Snapshot

Hazel is really into cooking.  Really.  She currently wants to be a pastry chef and seems to have an insatiable appetite for watching, helping, and learning from me in the kitchen.  We never seemed to have enough time for that during the school year, but we're going to boost her skill set and experience as much as possible this summer.  On that note, here's the conversation we just had this evening.
****

Hazel - "Mom, you know what I want for Christmas or whatever the closest gift holiday is, which is Christmas?"

What.

"A cooking set.  And I want you to sign me up for cooking classes."

What's in "a cooking set?"

"A bowl, a whisk, a wooden spoon, teaspoons, tablespoons, measuring cups, and, if you think I can handle it, a filter."

What's a "filter?"

"Not the thing that has the little holes, but the thing that we squeezed the lemons to make lemonade."

Strainer (not colander.)

"Right."

What kind of cooking classes do you want to take?

"I want to take gourmet cooking classes." (pronounced GER-met)

How do you know that word?

"I read it in The Fran with Four Brains.  She took germet cooking classes."

What does that word mean?

"I don't know.  I just read it.  But I think it means serious cooking.  What does it mean?"

That's pretty good.  It does mean serious cooking.  And fancy.  And sometimes difficult.

"Aah, that's 'germet.'"

Ginger - "Are you guys talking about Kermit the frog over there?!"

"Ginger, no, GER-met.  It means difficult."

What kind of things do you want to learn how to cook?

"A Thanksgiving turkey,
seafood,
every kind of bread,
about every kind of dessert,
and something like stuffing.
Ice cream,
pumpkin chocolate chip muffins by myself (without your help, Mama.)
And that's pretty much all."

****
It's like a dream come true, in daughter form.  I know the county offers all kinds of cooking classes; I've taken a few.  She's totally old enough to do one with me, especially a baking one, like cupcakes.  And she also wants me to shop for her at a cooking store. Christmas for Hazel, DONE.

To Have the Fug

I just passed through the kitchen and found this note on the counter:I figured it's just another of the thousand papers laying around the house that Hazel has written or drawn on, and picked it up to throw it away.

But I couldn't. Because it was taped down. Taped to a goody plate some friends had brought us earlier today. Ed looked over and laughed at my confusion. "Hazel have the fug? Ginger to have the fug? What does that mean?" I asked him.

Earlier tonight, just after dinner, the girls asked if they could have something from the plate for dessert. We opened it up and I told them all their options. Ginger chose a peppermint taffy. Hazel had a chocolate cookie. And then they both said they wanted the only piece of fudge tomorrow. "Yeah, well, that's only if I don't eat it," I told them.

Hazel took it to heart. Later , she was clearing the table under Ed's direction and told him she had to go do something quickly. A few minutes later she came down from the office with this sign she had made, and asked Ed to tape it to the plate for her. Because she knows her Mom well. And because there is no messing around when it comes to "the fug."

Snapshot

Tonight, 7:55 pm. I am just taking Poppy out of the bath. Ed has just put the other girls to bed and retired with ice cream in front of the TV. So naturally, Ginger comes down to see what I'm up to.

"Dad forgot to turn on the music. Did Poppy have a bath?"

"Yep."

"I want to have a bath."

"It's too late for you to have a bath tonight; it's bedtime. I'll give you a bath tomorrow."

Low rumbling sound: Ginger's temper boiling. Chin down, eyebrows down, glaring out from underneath.

"If you give me a bath tomorrow, then I'm going to hit you on the head!"

Eastwood squinty eyes. Cue western stand-off music.

"Really? What happens if you hit me on the head?"

Trying to hold the glare, but a smile creeping in.

"I get time out."

"That's right."

A moment to think and recompose squinty glare. Cogs of logic turning. How. to. get. her. way?

"Then you BETTER give me a bath TONIGHT because I DON'T want time-out!"

The reasoning is impeccable. But we're still doing baths tomorrow.

Snapshot

Wednesday, 1:33 pm. Poppy is sleeping in the stroller. The rest of us are huddled in the back corner of Bed, Bath and Beyond, sniffing Yankee candles. And we have sniffed quite a few.

I am fielding a lot of, "Mom, what's this one called? Mom, I want the cherry one! Mom, what's this?"

"A breakable votive holder. Put it back. Here, smell this one."

"What's it called?"

"Clean Cotton. What do you think?"

Sniff. "Fine."

"Really? I can't smell it, it doesn't smell like anything to me."

Pause. Thinking.

"Mooooom," (impatient sigh), "that's because it's CLEAN cotton!"

Guess which one we got.

Snapshot

Tonight, after dinner.  Hazel is showing me the mask she has been working on and embellishing all evening.

"Mom, I think I'll bring my mask to preschool on Wednesday for sharing day."

"Actually, Hazel, I was thinking on Wednesday we could take Ginger to Peewees and you and I could have a special Mommy-Hazel morning together."

Warm fuzzies, warm fuzzies.

Pause.  Crestfallen expression.  Whiney voice.

"But Mooooooom, I want to go to preschool.  And Wednesday is my SHARING DAY!"

