I Miss You, Leonilda, When You Don't Call

This was written in March of 2011, when we were trailer park managers in Prunedale, CA...

I think I “get” Leonilda at unit 18.

She reminds me of one of my long lost relations from the hills of Sweetwater, Tennessee.

Perhaps one that would likely slam the cellar door when she saw me comin!

At times, she reminds me of one of the women on the television series, Big Love.

One of the sister-wives that lives out on the compound, wears her hair long, her bonnet tight and has her hands elbow-deep in cannin' apples before winter done hits.

Leonilda doesn’t like me and I understand that.

Last spring, when she called to let me know “someone” was shooting at her because the side of her 1979 mobile had fresh bullet holes in the skirting, I did in fact burst out laughing.

I didn’t mean to.

I was just lacking in the self-control department in that moment.

Then there was the time she called to let me know “someone” had been trespassing in her carport and left a cherry pit in the crack of asphalt near her back door.

She informed me she hadn’t eaten cherries since high school when she got sick on ‘em, so therefore, she knew it had to be a trespasser.

I sent my partner to investigate that situation and she did in fact locate a single cherry pit in the exact location as Leonilda stated it was.

As a trained professional, I know that I need to show restraint, as well as, compassion but as the years roll on, I find it a bit of a challenge.

And Leonilda knows it. She ain’t no dummie.

She can hear it in my voice, see it in my eyes and that’s exactly why the other night when she phoned and I answered, she immediately asked for my partner. She don't want to talk with me anymore!

I put on my sweet, soft-toned, sympathetic voice and offered my assistance and willingness

to meet her every need. After all, isn't that what I get paid for?

She asks if we had received a package in the mail that belonged to her.

I told her that I hadn’t checked the mail today but I would go right out, check and bring any mail that belonged to her, right down. Mind you, Leonilda and her brother, Leo (No lie, that's his real name) don’t live next door to us. They actually live on the other side of the park, so why we'd have her mail is beyond me, but I question nothing.

She informs me that it wouldn’t have been in today’s mail. “Someone” took it a month ago.

(RIGHT, LEONILDA! LIKE I HAVE BEEN HOARDING A PACKAGE OF YOURS FOR 30 ‘EFFIN DAYS! OR THIS "MYSTERY SOMEONE" IS OUT TO GET YOU, YOU PARANOID WEIRDO!)

Breathe in. Breathe out.

After a mini-Zen-breathing exercise, I find my polite button, press it, and tell her that I haven’t seen any mail of hers, but if there was a tracking number, perhaps the post office could attempt to locate it for her.  But Leonilda feels quite strongly that our postal service does not lose packages and that “someone” either stole it or is holding it.

Hostage I suppose.

Holding it hostage for some kind of trailer treasure ransom that I’m sure will allow us all to buy Boardwalk AND Park Avenue, maybe even all four railroads.

My partner’s jaw never clinches like mine in these situations.

I remember one late afternoon last summer, I phoned Leonilda because I received a call from one of her neighbors reporting she was getting ready to spray paint her mobile with a small hand-held sprayer, not an industrial. The neighbor was concerned the paint would get on his unit.

Before I could explain the rules with regard to painting the trailers at our park, she asked me this, “Can you please call back later… I’m drunk right now.”

That's when I "got" Leonilda.

I actually clung to a tiny, thin thread of commonality in that moment.

I wished her a relaxing afternoon, hung up the phone and poured myself a strong one.

It doesn’t get any better than this, people.

-tpg

Here's Johnny!

"Here's Johnny!"

This is Sweet Pea's dad.
He's either going to inspire Sweet Pea to be a wildlife veterinarian, or fuel her fear of owls for life.  Evidently, he puts on the owl towel every night after Sweet Pea's bath and chases her around the apartment, screeching and moaning, "Whooooo! Whoooooo!"  Evidently, she digs it.  At least for now. If I hadn't met the man, I'd think he was a whack job, but he's actually pretty cool.
Handsome too. If you take a good look at his eyes; that is eye, due to the purple towel on his head and the "beak patch" over his right one, you can see a beautiful resemblance between the two of them. With his permission, I posted this.   I'd like to add a Happy Father's Day shout to him and the other papa as well. These dads rock. And not because they change poopy diapers.  Men who think this action deems them extraordinary or reserves them a place at the righthand of God, are ridiculous.
It merely makes them, well... a dad.

