Emma wrote this little story yesterday at school, a chip off the old block.
1.11.2006
1.10.2006
1.05.2006
Green Eggs and Ham
She had one small scoop of Risotto, the dish she devours at Grammys. She had a small bowl of peaches, and a lightly toasted slice of sourdough bread her Papí baked. She was starving, at least until we presented the family meal.
We have been attempting to incorporate both of our children into our meals since all they ever want is macaroni and cheese. We have grown tired of making multiple meals each and every night. There was a time that this was never an issue. Emma would eat what we ate. I will admit that the past two years have made us stray from our standards, but we have been attempting to merge them back into our daily activities.
She dove into the peaches, literally, with her hands. She did not touch the pasta. She tossed the bread off of the plate and demanded to be excused from the table.
"Take one bite of the pasta and then you can get down," her mother proposed.
"Nooooooooooo!" Ellie screamed.
A short time passed as we attempted to ignore the two-year old bending over the edge of her booster seat.
"Do you want to get down?" I asked.
"YEAHHHH!" she replied.
"Then you need to take one bite."
"Nooooooooooo!" she returned.
Abbie picked up the spoon, "Just one, you love this. Here, I will give it to you."
"Nooooooooooo!"
I ganged up, "El, just one, then you can get down."
Her peach juice covered-hands slapped violently against her forehead, hiding the thought of taking that one bite.
Abbie dropped the spoon and rose from the table.
"Do you want to get down?" I coaxed.
"Yes," she whimpered.
"Then just take this one bite." I repeated while trying to pick up the plastic neon green spoon.
"Nooooooooooo!"
The juice was waxing her hair up in a Cameron Diaz "Something About Mary" way. The tension was really rising, and our patience was dropping like a concrete wheelbarrow.
"Do you want this for breakfast?" I regurgitated from my own childhood.
"Nooooooooooo!"
"Then take one bite, and then you can get down."
"Nooooooooooo!"
I walked to the pantry, got the water spray gun usually used for squirting misbehaving pets and returned to the round table. Not proud to say, but this technique has worked in the past in similar situations. Ellie was familiar to the plastic pink water bottle and stopped screaming for just a moment.
"You need to take one more bite."
"Nooooooooooo!"
I began the countdown, "One...."
"...Two..."
"Nooooooooooo!" she squawked.
"...Three!" I threatened with a sharp pull of the trigger.
Water misted all over her, as she turned from the moisture.
Still nothing.
Abbie came rushing to the table. She picked up the utensil. Brought it to Ellie's face. With her free hand, she pinched the shrieking mouth and flopped the half spoonful of cheddar risotto inside.
Silence.
"Chew it all." I chimed, picturing the pieces to be spit across the dining table, the water canister still in hand.
Silence as she swallowed the morsel.
"MORE!" she demanded with a single tear slipping down her cherub face. Disheveled with frustration, her mother sank into the nearby seat and fed all of the remaining food from the plate into the happy hungry face.
She had one small scoop of Risotto, the dish she devours at Grammys. She had a small bowl of peaches, and a lightly toasted slice of sourdough bread her Papí baked. She was starving, at least until we presented the family meal.
We have been attempting to incorporate both of our children into our meals since all they ever want is macaroni and cheese. We have grown tired of making multiple meals each and every night. There was a time that this was never an issue. Emma would eat what we ate. I will admit that the past two years have made us stray from our standards, but we have been attempting to merge them back into our daily activities.
She dove into the peaches, literally, with her hands. She did not touch the pasta. She tossed the bread off of the plate and demanded to be excused from the table.
"Take one bite of the pasta and then you can get down," her mother proposed.
"Nooooooooooo!" Ellie screamed.
A short time passed as we attempted to ignore the two-year old bending over the edge of her booster seat.
"Do you want to get down?" I asked.
"YEAHHHH!" she replied.
"Then you need to take one bite."
"Nooooooooooo!" she returned.
Abbie picked up the spoon, "Just one, you love this. Here, I will give it to you."
"Nooooooooooo!"
