The Baby's Baby

With the exception of Kid 5, none of my children expressed an interest in having a younger sibling.  It's ironic since she's my only child who isn't going to have one.  She's consistently asked for a baby brother or sister for about the last year and a half. Last year, around Christmastime, she said, "Do you know what I want for Christmas?"  Due to the plethora of toy commercials on television I envisioned her asking for a remote control helicopter or Playfoam.  Without hesitation, she said, "I just want - A PONY!  And a baby brother."  

When I told her no and to pick something else, she, of course, asked why.  I told her we didn't have room for either.  She responded that babies don't take up that much room and they aren't hard to take care of.  I told her that her opinion will surely change upon the birth of her first child.  

Because Kid 5 has been denied the one thing she truly wants, she is obsessed with baby dolls.  I swear, they multiply by the hour.  She has all types; big ones, small ones, white ones, black ones, Asian ones, bald ones and ones with hair that look like a rat lives somewhere on their head.  She has one that has eyes that are far to big for it's head that I refused to buy her because it was so creepy.  She conned Daddy into buying it for her.  I forgot to send him the memo.  

There is one doll in particular that is by far her favorite.  It's about the size of a three month old baby and is fairly realistic. Kid 5 found some old baby clothes that are size 0-3 months and they fit the doll perfectly.  She does not have a name for the doll, but simply calls her "Baby."  Baby goes everywhere with us; Walmart, Chi Chi's, Five Guys, Trader Joe's, and Kohls.  She sits in shopping carts and in highchairs albeit a bit wonky.  Kid 5 never wants to leave Baby in the car and there are times when I really wish she would.  

Baby looks so realistic that people think she's real.  I get dirty looks from moms, dads, grandmas, grandpas, and store employees.  There was a lady at Trader Joe's who began to yell at me because Baby wasn't wearing a hat and socks and wasn't wrapped in a blanket before she realized the doll wasn't real. I've almost gotten accustomed to the narrowed eyes and shake of the head as people eye the bald pink little almost-person slumped in my shopping cart.  I've lost count of how many times I've heard, "Oh my god, I thought that doll was real.  I couldn't believe you'd let your little girl carry your baby like that."  I'm just waiting for the day that someone calls the cops.  

For now, Kid 5 totes Baby around everywhere.  I wait patiently while she wraps her in a blanket and puts her to bed or buckles her into a seat belt in the car.  And I take pictures. Because I have to remind her when she has her own baby how easy it was back then.  

Ready for bed

 

Grandpa with Baby and Jacob

             

A day in the life with Kid 5: Faces and Feelings

A day in the life with Kid 5: Faces and Feelings: The ability to express oneself is supposedly a sign of emotional maturity.  Or maybe it's actually the ability to express oneself appropriat...

Faces and Feelings

The ability to express oneself is supposedly a sign of emotional maturity.  Or maybe it's actually the ability to express oneself appropriately that is the sign of emotional maturity.  At any rate, when it comes to expressing herself, Kid 5 takes the cake.  Long before she could speak, Kid 5 would tell us exactly how she felt, and fortunately due to digital technology, I can share it with all of you.  

This picture was taken when Kid 5 was about three months old.  I was trying to make her smile, and was actually successful.  Then the flash went off and this picture was the result how exactly how she felt about it.  

As time went by I have captured many of Kid 5's expressive moments, and thought I would share a few  of my favorites.  When Kid 5 is happy, her smile is infectious and reaches all the way to her toes.

Her annoyance is just as apparent, albeit much more entertaining.  I assume by this picture she didn't not think much of the photographer, or he had really bad breath.  

In this picture, Kid 5 must have seen another girl in the same costume.  Either that or she decided she didn't like the wig.

  

My favorite Kid 5 expression is one I get quite often.  I call it her "Don't make me smile because I really want to stay mad" look.  This is what sassy looks like.

They say a picture's worth a thousand words, and at times that is true, but Kid 5's face is priceless.  

If you like it then you should've put a lock on it....

I was in the store not too long ago when I noticed a young woman call out a boy's name with a not-quite panicked tone. She did not receive a reply and she called out again, a pitch higher and slightly louder.  The third time she called out, she was in an all out panic.  When the store employees put out an alert and found her four-year-old playing with the electronics nearby, my heart went out to her and the memories of my own bad-mommy moments came flooding back.

I've lost Kid 5 twice - in our house.  The first time she was not quite two.  She was being a good little girl taking a nap in her crib, in her bedroom, with the door closed.  At some point I quietly opened the door to check on her since she had been asleep longer than usual.  I was shocked to find she wasn't in her crib.  My head swiveled quickly as glanced around the room where I saw nothing amiss and no child anywhere.  I looked in the closet, under the crib, and behind the rocking chair to no avail.  I ran out of the room and searched the house.  She was nowhere to be found.  I called to her over and over, and didn't hear a single peep, which was highly unusual for Kid 5.  I went back into her bedroom and considered where she could have disappeared to and how.  Then I saw the curtains quiver.  Kid 5 had climbed up on to her dresser that was against the window, pushed aside the curtains, somehow slipped through the blinds, and wedged herself between the top of the dresser and the window where she sat on the window sill, completely out of view.  At least from inside of the room.  The dresser was moved a nano-second after pulling her out. 

Nothing however, compares to the Second Great Escape of Kid 5.  It was a nice Saturday afternoon when Kid 5 was about three years old.  Kid 2, Kid 5, and I were the only ones home.  I was watching television with Kid 5 in the office at the front of the house.  Kid 2 was at the kitchen table eating and watching television.  I have to point out that from the doorway of the office you can see the kitchen table immediately ahead.  We're talking a straight shot - if you were golfing and your drive put you here, we're talking birdie; it's that close.

When Kid 5 asked for something to drink, I sent her to the kitchen and asked Kid 2 to get her some milk.  I continued to watch television as I awaited Kid 5's return that never came.  

A few minutes later, I got up and looked toward the kitchen.  I saw Kid 2 still at the kitchen table.  I asked him where Kid 5 was and he said he thought she was in the office with me.  He said he gave her some milk and she walked back toward the office.  It never crossed my mind that the front door was between the kitchen table and the office.  I checked the bathroom as Kid 2 went upstairs to look for her.  We both called out to her and got no response.  Kid 2 checked every room upstairs and when he yelled she wasn't up there, I was out the front door at a dead run into the cul-de-sac yelling Kid 5's name.  Not a soul was out and I ran down the street to check the little park on the corner.  There were no kids at the park, much less Kid 5.  As I ran back toward the house, Kid 2 was already knocking on the neighbors' doors and a couple of neighbor kids were looking for her too.  

Kid 5 was found a couple of houses down, sitting on a porch swing, drinking her milk.  I guess I should have bolted and latched the front door.  Locks are supposed to keep people out, but I guess in our case locks are necessary to keep Kid 5 in.       
                  

Fish Are Friends, Not Food

To say that we are multi-cultural family would be an understatement.  I am Mexican, but raised very Americana - 4th of July barbecues, Labor Day camping trips, Veterans Day parades; hot dogs, hamburgers, pork and beans, chicken broccoli casserole, with the occasional beans, rice and enchiladas to keep it real.  My husband is a mix of Lebanese, Italian, Irish, and German.  He was raised in an Italian neighborhood in Brooklyn where he went to The Feast every year and ate sausage and pepper sandwiches.  He grew up on pizza, chicken parmesean, spaghetti and meatballs, lasagna, and fresh mozzarella.  Family barbecues consisted of hummus, kefta, Syrian cheese, labne, and pita bread.  

With the immense food experience between the two of us and my love of cooking, we've concluded that Italian is our dish of choice with Middle Eastern following a close second.  At least when my husband isn't eating egg whites and protein shakes, being the gym rat that he is.  

Since Kid 5 has had such an exposure to various types of food, her taste is rather eclectic.  Some of her favorites: cherry tomatoes, kalamata olives, garbanzo beans, mozzarella cheese, kefta, chicken lula, and lamb kabobs.  She loves pita but doesn't care for sandwich bread, preferring to eat the meat from the sandwich by itself, which is pretty funny when she eats a chili dog.  There on the plate lies the hot dog and chili, sans bun.  She loves "white cheese" and sometimes "yellow cheese" but never ever mixed together.  She also does not like cheese on burgers or sandwiches, and does not like melted cheese unless it's pizza, macaroni and cheese, or lasagna.  