I've been bombarded with poopy diapers these past couple of weeks. I've been changing 6-8 in a nine-hour day. I think it's the enormous amount of fruit these guys ingest. They love strawberries, mangoes, blueberries, bananas (which I thought were 'plugs' but evidently I thought wrong) juices and their seasonal favorite: cherries! They can't get enough of the damn things. Sweet Pea shovels 'em in faster than I can "de-pit" 'em, while The Cousin, who has trust issues like I do, is a bit more skeptical.
TC:"Is the seed in?"
Me:"No. I removed it."
TC:"Sure?"
Me:"Yes. I'm sure."

SP: "Mo Cher wees!"

"I dig cher wees."

"The seeds are all gone, Wallery?"

So I attempted the library with both of them this week. Holy Mother of God! I'm sure the librarians were having mini-strokes watching Sweet Pea go down each aisle pulling books out one by one,  walking on top of them as she went. The joint was packed.  Evidently some super juggler brought kids in like herds of wild boar. I was slightly overwhelmed, yet trying not to show it.  The Cousin reeked of poop towards the end of our visit, but I just couldn't undertake the bathroom changing table and manage "Book Wrecker" all at the same time.

We needed a good dose of fresh atmosphere, so we headed across the street to the gazebo and boogied. The gazebo has a fantastic wood floor; dancehall quality.  We shook our sillies out and wiggled our waggles away. (We also chased birds into the street and played in the mud.)

The park was nuts today. Kids out for summer.  Flying footballs. Running little boys who knock anything down that gets in their path. Adults who use every curse word know to man.
Graduation celebrations. Birthday parties. I felt like a mother hen trying to skirt my baby chicks away from constant inappropriate behavior and danger.  Sweet Pea wanted a birthday balloon so bad she could taste it. One mom finally gave her one to play with. She was sooo happy. Then this spoiled snot of a girl stomps over and grabs it out of her hands.
"That's my balloon!" she screamed in Sweet Pea's face.
I now know how parents feel. Every hair on my arms stood at attention. My heart felt a searing pain right through it. I saw red. Instantly, I envisioned my hands around that kid's throat. Suddenly, I felt as if I could lift her up and throw her against the jungle gym and not let up until she gave Sweet Pea the balloon back. Luckily, maturity won out.

Party Crasher

Pole Dancer

Wood Chip Explorer

It's hard to recall life before these two.  It is hard to stay awake past 7:00 p.m. on the day I watch them though. I never cook on Wednesdays. No 'effin way!  My partner knows it too.
"If you're not up for preparing the supper, serving it to me and doing the dishes, I'm fine with drinking my dinner in a throwaway cup." I inform her.
When I arrive home, I walk in, toss my things on the "catch-all", then strip out of my clothes.
That's an absolute must. My shirt sleeves have peanut butter and jelly, my socks have dirt and wood chips stuck in them. My jeans have God knows what down the pant leg. I strip out of my clothes, jump into the shower and yes, pour myself some wine. Same story every Wednesday. However, this past Wednesday, during my cleansing routine, our doorbell rang.
Sweet Pea's mom was standing there with a large brown bag in hand.
"I brought you dinner." 
I could have tackled her to the ground and smothered her with kisses of appreciation.
We invited her in for a small glass of vino.
We hadn't really had her all to ourselves since Sweet Pea entered the world. It was nice.
So we're all three sitting in our living room, chatting it up. I share my day with her.  I'm unsure how the subject came up in the course of the conversation, but she says, "I haven't introduced Sweet Pea to ice cream yet. We did give her some frozen yogurt a few days ago and she loved it."  (Actually, I took her to PinkBerry about a month ago, but I neglected to say that.)

Hmmm...I'm debating whether or not to unleash my upcoming comment, which is perched at the tip of my tongue...

"This shit is good."

Owner of ice cream store in a Beatles freak.

Of the two flavors we sampled, Sweet Pea preferred strawberry.  The Cousin really couldn't make a decision. As you can see, she's in "the zone".  She inhaled both, while Sweet Pea jumped down from my lap, after a couple bites, to drive the boat.

"Call me Captain!"

I know I overstepped my authority with this one. But if God hadn't intended for us to eat a little sugar now and then, why did She invent dentists?
Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there!
~tpg

It's Just Another Day

Sometimes in life you've just gotta take a few risks.  We might stumble, crash, get our index finger stuck in an electric socket, but if we don't take chances, tell me how rich and interesting can our lives truly be?
I'm reminded of this and so many other lessons when I watch this kid.  As syrupy as this might sound, she's one of my greatest teachers on the entire planet.  She constantly reminds me to take risks. (though I break a sweat).  She reminds me to laugh.  She reminds me to dance when the music starts to play.  Oh, we have our moments.
We squabble about a few minor issues, such as nap time and playing near the heater grate, but isn't that all part of this thing we call life?  Sweet Pea and I differed about her climbing these cement steps.
I wanted to allow her a few moments of independence without jeopardizing her safety of course. I also wanted to get the shot.  The part I couldn't snap was her "toddler tantrum" when I disrupted her climb as she was approaching the "danger zone".  Boy was she p.o.'d at me for taking her off the peak.

"Climb every mountain."

I think this last week with the "Dynamic Duo" centered around a couple important "themes" and certainly those themes could be referrred to as "lessons."

Risk-taking and pushing ourselves to our own personal limits was definately one.  Sweet Pea pretty much does that 24/7, whereas The Cousin needs some encouragement.  

Which is where I come in. 

Sweet Pea takes the world by the balls.  The Cousin is an observer.

Think about the people you know.  Think about your own-self.  The world is surely big enough for all of us; the "ball grabbers" and "the observant ones", eh?

"I'm in the zone."

The Cousin is a rare gem.  She's a thinker.  She is inquisitive about the world around her, yes, but she doesn't jump off buildings or dive into trash cans like Sweet Pea.  She sits back and watches, accesses, puts the tip of her big toe in the pool to test the waters, never her whole foot.  But she makes her mark just fine. She insisted on wearing her hat inside out with the tag in front. Hey, that's cool with the nanny!  Her eyes lit up when she figured out how to hold the chalk on its side and "shade" rather than "write" with it. 

In addition to the lesson's of "risk-taking" and "pushing limits", "lack of privacy" was a biggie last week as well; 

Specifically, mine.

Sparing y'all the nitty gritty details, let's just summarize the day by saying, the nanny had stomach issues of the unpleasant kind.  It's not a cake walk when you don't feel well and have to make several trips to el bano, all the while caring for 2 toddlers. Welcome to my Wednesday. There I sat on the toilet. And there they both stood, side by side, less than 10" away from my sorry self, just staring at me.  

"What are you doing, Bal La Lee?" The Cousin inquired.  "I need to poop. I have a tummy ache."  

"Pooh Bear poops." she responded.  "Yep. Everybody poops." I say. She then runs to her room and returns with a Winnie the Pooh book, opening it to a page where deer poop rests in the snow. 

By this time, Sweet Pea has positioned herself even closer to me and is patting my leg.  "Girls, can you wait for Valerie in the other room?" I say like an idiot, as if they're not babies.  The staring continues. Suddenly, I let out a familiar sound. The Cousin beams.

"Toot! You toot, Bal La Lee!" "Yep, everybody toots" I say.

Moving right along, we take it in the other room to enjoy some of our faves: Clifford the Big Red Dog, Cat in the Hat and Super Readers.  This is usually around the time I look at the clock, notice it's only 9:00 am and say, "Shit." to myself.

"I'm taking one of those Cheerios and there ain't nothing you can do about it."

Just when we thought we finally survived the teething stage with Sweet Pea, she has a mother-of-a-molar pushing through her gums.  It's gigantic! She's reverted back to biting, gnawing and sucking on any and everything she can get her mouth on.

"This is helping."

"Damn Teeth."

"That's a kiss not a gnaw."

The teething solution in 2013:

Okay, I'm old. But what the hell is this? I'm telling you, these girls' moms have all the latest inventions. This is a frozen fruit sucker, bpa-free. Sweet Pea's mom places chunks of frozen mangoes or strawberries in the netted pouch for Sweet Pea to suck on. I really think the damn thing was a waste of money because Sweet Pea demonstrated, at least to me, that she'd much rather suck on the door knob or a computer cord than this cutesy gadget.

The Cousin's language skills are better than many 50-year-olds I know. Each week, she amazes me with 7 or 8-word sentences that begin with words like "Yesterday" or "Actually".  Soon I will have to carry a pocket grammar dictionary just to make sure she doesn't correct me.  

She's one cool kid.  They both are. 

I guess this last week was a simple one for the 3 of us.  Nothing ground-breaking, earth-shattering to report.

No occurrences of mass chaos. Nothing crazy-ass funny that would make y'all fall of your 

chaise lounges. 

It was close to ordinary. Just another day...

~tpg

Life Unscripted

As many of you know, I taught elementary school for several years, beginning in the '90's.
Like the trailer park, I have retained numerous memories that make me laugh out loud
when I recall them. One in particular was when I was teaching a 2nd grade in the fall of 1998...
We were studying the process of how food gets to our table; meaning, the farm to the Save-Mart to the fridge thing.  I don't know if you realize this, but many children think that the food
on their plates originate at Safeway on aisle 5. Anyway, we were studying nuts (No, not my personal history) and when we looked at regions where various nuts were grown and that day, we did a lesson on peanuts.  We sang a song called "Oh! Peanut Butter" and read books on peanut farming and even ground our own nuts to make the chunky butter.  I'll never forget this one little girl writing in her journal about all that she had learned...
"Today we made penis buter.  I lik penis buter. penis gro on trees."

Recently, I was reading an old article in The Huffington Post on unintentionally inappropriate drawings by kids.

The last one brought back a memory of my first year teaching 6th grade. I had the class from hell and I don't care how that sounds to all of my politically correct readers.  I was barely hanging on day in and day out. At about mid-year, I looked out my classroom window and I saw the principal and the vice-principal walking toward my room with a student's journal in their hands.  They wanted to see if recognized the handwriting.  There were 3 sketches of people, each with giant "talk bubbles" above them.  Each person was nude, and I might add, drawn with explicit detail and accuracy.
I had large tits.  My bubble said something like, "I want to have hot sex with Dr. S."  The others' followed along the same lines.  As my principal (Dr. S) questioned me as to who might have done this, I felt my face bursting into flames.   Suddenly, it was as if I had been immersed in 20 feet of water.
All went silent.   I could see his lips moving but I couldn't hear a damn thing.
Days later, I told a 6th grade colleague and her response to it was, "Well, didn't you tell Dr. S. that it isn't true?" 

Nannyhood

In all my years of chronic caffeine addiction, I never thought I could make my cup of coffee too strong. Somehow I did this morning. You can peel it off my front teeth like old carpet.
I'm drinking it though as a matter of necessity.

So, this week I was on hiatus from the babes. No, I didn't need a break, folks.
I was out of town.
Most certainly, I still have material.
First, let me start by introducing you to Nugget.
Nugget is one of The Cousin's many pals that lives at the bottom of a toy bin, except when
The Cousin takes him out for a diaper change, a feeding or a hug.

Nugget

Nugget, like Lambie, Lambert, Kitty and Rudy (the bear with the weird body) are all my helpers.  I use them on a regular basis to distract, entertain and stall The Cousin when such forms of manipulation are required.

But The Cousin is no dummy.  No way.
She's nothing like the 'trailers' who fit the cliche, "dumber than a stump".  She knows distraction when she sees it.
She's "onto me" big time and all the time.
In fact, she's always 5 steps ahead of me.

Nugget (unintentionally) being suffocated

 The Cousin is a busy girl. Her life is a full 32-oz glass.  There's always chores to be done, animal friends that need attending to, and of course, there's the "Sweet Pea" factor. But The Cousin doesn't complain much about her busy life.  She takes it all in stride and I'm sure there's a lesson in that for all of us.

The Sweet Pea Factor

"This"

"This" is getting less and less. THANK GOD (or the new scientific fact of the Big Bang Molecule).
"This" only occurs when she wants this:

The Bribe Factor

I just need to be one step ahead of her, which most of the time, I am.
Last week, though, because the 3 of us and all our f@#!ing animal pals were stuck inside due to lack of a stroller and rain, I was not in step.  Ever have one of those days where you can't find your rhythm?

