Montecito Mama

Last night, Lucie and I brought dinner to a church family whose grandfather had passed away recently. Lucie felt very sad that someone had died, but was happy to assist in the pasta making and even offered to make a second batch just in case anyone else should die. She even helped to deliver the meal, and this is the trail of her mind on the way there: "How did that man get to heaven? Did he walk or have to drive? Maybe he flew there with angels. Where do you hold on to the angels while you are flying so that you don't fall off? My would like to fly with those angels! Will God be at the house we are going to? Did God drive there? Which car does God drive? If God is there, my is going to be shy. I sure hope God likes this pasta. When my grow up, my am going to be a cheerleader so I can kick my legs and twirl my short skirt." And on, and on, and on.

The kids and I walked off dinner tonight with a skateboard/tricycle/stroller ride through the neighborhood. I would've liked a little more cardio to the excursion, but then we would've missed conversations with strangers, a finger ouwy that is all better, and lots and lots of snails. Lucie: "Mom, can you hold my snails for me?" Mom: "No." Lucie: "It's okay. My will put them in my pocket. No one else lives in there. Nobody."

Grayson and I saw back-to-back plays on Saturday. First it was "Snow White and the Seven Dwarves" with the entire Wagner clan, during which Lucie was compelled to yell at the stage, "No, Snow White! Don't eat the apple!" Then the boy and I saw Cirque Eloize Nebbia, sort of a Latin American Cirque de Soile. A hidden trampoline, corks raining from the ceiling, women on trampezes; it was breathtaking!

I, Janice Wagner, do hereby resolve that holidays will no longer be fueled by sticky candy necklaces, fruity lollipop rings and sugar-filled straws. Those days are behind us. Chocolate is now an over-18-only activity. Heretofore, the fun of holidays will not be found in multiple trips to Kmart, baskets full of that grass stuff that always gets everywhere and is impossible to clean up, and food coloring (don't even get me started on the food coloring, not to mention the sprinkles!). Instead, I will strive to take advantage of empty movie theaters and short lines at the In-N-Out Drive thru. As a family. And perhaps find a little enjoyment in watching the rookie parents with their blue-dyed hands attempt to lure their toddlers away from the chocolate bunny with a baked ham. This is my solemn vow. Amen.

Lucie is sharing the Good News on this Good Friday. In her case, though, the news is a bit grim. "Jesus died," she says to strangers with a knowing grin. "He died, and then forgot about all of our stuff." Or so goes her version of the story. This religious fixation is carrying over into all aspects of her 2-year-old life, including arts and crafts. The picture above, she tells me, is of Jesus' belly button. Further proof of his humanity, I suppose.

Bad news, people. Today was the worst day in Grayson's wiener's life. Or so he claims. I'm not worried. I'm confident that there are better days in store for said wiener. To be sure, I've learned my lesson that, when brushing peanut shells from the front side of his clothing, care must be taken in certain southern regions. Point taken. And he's learned not to be quite so enthusiastic when pulling the vacuum cleaner handle back and forth. "My wiener hates vacuuming and says that..." he sobbed after the second assault. "Uh-uh," I stopped him cold. "I learned a long time ago not to listen to talking wieners." Wanting a piece of the action for herself, Lucie sat down on the couch with a bowl of cashews and soon declared, "Uh-oh Mommy. My found two nuts in my panties!" Low brow humor knows no depths. What's next? Pull my finger?

Nanny Lauren was married this evening. The nuptials were celebrated with twilight toasts at the Maritime Museum, followed by dancing and merriment. Lucie couldn't stop gushing over Lauren's beautiful gown and the flowers in her hair. She sashayed around the dance floor and twirled her own frock, pausing long enough to do the worm and bust a couple of moves. Grayson was annoyed with all of the glass tinkling and the kissing that followed, but couldn't be stopped once the dance music began. The boy owned the dance floor. The sprinkler, running man, Egyptian, even his moonwalk brought the house down. Lucie was worried on the way home, though, that her participation in the wedding dance meant that she too was now married. "My want flowers in my hair when I get married," she says. "But my want pink ones."

Lucie woke me up yesterday squealing with joy. "My so happy, Mommy!" she said. "Why?" I asked? "Because Grayson told to me that today is my birthday!" One child crying, the little boy genius laughing, and a mommy caught in the middle between admiration for a pretty brilliant scheme and hurt to see such joy crushed.