I once caught Kid 5 watching television eating a snack she made her herself: a tub of turkey slices, a jar of  kalamata olives, and a stick of butter that she was eating like and ice cream cone.  She is nothing if not resourceful.  

Because of our love of food, we love watching food channels as a family.  Our favorites are Man vs. Food and Drive Ins, Diners, and Dives.  The kids love it, and I sometimes get some good cooking tips.  We were watching Drive Ins, Diners, and Dives the other night and the show was filmed in Hawaii.  The cook was demonstrating how to make a dish with an octopus that he caught himself with a Hawaiian sling while freediving.  We got to see the octopus from the sea to serving dish.  After "Gross!" and "Ewww!" Kid 5 looked at us with contempt and said, "I think all animals should be freed, not dead."  My husband responded, "Really?  Then what should we eat?"

Without missing a beat, Kid 5 said quite emphatically, "chicken."  


   

Getting kicked out?

Kid 5 does not miss not a thing.  Most kids don't.  But since Kid 1 and Kid 2 no longer live with us, Kid 5 has been asking questions about growing up.  Mainly, she's curious about being a grown up and getting "kicked out."  I had to explain (a few times) that moving out of your parents house is a normal part of life and does not necessarily mean you get "kicked out."

The other night, Kid 5 once again broached the subject of being a grown up.  She asked, "So when I'm a grown up, am I going to get kicked out?"  I told her that I would hope that we wouldn't have to kick her out and that she would not want to live with us forever.  

"When you're grown up, don't you want have your own house?  I asked her.  Maybe live by yourself, or with a friend, or a husband?"   She looked at me thoughtfully and said, "Yeah.  I want to live with my friend."  Then she pointed her finger at me and said quite vehemently, "But she's having the babies cause I don't want to go to the hospital!!!" 


After I composed myself from laughing, I said, "Okay!  So you don't want to have a husband?"  She considered this and said, "Yeah, I want to have a husband.  But I still want my friend to have the babies!"


Okay Sister Wives, whatever you say!

Chicken Run

Where I grew up, in Sylmar, California, I was exposed to suburban living mixed with rural living.  What do I mean by that?  Well, I grew up in a tract home built in 1965, but around both corners there were small ranches where the residents raised various animals; horses, cows, sheep, ducks, chickens, and even a llama.  As an adult, I bought a house in that same neighborhood, and it was not unusual to wake up and find ducks or chickens in my front yard.  It was common to see people riding their horses, and training their colts to walk with a lead.  

It was an experience I took for granted, and did not realize how different my childhood was from that of Kids 4 and 5.  Kids 1, 2, and 3 lived in my old neighborhood for a while, and would walk down the street to feed the horses and cows, and see the ducks and chickens in our front yard.  But before Kids 4 and 5 were born, we moved to "true suburbia" where you don't see packs of homeless dogs roaming the streets, the police helicopter doesn't orbit the block every other night, and neighbors don't have livestock right across the street. 

The difference was glaringly apparent when I was driving Kid 5 to school one morning.  Her preschool is a five-minute drive from the house I grew up in, where my parents still live.  I chose that location because it was on my way to work and close to my dad who often picks her up from school.  The long street that leads to her school is a mixture of auto-body/vehicle repair shops, new track homes, and old large properties.  It is a landscape that I hardly notice as I am familiar thus uninterested.  In addition, I'm too busy navigating my way down a narrow street with other drivers whom traffic laws seem to be only a suggestion.  Kid 5 however, has the pleasure of taking in the sights without worry or concern.   

We passed the auto-body shops and the new track homes and Kid 5 was uncharacteristically silent.  She made up for her silence as we passed the old properties where she discovered that some of the residence have animals she'd never seen in a front yard.  

"MOMMY!" She shouted.  "I JUST SAW A CHICKEN!"  There was a thoughtful pause.  "It was a walking chicken, not an eating chicken."

It's good to know she can tell the difference between a live chicken and a McNugget.