mysophobia

Today is officially Christmas cookie baking day. I know that Thom would LOVE to stay home from school and help bake. He loves making anything in the kitchen. But, there are too many fun things going on at his school to let him miss. That, and the grubby hand factor. There is a lot of finger licking and touching of everything that goes on when I cook with Thom.

That's the way it is with kids. They get into the nitty gritty of every project. This is why, I'm sorry to report, if you give my family a plate of homemade goodies, and declare that the children helped make them, I will thank you profusely and then promptly deposit them in the round file as soon as I shut the door. I know this is a terribly cruel thing to do, not to mention wasteful, but it is a hurdle (mysophobia) I am yet to overcome. Further more, I will probably lie and tell you your cookies were delicious when you ask. These are my deep black secrets I like to publicly air on the internet.

I am currently in the process of picking out a charity to donate to. Hopefully this will balance out the equilibrium of my bad deeds.

Undergoing MyBlogLog Verification

enigma

Kids are such an enigma to me.

I'll say to Thom, "Hey come eat this homemade dinner I spent the afternoon making for you."

And he says, "No."

I'll say, "Thom, are you ready to crawl into your bed. I just washed the sheets today and they smell great."

He says, "No."

I say, "Okay it's time to be calm. Come here and I'll tickle your back and play with your hair while you watch your favorite T.V. show."

He pulls a face and runs away.

I say, "Come upstairs! I have a nice warm bubble bath waiting for you!"

He says "Not now Mom."

What is wrong with this child? He rejects everything wonderful in life. Well, he doesn't turn down sweets. We have that in common. But really, why do we adults have to force our kids to do the things we personally love to do?

Over the years we have created little enticements. We turn pancakes into happy faces with blueberry eyes and banana smiles. We tell bedtime stories again and again until the words come automatically. We coerce and manipulate and bargain until we get our kids to do the very thing that we ourselves are dying to do. It has been this way for ages. I can't see it changing anytime soon.

Here's a perfectly wonderful little enticement to get your kids in the bath.

Catherine of Washable Art has been creating soap in her kitchen for some years now. This is what she says about her work:

My love of geometrical symmetry, natural asymmetry, color, and edible, delicious things is demonstrated in soap, and you'll find extreme care in the details. Many, if not most of the plant materials I use are grown locally, organically, and sustainably; you'll find natural pigments and dyes, fair-trade ingredients (when they can't be had out of my own garden), and recycled material packaging whenever practical. I love what I do, I know you will, too, and I look forward to sending something wonderful to you!

I highly recommend stopping by Catherine's shop. Her soaps make really great stocking stuffers and they are all reasonably priced. Her shipping costs are very low for both domestic and international.

Catherine has donated a set of her Bathtub Architect soaps for today's giveaway. She sent along an extra set for the boy and I can't wait to put them in his Christmas stocking!

If you would like to enter the drawing, just leave a comment! International readers are always welcome to enter a Suaviloquy giveaway.

holy smokes

We had a bit of a cultural experience last Sunday. My friend Rosa Rameriz invited us to her nephew's baptism. I had only ever been to a Catholic mass once before at Christmas time so I didn't really know what to expect. The sermon was in Spanish and it was standing room only. The chapel was warmed by all the bodies and smelled of incense. I had no idea what was going on most of the time. There were about six babies to be baptized. They all wore extravagant white outfits and the parents carried ornate candles and shells. Afterwards, we went to the party held in the baby's behalf. There were blue and white balloons, mariachi music and a massive cake. We had tacos and orange soda.




All day, we were the only Caucasian people around. Both Ben and I felt a little self conscious. At 6'5", Ben was substantially taller than any other person and I was taller than a lot of the men. Every where I looked, people were staring and I felt like an interloper. But the amazing thing was, we were treated like movie stars. At the party, people were warm and welcoming. They served us first and constantly checked to see if we needed anything. They even insisted we pose in their family photos!




And how does my son repay this kindness?




The party was held on a patio which overlooked a steep wooded embankment. Thom instantly made best friends, as he is so inclined to do where ever we go. The kids were playing cars when Thom spotted a pack of cigarettes. He instantly snatched them up, screamed "AHHHHHHH SMOKES!" and chucked them, grenade style, over the fence and down into the embankment. