Lizzy Angel Mindfreak

Elizabeth just finished telling us one of her stories. As always, it was odd, dramatic and ended abruptly. Everyone applauded. Then she suggested that I make up a story.

“Oh, no. Not me. I’m not good at making up stories. Not unless I’m sitting alone in front of the computer.”

“Yes you can. The computer is in your head, Mommy.”

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“Mommy, you’re Jesus.”

“I am?”

“Yes. Everybody is Jesus. Didn’t you know that?”

“Who told you that?”

“Nobody. I just know.”

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(crying and screaming at midnight... I run to her room.)

“Elizabeth, what’s wrong?!”

“There are monsters in my room!”

“Where are they, sweetie? I don’t see them.”

“The monsters came into the room with you.”

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Got No Class, Got No Clue

Soccer, kung fu, or gymnastics? Art, piano, or dance? Fencing? I want to enroll Elizabeth in some sort of class, but it's just not going well. I'm not sure if the problem is me... OK, it is me . Take ME out of the equation and the "problem" magically disappears. Lizzy is just not interested in joining a team or taking a class, and Michael isn't keen to sign her up (and thus spend money) for a class she won't enjoy or may not participate in fully. He has a point. We enrolled her in soccer last year, and while most kids ran up and down the field kicking their balls, Lizzy stopped to examine a flower. When the kids stood in "ready position" (standing in line with one foot atop their soccer balls), she sat on her ball at the end of the line. While other kids weaved their balls around little orange traffic cones, Lizzy picked up a cone, turned it upside, placed her soccer ball on top of it, and pretended to lick it like an ice cream cone. That is Lizzy i...

Score One for the Bad Guys

Apparently, Lizzy and Samantha have a soft spot in their hearts for the bad guys. After all, in their world the bad guys always get shot, beaten, or killed by super heroes, they always land in jail, and they’re never attractive. So when I heard strange phrases in hushed tones coming from the toy room the other day, phrases like, take off his clothes ... and hand me that bug ... and, put that on his vagina , I had to ask: What is going on in there?! After some debate between the two of them (n o, don’t tell mommy ... it’s OK, just don’t tell daddy ... and so on) they finally fessed up that they were playing a game with Barbies and other creatures wherein the bad guys win. Here’s how it works: In this game, the bad guys torture the good guys by making them take off all their clothes and then placing mind-controlling bugs on their vaginas . The bugs contain a virus that infects their hosts, thus enabling the bad guys to control the actions and behaviors of the good guys. Ergo, the b...

Just Call Me Ruby

Despite recent evidence to the contrary, it's no secret -- I don't like to exercise. Especially exercise for the sake of exercise... pushups in order to do more and better pushups, etc. To inspire me properly, everything must have purpose . It must be practical. This is why I stopped taking kung fu a few years ago (well, that and it's not easy to execute a perfect roundhouse kick when you're pregnant.) After 2-3 years of working hard to become a great fighter (not that I ever became one), I asked myself, What am I fighting against? I'm not going to join the Army. I don't live in a bad neighborhood. Yet, I'm spending hours and hours of my time learning how to poke some phantom menace in the ojos (that's eyes for those of you who aren't vicariously learning Spanish through your 1st grader). Enough was enough. It just wasn't practical anymore. And thus began the steady process of me falling out of shape. I knew I was in physical decline. T...

Cords and Fleece

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