catch a tiger on a monkey's toe
if he hollers on his toe
let. him. GO!
H has been saying this, her version, for a really long time. And she eenies often. I haven't corrected her- for one because I think less of the racist origins of this rhyme and have a surreal image of a monkey catching a tiger on his toe- also because my questioning authority has gotten out of hand and I say- who am I to correct it? There is no right way (except sometimes, of course there is.) I have heard people tell H their version, try to say it with her to get the monkey out and off the tigers toe- but she seems to prefer it her way- as do I.
H and S are having a parade through the house right now, wearing conductor hats- one authentic that came with a train set, the other, mine, a target special, which looks better on H than it does on me (but she can't have it!) and also makes her look alarmingly like a teenager (and thats not the only reason why!) H is shrieking "CHOO CHOO! The Animal express! We are the best of the BEST!" S is going along, chiming in with the song here and there. S has a goose egg bruise on her forehead from running on a paved path downhill and falling. Both H and S have their faces painted. They were painted by me, and I don't have the good stuff, so there are smears of face makeup and glitter all over. It is quite a parade.
Why are their faces painted? Why is S bruised? Why am I beat?
Insert a scooby doo wavey sequence. It all started back at the mansion when...
Last night, H started making her case for going to the zoo today. She seems to know how I am on Mondays- plan-less and unorganized, and she takes advantage. I said ok to the zoo- even though we also had no food in the house and a gazillion things to do. There are always a gazillion things to do. It was hot, and its always at least 80 degrees hotter at the zoo, so I threw out a casual 'hey do you want to go the arboretum instead?' Imagine my shock and awe when that was met with YAY!!! ARBORETUM!!! I asked 5 times, are you SURE you'd rather go to the arboretum? Than the zoo? Repeat after me 'I would rather go to the arboretum than the zoo and I do solemnly swear I will not expect to go to the zoo after lunch.'
Before our plans changed, I had already laid out the zoo rules, including that we were not going to get our faces painted. We have not ever had our faces painted at this particular zoo, but if we don't cover the rules and expectations before we're out the door things get crazy. I said (why?) that I would paint their faces when we got home if they wanted. If they wanted? What was I born yesterday?
After the arboretum, the goose egg fall, the trip to the store to replenish our supply of food, I spontaneously stopped at the Gap. I never shop at the Gap, but it was there. There was a sign about backpacks, and I have become backpack obsessed. I was panicking that we didn't have backpacks yet even though its not even August and I was sure they would all backpacks will be sold out of everywhere as I hem and haw and look for the backpack of MY dreams even though I am not the one going to kindergarten. I need a stand in backpack for now, incase of emergency, while I continue my search. Once inside the belly of the Gap, I fell into their trap of buying the backpack's matching/attaching lunchbox, I fell into their additional trap of applying for a store credit card to save an additional 20% (which combined with their sale got me one of the backpack lunch box combos for free. So there. I don't care if it was a trap.)
S had a dirty diaper and was all but taking it off in the store. H was doing jumping jacks and cartwheels in the roped off section of the line. This is the schmancy Gap, in the high falutin area I can hardly stand to frequent. Where all the kids match the parents. And me, with my motley, sweaty, sticky crew with big bruised on their heads and dirty knees from falling all over the arboretum. Me with my dress that S had been using as a tissue all day. Then I changed S's diaper, tailgate style in the parking lot.
We got home, finally, ate the popsicles that were promised to get us through the food shopping, fit in some trying to figure out payroll, printing out more forms that need to be filled and faxed, and painted glitter butterfly faces on the girls faces that were already sticky from mango popsicles. (I had forgot about the face painting promise.) H sighed and said "Mom- you are the best artist EVER. I love that you made up your own design." (yes, she really said that.) Then she went on and on and ON about how beautiful she felt with this grease paint on her face. My continual assurances that she was already beautiful went ignored- I think so far she believes that, that she's beautiful. Which of course she is- but how to keep her seeing it that way? I wish her never to doubt it.