this woman, but she not only watches these girls for free, GRATIS!, but she does laundry for them as well.
Lottery!!!!
Double duty equates to 18 hours. If I'm still standing by 5:00 p.m. on Friday, it will be an act of God.

Trying to calm them down after Burrito Burrito is not easy. And who's f@!king fault is that?
Anyway, I decide on books and The Cousin insists on reading to me.

"...and then the doggie, and the mommy, and the house and the blue twisting, twisting..."

When The Cousin reads to me, it's as if it's 1967, the psychedelics are rampid and Inagodadavida is playing in the background. I find myself really needing to concentrate on the plot.
Then, half way through the book, that all too familiar smell permeates my nostrils.
It's strong. It's potent. And the last thing the storyteller wants to do is have her diaper changed.
After a minor struggle, she gives in and up on the changing table she goes.

I recall my mom saying to me, "There's always a first time for everything."  
And what was about to take place was just that: a first.

The diaper is full and it's smeared all over her bottom.  I'm attempting to hold her legs up with one hand, keep the shit off the table and clean her with the other.  To make matters more complex, Sweet Pea has climbed up on the not-so-sturdy playroom table...

"Look at me, Baa Bee!"

Wishing I were an octopus, I attempt the impossible of trying to keep the changing table "poop free" and save Sweet Pea from getting yet another bruise. That "first" that my mom talked about years ago, happened:

Yep. That's on the laminate. 

Of course, that 4-letter word that y'all like so much, blared through my head.

Yet, I showed to indication of my stress. "Let's get cleaned up and go outside, ladies!" There's always an underlying motive to going to the park or for a walk. Yes, you want them to learn about their surroundings. Yes, the birdies and the flowers and the cars that go "beep!beep!" These discussions are rich and they aid in their language development. The park certainly helps with their motor skills, not to mention, their social skills. 

But the underlying reason for these types of activities is to wear their asses out! 

The Cousin is in a new phase in her life where she has to take Nomi, her fake baby sister, everywhere. Of course, she tires of carrying Nomi in the first 2 minutes of the walk and guess who gets her.

"You hold Nomi, Wallery."

3:00 p.m. 

Time for a cookie. I think that was the first word Sweet Pea learned and I do believe grandma taught her it.

3:00 p.m. 

Cinderella. (Not my choice for building strong, independent women.)

3:30 p.m.

Project time.

"Can I eat it?"

"Blue circles!"

4:10 p.m.

Things are returning to silly.  I can't help myself.  My response to their "duo-picking" is

"Pick a winner!"  So childish.

And why children eat it, even after they've had a wholesome snack, is beyond me.

But then again, I'm just the nanny.  I'm the nanny who loves when I see the big hand on the 12 and the little hand on the 5.

6:35 p.m.

~tpg