I ganged up, "El, just one, then you can get down."
Her peach juice covered-hands slapped violently against her forehead, hiding the thought of taking that one bite.
Abbie dropped the spoon and rose from the table.
"Do you want to get down?" I coaxed.
"Yes," she whimpered.
"Then just take this one bite." I repeated while trying to pick up the plastic neon green spoon.
"Nooooooooooo!"
The juice was waxing her hair up in a Cameron Diaz "Something About Mary" way. The tension was really rising, and our patience was dropping like a concrete wheelbarrow.
"Do you want this for breakfast?" I regurgitated from my own childhood.
"Nooooooooooo!"
"Then take one bite, and then you can get down."
"Nooooooooooo!"
I walked to the pantry, got the water spray gun usually used for squirting misbehaving pets and returned to the round table. Not proud to say, but this technique has worked in the past in similar situations. Ellie was familiar to the plastic pink water bottle and stopped screaming for just a moment.
"You need to take one more bite."
"Nooooooooooo!"
I began the countdown, "One...."
"...Two..."
"Nooooooooooo!" she squawked.
"...Three!" I threatened with a sharp pull of the trigger.
Water misted all over her, as she turned from the moisture.
Still nothing.
Abbie came rushing to the table. She picked up the utensil. Brought it to Ellie's face. With her free hand, she pinched the shrieking mouth and flopped the half spoonful of cheddar risotto inside.
Silence.
"Chew it all." I chimed, picturing the pieces to be spit across the dining table, the water canister still in hand.
Silence as she swallowed the morsel.
"MORE!" she demanded with a single tear slipping down her cherub face. Disheveled with frustration, her mother sank into the nearby seat and fed all of the remaining food from the plate into the happy hungry face.
Blame It On The Rain
It is hard to lose someone you love. It hurts when you know it is going to happen. It hurts a lot when it is a sudden surprise. It hurts no matter how it happens.
When it does happen, you naturally want to blame someone for that loss. Blame God. Blame the doctors. Blame the criminal. You may even blame the person for doing it to them-self, whether forcefully or passively.
You hurt so much the moment you find out they are gone, and you hurt a hell of a lot years later too.
There is not a single pill, drink, or distraction that can cure the pain from the loss of loved one. There is no truckload of pills, drinks, or distractions that will hide the fact that you miss that someone and hurt. The realization of life and death cause deep thought, reflection, and desire for one more chance to be with our dearly departed.
The only way to not hurt is to not love.
I wish the media and the public would not feast on the pain and suffering of those that have lost their loves. I wish they would not over-indulge in the emotional roller coaster ride that humans experience in the fleeting moments of loss. I wish the integrity of the human spirit would appreciate the fact that death is inevitable and all the players involved need time to hurt, blame, and continue loving. I wish the media-rich bastardization of their true feelings of powerlessness were not headlines on newspapers and 30 second spots for the Eleven O'Clock News.
It is hard to lose someone you love. It hurts when you know it is going to happen. It hurts a lot when it is a sudden surprise. It hurts no matter how it happens.
When it does happen, you naturally want to blame someone for that loss. Blame God. Blame the doctors. Blame the criminal. You may even blame the person for doing it to them-self, whether forcefully or passively.
You hurt so much the moment you find out they are gone, and you hurt a hell of a lot years later too.
There is not a single pill, drink, or distraction that can cure the pain from the loss of loved one. There is no truckload of pills, drinks, or distractions that will hide the fact that you miss that someone and hurt. The realization of life and death cause deep thought, reflection, and desire for one more chance to be with our dearly departed.
The only way to not hurt is to not love.
I wish the media and the public would not feast on the pain and suffering of those that have lost their loves. I wish they would not over-indulge in the emotional roller coaster ride that humans experience in the fleeting moments of loss. I wish the integrity of the human spirit would appreciate the fact that death is inevitable and all the players involved need time to hurt, blame, and continue loving. I wish the media-rich bastardization of their true feelings of powerlessness were not headlines on newspapers and 30 second spots for the Eleven O'Clock News.
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