Proof She Can Count

"I want a Cheeto, Dad."

"Cheetos aren't for breakfast. You want some yogurt and some toast?"

"No, Cheeto. PLEASE."

"Okay, you can have a Cheeto after you eat your yogurt."

[Eats yogurt, in a hurry.]

"I want a Cheeto now, Dad."

[Gives her two Cheetos.]

"I want three four five, Dad."

Some Things She Has Said Since 6 p.m. Today

Tonight at dinner: "Here, Mama, I have a present for you." Hands me a rock. "Do you like it? You can put it in your purse."

While "reading" the menu: "Dad, what do you want? You want some chicken nuggets? And some french fries?"

As the waiter was taking our order: "I want beans and rice. And a lemonade. And a Sprite. No, a Sprite. PLEEEEASE!"

Upon being asked what she learned at school: "I learned animals today. I learned a monkey and a elephant and a gorilla."

After dinner, when I needed to use the restroom and Jason had already left the restaurant: "I don't wanna go potty. I stay at the table and wait for you. I go potty at home." She is coaxed closer to the bathroom, but refuses to go in. "I stay RIGHT HERE and wait for you. I will." Coaxed into the bathroom, hovering in a far corner while I am in the stall. "Don't flush, Mom, DON'T!"

Leaving the restaurant: "It's not naptime now. No, it's not."

On the way home from the restaurant, discussing her imagination: "I fly way up in the air and wave to you. I'm really high. You're really little."

Pulling into the driveway: "I wanna take a quick bath, okay? Just a quick one."

During her bath: "I want all my letters. Is this a one or a 'i'? I think it's a one. 'J' is for Jason! 'H' is for hat! 'F' is for Frank! 'Q' is for quilt! I want a quilt when I go to sleep."

Being smooched after her bath: "I am delicious. I taste like chocolate."

Being put to bed: "NOOOO, I WANT THE OTHER BEAR. THE ONE ON THE COUCH!"

Material Girl

Yesterday, as we left Central Market, it had just stopped raining. Grim clouds met a sunny sky, resulting in...a rainbow! We stopped in the parking lot so Lu could see it, and she was captivated. Her response: "I want a rainbow, Mama. Buy it for me!" How to explain that rainbows aren't for sale? It's a poster-worthy aphorism.

I finally talked her into building a rainbow with her Legos. We are going to have to do something about this kid's values.

Parenting in Tandem

We decided to rent a tandem bike to ride through Vancouver's Stanley Park. At the bike rental place, we were both charmed by the idea of a tandem bike, which seemed like a good idea until the French Canadian girl at the cash register snickered (or was she merely being French Canadian?).

We quickly discovered the basic, challenging principle of a tandem bike: all the instinctual balance that it takes to keep one person on a bike, when multiplied by two people and meant to work together, is much harder than just riding a bike. To quote Pie on another subject, it's like trying to drive a standard transmission with one person operating the gears and another person operating the gas and the clutch. Extreme cooperation. Jason conceded the front to me after 100 meters, his having ridden a bike about 19 years ago and me having ridden one on Monday.

At first, we kept saying to each other with every wobble, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Extreme cooperation is hard, but we got the hang of it. For instance, we agreed TOGETHER, that it was a good idea to get off the bike and walk it up a one-kilometer, steep-ass hill. Other good decisions ensued. And some laughing. And way less falling down than I do when riding on my own.

I think parenting is like that. Lu is our little bike: wobbly, unsure, second-guessing, we work together to propel her forward.

Peeking in Canadian Windows

The first stop in our Northwest trip was Vancouver, the prettiest city I have ever seen. Not pretty the way European cities are pretty (patinaed, with an authentic griminess), or even San Francisco (detailed and darling) or New York (so substantive it doesn't have to worry about its looks). Vancouver shines, bright with new buildings made of polished steel and green glass. Everyone is wearing effortless, slouchy layers of very hip clothing. They are seemingly from everywhere, stylishly global. The whole city seems to be saying, "Sore-y, we can't help it. We're just better than you." But Vancouver is not trying to make you feel bad, you can tell.

One morning, I ran along the waterfront past the fancy condos. All the green glass windows were open (windows open! in early September!), so I could easily peer in on their little Canadian lives. I saw families tucked into trim, modern breakfast tables, one with a couple of kids at their own pint-sized table which I recognized as very expensive. Others sipped coffee on their decks (good coffee from Scandinavian mugs, I guessed, but could not see as I ran along). The whole thing was like an ad for a Canadian real estate developer: Move here. You'll be a better person and you won't even have to learn a new language.

Lucy's Legitimacy

I wanted to title this post "Lucy is a Bastard," but Jason wouldn't let me. He thought it was too harsh, that "bastard" was too mean. Mean...but true. I found out today that Jason and I aren't married.

At least, maybe not married. Not legally married in any way that is proveable without a number of affidavits. I have had this suspicion for a little while now. A couple of years ago, I was doing some Internet searching/stalking of myself and others I Iove/am interested in, and I discovered this interesting site where you can look up old records. http://www.genlookups.com/texas_marriages/ And, interestingly, I did not find me and Jason among the rolls. I attributed it to a clerical error, the inaccuracy of the Internet.

Then last fall, after Nini got married, when she embarked on offiicially changing her name, she spoke of these official papers she got proving she was married. I was curious. I had never gotten these (nor needed them because I didn't change my name). I started to wonder where our piece of paper was: Did our priest forget to send in the paperwork? But I laid it on the Big Worry Heap, alongside such issues as "that hall closet is kinda gross" and "I should have better posture."

Today, I realized we were going to Canada. I mean, I knew we were going to Canada, but I realized my passport had expired and I might need something more than charm to get me across the border (charm still works well when crossing to Mexico, by the way). So I researched the documents we'd need, searched wildly in my office for my birth certificate, found my youngest sister's birth certificate (which lists her as a MALE, further to the flaws in the system!), then had to go down to the Bureau of Vital Statistics to get my own.

I filled out the necessary forms and saw that at the same time, I could get a letter of "marriage verification." So I decided to get my birth certificate and solve the mystery of our marriage all at once.

No record. No record of our marriage, seven years later. At least not at Vital Statistics. Our next step is to take it up with the county, who has our marriage license on file. Hopefully, any number of nice people who vowed before God and everyone to support our marriage would be willing to sign an affidavit saying they'd witnessed an actual ceremony. But there is certainly more documentation to pursue.

For now, seven years later, it appears we have been playing a good game of house! Here I thought I was being so modern by not taking Jason's name. For the nine hours I have been a common-law wife, I've been distressed. It seems I am more conventional than I thought.

For Lu's part, I think, with the right attorneys, she still stands to inherit the Sugawa fortune.


p.s. Sorry to all of you who gave gifts and ate cake (and even sorrier to those of you who sent gifts and got no cake -- you were truly robbed).