Last Hannah-ism of 2010

Leave it to Hannah to save the best for last.


Back in the Spring, I posted Hannah's reaction to the news of the impending divorce. One of the best bits was her remarking that it must be almost dating season (which, she later told me, officially began on the Summer Solstice). Today she and Charlotte decided that, as we were going to a New Year's Eve party, we really needed to get dressed up for it and so, "Really, Mom, go and try on all of your fancy dresses. We'll help you choose."

On the third dress, the zipper got stuck and I had to ask Hannah to help me with it. With only the faintest sigh of exasperation she remarked:

"You know, if you'd get a boyfriend, you wouldn't have to ask me to do this."

Charlotte agreed.

"Yeah. Go get a boyfriend, Mommy."


Happy New Year!

Awesome Hannah-ism

Last night at dinner, Charlotte decided that she didn't like what was left of her meal. Rather than just saying something like "Mom, I'm done" or, "Thanks Mom, but I really don't like potatoes," she went straight for "Don't ever make these again. No me like them." And then she said it again, louder. And again. And . . .

I didn't get a chance to interrupt, but Charlotte doesn't like even the thought of not getting her point across, the thought that someone might not be paying attention. And she was tired. So we went pretty much from having a nice, fun, chatty dinner to Charlotte screaming and being removed from the table.

After I (gently) dumped her in her bed and returned to the table, Hannah said:

"Man! I do NOT want to get pregnant!"


See? Silver linings everywhere! You just have to look.

Hannah: My Seven-Year-Old Happy Pill

As she watched me get dressed this morning, Hannah looked me over approvingly and said, "Diamonds."

As she knew that I was already wearing the diamond earrings, I asked what she meant.

"If I were a 40 or 41 year old guy, that's what I'd think. You're gorgeous. Like diamonds."

As I'm still working on being less self-deprecating, it was hard not to add "But diamonds are cold and hard."

For once I took the compliment and mentally added, "Yes, like diamonds. Full of unexpected fire." I like that better.

Now I'll just work on believing it.

Hannah-ism, on Sibling Rivalry

The girls were sitting at the counter, finishing dinner, when Hannah challenged Charlotte to a race to the bottom of their milk glasses.

Silly me:

"Hannah, not everything has to be a competition."

Hannah, once again showing a frankness beyond her years:

"Mom, it's been a competition since the day you brought her home from the hospital."

Missing My Girlies

I went in to check on the girls last night, as I have almost every night since they were born. In fact, when I count it up, I think that there were fewer than two dozen nights I’d not been home to slip in, pull up their covers and kiss them good-night before I went to bed.

Hannah is always first, because if I wake Charlotte up, even a bit, I will have to either race from the room before she wakes all the way—meaning that I have to skip Hannah—or I will end up sitting with her until she falls asleep again.

So last night, I climbed up to kiss Hannah. I felt around the bed for her—she likes to make a nest and disappear—and then I remembered. “They’re with Thomas.” Not with me. And, lest you think I’ve completely lost it, it wasn’t that I’d forgotten where they were. It was complete reflex. Muscle memory. Heart memory. Whatever you want to call it.

They spent a couple of days with Thomas last week and Sunday, of course, but I’d been so exhausted from the seemingly interminable move and starting a new job and working late on the nights they were with him and then coming home to unpack boxes and trying to create a bit of order somewhere that, though of course I missed them, I hadn’t had time to notice how quiet and hollow and empty the house felt. How I felt.

I worked late again tonight, but the minute I got home and put the key in the lock I began to cry. That’s one way (though absolutely not recommended) to season your scrambled egg dinner when you can’t remember in which box you packed the salt.

So tonight, I vacuumed. I unpacked more boxes. I worked. I wrote this. I did laundry. And the dishes. And talked to my BIL and to my sister. And unpacked more boxes and worked a bit more. I made Charlotte’s bed so it wouldn’t still look like there was a little person in it, though that seemed like a good idea last night. I put on their bedtime music and tried to convince myself that it will get better. Everyone says it will. Maybe it will. But not today.

Hannah-isms

Hannah's new "OMG-MOM-WHY-CAN'T-I-LISTEN-TO-IT-AGAIN" favorite song is Green Hills Race to California, from the Emerson Hart album, Cigarettes and Gasoline.

A single misheard word led to a discussion awkward enough to make me glad she was sitting directly behind me. I'm not sure I would have been able to explain why I was cringing and crying with laughter at the same time.

The lyrics in question:

How do I go back to California

How do I leave the green fields here

Warm nights and your sweet magnolia


Hannah:
Mom, what's a magnolia again?

Me:
It's a tree. It has a beautiful flower.

Hannah:
So when he sings "Warm nights IN your sweet magnolia . . ."

Me:
Wha . . ?

Hannah:
So, how did he do that, exactly? Did he just peel open one of the petals and slide in?

Me:
Um, I'm not sure that's . . .

Hannah:
Did he make himself really small to do that? Or was it a really big magnolia?

Me:
Hannah, I don't think . . .

Hannah:
Did he spend all night there? I wonder what it felt like.

Me:
Hey! It's time for Marketplace! Let's talk about this later!

Mommy's Little Metal Head

Ever seen a kid hanging upside down over the back of a couch, laughing her little head off because the dog is licking her feet? Did the kid you saw have what looked like a piece of metal growing from her gum? No? Yeah, we thought that was pretty weird, too.

A few weeks ago Hannah lost two of her top, front teeth: the big one in front (technical term is “the #8”) and the little one to the side of it (technical term is “I forgot to ask”). The #8 tooth was growing in and seemed to be taking up the majority of the space created by the loss of both teeth. The dentist said the tooth being crowded would eventually make an appearance, but it would be forced to go in front of or behind its pushy sibling.

A week ago, it seemed as though the heretofore-missing tooth was indeed emerging—directly behind, and seemingly glued to, old #8. Hannah said she could feel it, but that it didn’t hurt and, as it was just the slight swelling of the gum, I thought I’d give it a couple of days before calling the dentist.

The next day I saw what looked like metal. At first, Thomas thought it was just that second tooth with spit on it. So he wiped it off. Not spit. Metal. Well, could it be tin foil from a burrito wrapper? But it didn’t move or tear when we wiped it with a napkin. So I had my friend, Andi, look at it. “WTF?? How did she get metal in her mouth?!” Exactly.

Now, most people might have only thought “What on Earth did she eat?” I always like to run a parallel search, so my second—and temporarily dominant—thought track was “OMG—when she was two and tripped in the playroom and got her very first black eye, did she ONLY hit her cheek?” And “Was there ever any other time when she fell and hit or cut her mouth . . .” Fortunately, sanity returned—after all, something like that would have shown up on an X-ray at some point, right? (Turns out, the technical answer is “probably.”)

On Monday, I spent 20 minutes on the phone with the dentists’ office, trying to explain why we needed to be seen, and why it wasn’t going to wait until next week. They couldn’t get her in until Wednesday, so I took a photo just in case the thing suddenly disappeared and they start thinking mommy’s a little crazy:

[[photo deleted.]]

On Wednesday afternoon, as we waited for the dentist, Hannah kept picking at her tooth. For a moment, I thought that it really had been tin foil and that she’d finally managed to remove it. But she had just pushed it further up under her gum, adding to the time it would take Dr V to extract this:

No, not the pencil. That's a 3mm metal disc. Not a sequin. A rigid, metal disc that had been wedged between her gum and tooth. We still don't know how it ended up there, but have to assume that it was in something Hannah ate, and that somehow she hadn't noticed it .

Dr V said we were fortunate that there was no infection, just a little swelling and irritation. Apparently she sees a lot of kids who wait too long before coming in and end up with a massive infection--but this was the first time she had to remove a metal disc.

And it's not just Hannah. One of these days, I'll post the photo of the broken key that Charlotte found in her Jamba Juice.

Hannah-isms

Me, in response to Charlotte whining about wanting to turn the TV on "all by myselk!" [sic]:

"Dude, stop whining--I said I would give you the remote!"

Hannah:
"Um, I thought we agreed that you would not be calling anyone "DUDE" anymore?"

Me:
"We agreed that I wouldn't call you "dude" anymore."

Hannah:
"Yeah, well, I don't think Charlotte likes it, either."

Noted. I'll add that to my List of Things to Stop Saying by New Year's Eve.

Project Runway, Hannah Style

This weekend, Hannah made her first evening gown:












She constructed it from one of the cloaks left over from her Harry Potter birthday party and a hair clip that looks like a crystal flower. Not bad for a seven-year old, eh?

Hannah-isms

While we were having breakfast this morning, Zsu Zsu the chicken started squawking.

Charlotte:
Be quiet Zsu Zsu! Bad chicken!

Hannah:
Zsu Zsu really is annoying but Sophia is being very good today!

Me:
Hannah, um, Sophia is dead.

Hannah:
I know! And so she's being really quiet, isn't she?



After an altercation with her friend Jack:

Hannah:
Well he started it!

Jack:
No, she started it!

Hannah:
NO! I FINISHED it.


Well then.

Lesson for the Day

Never come between a four-year old chocoholic and chocolate cake.

I took the girls to Pamplemousse this morning. Delectable treats in many different flavors: mango, passion fruit, chocolate mint, triple chocolate mousse, pamplemousse (grapefruit) and of course, a lovely, lovely Chocolate Chocolate cake. Charlotte generally prefers the triple chocolate mousse, but as they were already out of it (at 10:33!) and I told the girls they had to share a little cake and that it was Hannah's turn to choose. Hannah chose the Chocolate, Chocolate.

Charlotte was not amused. Until she tasted one of the chocolate triagles that adorned the top of the cake. Before Hannah had finished one of these triangles, Charlotte had inhaled the remaining four. Hannah was forced to stop mid-way through a horrified gasp that was tinged with laughter as Charlotte grabbed the fork and dove in. A race ensued, which Charlotte won by employing two of her favorite tactics: First: take advantage of the fact that Hannah talks from the moment she gets up in the morning until 12 minutes after she falls asleep; and second: steal my fork and shovel with both hands.

Hannah finally admitted defeat. When asked if she was ever full when there was still chocolate cake to be had, Charlotte answered with a curt "No, " as she finished up the last curls of dark chocolate scattered around the plate.

I should also add that she once stabbed me with a fork when I got too close to her half of the triple chocolate mousse cake that we were sharing for my birthday.


Now repeat after me:
Never come between a four-year old chocoholic and chocolate cake.

Hannah-isms

I.
Hannah:
Daddy, can I [[whatever it was]]?

Thomas:
No.

Hannah, not even bothering to wait until Thomas had left the room:
Mommy, can I [[same whatever it was]]?

Me:
No.

Thomas:
Hannah, why did you just ask Mommy when I JUST told you No?

Hannah, without missing a beat and with a smidge of attitude:
Uh, because she's older and she owns the house?
(only true on one count)


Sadly, Thomas did not find this as amusing as I.



II.
Hannah, gazing up at me:
37, 38, 39 . . .

Me:
What are you counting?

Hannah:
The little lines around your eyes. I lost track of the little holes [the pores] in your face.

Hannah-isms

1.
Charlotte is not a morning person. She comes by that honestly.

Hannah is most definitely a morning person. Charlotte does not appreciate this, but Hannah persists in her belief that the power of positive chattiness will convert her little sister. So I couldn't help but laugh when, a few mornings ago, I heard:

"Good morning Char Char! Can I have a good morning hug? C'mon, give Nana a little huggie."

And then

"Awwww, I got a good morning shove!"



2.
With a little time before art class and no Philz in sight, I asked Hannah if she'd like a Frappuccino:

"A crappuccino? What's a crappuccino?!"

Exactly.

3.
I turn 40 tomorrow. Today, Hannah informed me that I don't look 40.

39, maybe.

But definitely not 40.

Update on Hannah's Art Contest Entry

Hannah's Poppy earned an Honorable Mention at the art contest sponsored by the Loma Prieta District Womens' Club and one of the judges said that she would like to buy it when Hannah has her first gallery show!

Reminder: Hannah is six.

She literally glowed when her teacher gave her the news.

I guess I'd better get started on transforming my plant room into an art studio for the girls.

Hannah Takes First Prize!

Hannah's Poppy took first prize for her age group in an art contest sponsored by the Woman's Club of Palo Alto this weekend:


The winners advance to the district competition on March 9.

Hannah's Gallery

I'm making up for lost time: there are new posts up on Hannah's Gallery.

Inadvertently Inappropriate, part II

1. Hannah, on seeing a photo of a model:

Mommy, why is her skirt all the way up to her vagina?

Why indeed, peanut.


2. Charlotte, still unable to pronounce the blended sound, "ow":

Mommy! You c[o]unt! You c[o]unt! One, two, three . . . .

Her speech therapist didn't understand at first why I thought this an important thing to work on. But once I told her that this had been yelled at me in a crowded store and in a coffee shop, she figured it out.

Little Slices of Heaven

For Charlotte, it's Disneyland:




For Hannah, it's her art (well, Disneyland, too):

Kairos

Just a little sketch Hannah whipped out this morning. And by "whipped out," I mean "in under two minutes."

Hannah's Gallery

I've finally updated Hannah's Art Gallery.

There are three new posts, covering 2008 (a small sample) through this week.

Stroll through and remind yourself that she's only six.