Pause.  Try not to look crestfallen.  Do NOT whine.  You may be minimally pathetic.

"OK.  I'll just have a special Mommy morning by myself."

Big smile.  "Yeah, and I'll go to preschool!"
Ginger - "Yeah, and I'll go to Peewees!"

She's only five and she's already left the nest.  And the next one's not far behind.

Snapshot

Today, 3:23pm. Hazel has just come in from playing outside in the snow. She's sitting at the counter eating a chocolate chip cookie warm from the oven. (I'm the best Mom ever.)

"Mom, I made snow angels outside."

"I know, I saw. What else did you do?"

"Well, there was something strange. I saw something strange in the bushes that's red and I don't know what it was. But it can't be E.T.'s heart because it was not glowing."

Phew. E.T.'s heart is not in our bushes.

Snapshot

Today, 2:33 pm. Hazel and I have just made a cake for Ed & my anniversary. Hazel is licking the beaters and I'm cleaning up. Hazel finds a stray chocolate chip on the counter and eats it. She ponders.

"Mom, I wish I was the SWEETEST girl ever!"

"Mhm, you are sweet." Only half-listening.

"Mom, do you know what sweet girls eat?"

"What?"

"Well, they eat chocolate chips for breakfast. And for dinner they eat icing. And for lunch they eat candy."

Yum! She's got my attention now. "Oh. Anything else?"

"What they make their bed is some candy sprinkles and candy picture frames and icing, that's what they use for their beds. And for their lights they use candy strings and light bulbs that look like candy. And different kinds of sweet things they use for just everything. Sweet girls just love sweet things!"

My options:

1) Lecture on the importance of moderating sugar intake.

2) Offer to play Candyland.

3) Admit that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree...not far at all.

Snapshot

Tonight, 8:47 pm. Hazel and I are laying in the dry bathtub, in my dark bathroom, trying to be quiet. Ginger's looking for us and Ed, her turn at hide-and-seek.

Hazel strokes my cheek. "Mommy, I love you."

"Thank you sweetie, I love you too."

"Mom, if you weren't here our family *******." The limited acoustics of loud kid-whispering in an echo-y chamber manifest themselves.

"Our family what?"

"If you weren't here our family would be ******." Very loud whispering.

"Our family would be WHAT?" Voices on now. I really want to hear this.

"Mom, if you weren't here our family would be CANCELLED."

Heard it that time. Eyes smarting, throat lumping. Ginger's feet come pattering down the hall, closer. Hazel's hair smells like coconut and flowers. I kiss the top.

"Thanks, sweetie," I choke out. "I'm glad it's not cancelled."

Snapshot

A few days ago in the afternoon, in the car going to Grandma's house.

Hazel: "Mom I wish I could be a Mom today."

Me: Why do you want to be a mom?

H: Because being a mom is fun.

Me: What's fun about being a mom?

H: Well you get to drive a car, and work on the computer and all kinds of fun things.

Me: That's true, those things are fun.

Pause. I think maybe the topic is over.

H: And I really really really really love my kids.

Me: Who are your kids?

H: Well I don't know, we'll have to see.

Pause. Maybe over now?

H: But their names are Molly, Dolly, Cholly, Zolly and Prolly!

That's my girl. Naming the kids is the most important part.

Snapshot

Yesterday, 12:33pm, driving home in the car. I start to sing along with the kids' cd playing.

"Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty-"

Hazel, tactfully: "Mom, Mom, Mom. You can just play the piano. Like this." She wiggles her fingers in the air.

Translation: Shut up, Mom. You're ruining the song.

Got it.

Snapshot

Tonight, 7:11 pm. Eating one of the most awesome dinners I've made in a long time - supreme nachos (NOT Core)!

Hazel, pushing food around her plate: "I don't like this."

"How can you not like this? It's got chips and cheese! It's delicious!"

"It tastes awful."

Ouch.

"Hazel, don't say that. It hurts my feelings."

"Well it hurts my feelings when you make awful food. So you need to say sorry, Mommy."

I- I- uuuhhh...

Snapshot

Today, 4:40 pm. I'm in the kitchen washing dishes. Ginger wanders in.

"What are we dooooin'?"

"Well, I'm washing dishes, and then I'm going to make dinner."

She puts her yucky face on. "I don't like dinner."

Sigh. "I know." Take a moment to think fondly back to when they used to at least ask what we're having for dinner before saying they don't like it...

"I want brownies."

Turn off the water. Dry my hands. Prepare for battle. "It's not time for brownies. If you're hungry you can have a snack. Your choices are carrots or an orange."

"Um...." Wait. "Umm..." Shift weight to other foot. Fold arms. Put smiling expectant face on, hoping for the best.

"Um....I choose....pancakes!"

Snapshot

Tonight, 6:36 pm. Everyone's quietly eating their spaghetti.

Hazel: "Mom, I wish we had a real dog in our family."

Sigh. It had to come up eventually, and I'm sure this won't be the last time. Best to take an honest, direct approach.

"You know, Hazel, I like dogs a lot, too. But dogs poop all the time, and I don't really like to clean up dog poop."

Especially after New York.

The girls consider.

Hazel: "How about a dog that doesn't have a bum?"

"All dogs have bums."

Ginger: "How about a cat?"

Dang. They're getting smart and ganging up on me. Time to play my only remaining card.

"Who wants ice cream?"

Snapshot

Today, 9:10 am. Ed is sweeping the floor after breakfast.

Hazel: "Dad, can you play with me?"

Ed: "In just a minute - right now I'm doing some work."

Hazel, looking dubious: "But you're not going to work. Do you know what going to work means?"

Ed: "What?"

Hazel: "Going to work means you go to a big building and pass out lots of money!"

Snapshot

Today, 9:04 am. Pulling out of the driveway, both girls in the back seat.

Hazel: "Nana is a Mom and a Grandma."

"Yep, she's my Mom and your Grandma."

Ginger: "Bobba!"

"Yep, Bobba is a Dad and a Grandpa."

Ginger: "And...Uncle Dave!"

"Mhm, Dave is a Daddy and an uncle."

Hazel: "And Michelle...is a Michelle and an aunt!"

That she is, that she is.

Snapshot

Yesterday, 8:51 am. Hazel and her friend Bradley are talking in the back seat of the car on the way to preschool.

Hazel coughs.

Me: "Hazel, cover your mouth when you cough please."

Hazel: "Bradley, I have mouth germs in my mouth."

Bradley: "What does that mean?"

Hazel: "Well it means I have a little cough and when I cough a little bit they come out!"

Aw, cute. Three-year-olds are so cute. I'll have to remember this for a Snapshot blog post.

Bradley: "You mean like Ghostbusters?"

Hazel: "Yeah, like Ghostbusters!"

Peals of laughter.

Um, OK, don't know how to explain that part but at least amazingly they seem to understand the connection. They're cute, but their logic is truly elusive.

Snapshot

Today, 1:13 pm. Eating lunch and eagerly anticipating the arrival of our neighbor Gillian for a playdate.

"Maybe when Gillian comes over we can make muffins!"

Hazel: "Yeah and I can be a chef and Gillian can be a chef and Ginger can be a chef."

"Well, Ginger's going to be taking a nap."

Hazel: "Yeah and Ginger will be a napper. Because that's what nappers do."

"And what will I be?"

Hazel: "Well you are the Mom."

"And what do Moms do?"

This ought to be good.

Hazel: Thinking. "Well, Moms...work on the computer and just make EVERYTHING!"

Yeah, in that order.

When I Was a Mom

Everyday, often several times a day, Hazel throws her imagination, emerging complex verb structures, and powers of empathy into the big pot that is her brain, stirs, and comes out with a "When I was..." statement.

"When I was a Mom, I change my baby's diapers because that's what Moms do with their babies."

"When I was a sandbox, I ate sand, do I? Because sand is my food!"

I know the proper form is actually "if I was..." or if you're really a stickler, "if I were..." but I make no effort whatsoever to correct her. I don't know if that's actually what she means or if the line between reality and make-believe is still fuzzy enough that she thinks she could be, or has been, these things. Either way, I enjoy her comments immensely.

"When I was ice cream, people eat me. Because I'm yummy in their stomachs and their stomachs like me."

But mostly it's a lot of, "When I was a Mom."

"When I was a Mom, I cook at the stove and touch hot things, do I?" (The "do I?" is my favorite part.)

"When I was a Mom, I can drive our car and I take you to the grocery store."

Sometimes it's, "When I was your Mom..." Then I explain to her that she can't be my mom because Nana is my mom. And I'm her mom. And when she's a mom she'll have a new kid we haven't met yet. I know it's complicated but I tell her anyway. Last time we went through it she considered for a minute and said, "Yeah, and when Nana was little I was her mom."

I just smiled and said, "Yep!" Plenty of time for boring truth later.

Snapshot

Last night, 6:12 pm. We're eating dinner.

Hazel: "Mommy, what's the favorite part of your life?"

"My favorite parts were when I married Daddy, then when you were born, then when Ginger was born!"

Pat myself on the back, good answer.

"What's the favorite part of your life?

Hazel: "My favorite part was seeing you get smaller and smaller and then you were a baby and I was your Mom."

Benjamin Button flashes to mind. Then I remember Hazel's obsession with mother-child relationships and her still-fluid conception of time and tense. Phew, I'm good. I'm still the Mom.

Snapshot

Yesterday, 5:44 pm.

Ugh. Again. It's dinner time again. What do we have? Lots of leftovers. Ugh. OK, leftovers it is.

"Hazel, here are your choices for dinner: (think, what do we have?) waffles,..."

Hazel: "WAFFLES!!!"

"...or casserole..."

Hazel: (Silence.)

"...or hard-boiled eggs."

Hazel: "EGGS!"

"OK, you can have waffles and hard-boiled eggs."

Hazel: (Running down the hall) "Ginger! Ginger! We're going to have...uh...we're going to have AWFULS and OLD BURNED EGGS for dinner!"

Guess I'm not the only one who hates leftover night.