I did resort to using food as a "mid-day pacifier. But I disguised it as a "learning tool".
Thanks to Trader Joe's, I had happy babes as long as I stuffed their little beaks with sugar.
We sang The Alphabet Song and I offered some quick-course instruction
in spelling and grammar.  
Sweet Pea can now indulge in "solids" as long as you pulverize it into teeny pieces.

Anybody, besides me, digging those new AT & T "It's Not Complicated" commercials featuring a small group of youngsters gathered around a table answering questions about life?

I would imagine those are scripted.
What I ink, and then share with y'all, is not. Unscripted all the way!
So stay tuned. The best is yet to come.
~tpg

Shin-nanny-gans

Only a child sees things with perfect clarity, because she/he hasn't developed all those filters which prevent us from seeing things that we don't expect to see. ~Douglas Adams

So as many of you know, I'm a bit of a "Jane-of-all-trades".  Managing the trailer park was perhaps my most cherished and satisfying job thus far, although my nanny gig comes in
at a close second.
Along with my "shin-nanny-gans" position, I currently hold 2 other part-time jobs:
I help run a Japanese tea shop (hence my hair, skin and voice all are turning Japanese with a trailer trash drawl, of course) and I'm a substitute elementary school teacher for a district
in the area. This third position happens to bring me the most money; hence, I do it.

Last week, I was in a second grade classroom and I positioned myself on a small chair in the middle of the carpet; a carpet with a picture of the United States of America on it...
"I sit on Montana." one little girl with pig-tails says. "No, I sit on Montana." a boy yells. "I sit on Texas and that's where my tia lives." said another..."Watch out! When you sit on Texas, you might sit on a steer's horns." I, the smart-ass substitute, responded.

I love carpet time with children.  You sing a little, do some stretches and yoga, read some cool and interesting books and have lots of sharing.  It's so revealing, the sharing thing.
But it never fails, and it seems to always happen a lot with second graders; they inevitably start talking (in great detail) about their animals that either died, ran away or worse.  
EVERY DAMN TIME, no joke.
One kid starts in and then another, then 5 hands shoot up and they all have something to share on the subject. By the third kid, I'm fucking depressed out of my mind and I'm in desperate need of changing  the subject.
I inevitably pull out a Dr. Seuss book or something just to not break down in front of twenty 
7-year olds.
Kids are so honest.  I recall subbing in my pal's kindergarten one time not so long ago. I'm sitting with a small group of 7 or 8 kids and one little boy announces, "My dad's in jail." The little girl to his right looks so happy to have something in common with him, "So is my daddy!" she exclaims. Then (again) the hands shoot up.
I've come to believe, that young children walk around in a puffy honesty cloud 24/7.

Like when I ask The Cousin if she pinched Sweet Pea, she looks me in the eyes and says, "Yes."

The Cousin fakin it.

I dig that. Why are we grown-ups such liars?! And what changed us from those little innocent Truth-Sayers to the most embellishing, lying mammals on the planet? When did the shift take place?

Last week, when I asked The Cousin if she was tired and ready to take a nap, she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.  "Okay, nighty night." I said and then, like a mattress spring, she popped up and said with such joyful jubilation, "I'm not sleeping, Bal La Lee! I awake!" 

 

Even Kitty's awake.

I think children, especially those who witness joy, positive vibes and honesty in their day to day lives, maintain their truthful little selves for quite awhile; until maybe they leave the safety and comfort of their guarded nests. That is when the world becomes the Loch Ness Monster and that is when they (we) have to sometimes fudge the truth in order to survive.    

Maybe it's about grown-up survival.

I think this is one reason we grown-ups "ooh and aww" at the sight of a baby.  They're so damn cute, yes, but it's that innocence we see in their faces; the truthful words we hear that cause us to stop and want to pick them up, hold them, kiss them, become their nanny!

The Cousin kissing Ducky.

Okay, that was a weird kiss, but sweet nonetheless.  I'm telling you, kids got it goin on! 
It's how the world should be.

Young kids are "in-the-moment", "do-the-right-thing", honest people most of the time.   

I got the beat.

That "in-the-moment-thing" is so connected to the truth and innocence that I'm yakking about...

Where as you and I see a toilet, Sweet Pea sees bongo drums.  So cool.  When children are allowed to explore, create, voice their opinions, think beyond and out of our box that we tend to stuff them into, then they remind us, perhaps, of our own soul; the one we left behind.  
Walt Disney was once quoted as saying, "That's the trouble with the world.  Too many people grow up."



Sweet Pea



Seems as if we're talking about two things here; truth and innocence.  You know, they go together like jam and white bread and I'm gonna tell you why. (You knew I would).  When your life is filled with endless joys and all your needs are met; meaning you want for nothing...
When everyone that you encounter is trustworthy, of good ethic and follows through on what they say...When discussion, rather than explosion, is what you learn to expect when you find yourself in a bad situation...When fairness is what is shown to you from Day One...
I suspect all this and more are factors in us becoming truthful adults and maintaining our gorgeous innocence!  Might I say, my grown-up readers, then we'll begin to walk in that puffy cloud of honesty and innocence.  Aww, such a majestic, beautiful thing.

So, that's my 2 cents (more like 2 bucks) for today. Oh! And let's not forget the laughter!

The sound of The Cousin and Sweet Pea laughing makes me happy; truly it does.
The drag would be if I were watching them one evening and the power went out.
~tpg

The New Normal

I had only been in the house 2 minutes, when I saw these. 

Man. I couldn't stop thinking about them.  Couldn't take my eyes off of them.  But I held my ground; stayed strong for over 3 hours and then I broke down like an old, beater car.

The Cousin's kitchen is filled with sugar crap: chocolate chip cup cakes, Girl Scout cookies, real cream ice cream.   It's like The Big Rock Candy Mountain and I'm always having to host these little conversations in my head: "Don't eat it. You're a diabetic." 
"Just eat half." "You can run instead of walk today."  God knows what's in these things, but the ingredients register high on the "delish meter."  They're to die for.  When I finally broke, I cut one into small pieces, as if that would reduce the fat and calorie content, but damn!
I wish I could tell y'all that this was my one and only challenge yesterday.
But the truth is, there were many and I don't mean of the 'small-bump-in-the-road' caliber.
It was a war zone.  I'm talkin full-on 20-ft ditches that left the three of us with battle scars.
But these bumps; these battles are quite frankly, my new normal.

Sweet Pea took a lot of "hits" in the morning; Sweet Pea who thinks she's 7 years old
not 10 months.
To begin with, she climbed up onto a plastic chair and came crashing down like Humpty Dumpty, biting her lip and hitting her nose on the way to the floor.  Shit!
This was the first time there'd been blood on my watch.

Then, as if she hadn't experienced enough trauma to her face, The Cousin went after her with a
"pinch-grip" that left a red, 1-inch line on her left cheek.  That was prior to The Cousin placing another choke-hold and leaving marks on the back of her little neck.
It all happens so quickly, folks. Let me tell you. I'm not in the kitchen eating cookies when the war breaks out. I'm right there, 2-3 feet away from the soldiers, and I still can't stop it!
I think I have to get more firm with The Cousin. But look at this face.

As I said, Sweet Pea definitely took her share of hits.  But the cool thing about Sweet Pea is...
She's Sweet Pea.  She's like a fucking Rolex. She just keeps on ticking.

I resorted to Cheerios as a sort of peace-offering. It actually helped, at least temporarily; like a band-aid on a deep wound.  It stopped the bleeding for the time being.

Then Sweet Pea took matters (and the jar of cereal) into her own hands.

She's a "dumper."

She grabs shit and dumps it faster than lightening.  Here she's finding total pleasure in dumping the water from her tipee cup and then playing in it.

Interesting.

Hilarious.

The afternoon got better. It got better because of a little 3-letter word called "N A P."

And I felt as if I accomplished the most challenging feat known to man and womankind: 

I got them to both nap at the same time. 

Okay. I'm so lucky right now.

And then, I walked and walked until I ended up here.

And no, I didn't pull a "Thelma and Louise" and send the little sweeties over the cliff at high speed. 

But rather, I sat on a nearby bench, soaked up the sun, breathed in the salty, ocean air and realized how lucky I am to live in a place like this. 

I'm sure, now that you've seen this picture, any slight amount of pity you might have had for me and my nanny plight, is probably long gone. 

Yep. It's not a bad place to work.

My quiet moment did however come to an end, as all good things often do.

We ended up at the park and all of us, including Kitty, had a great time!

~tpg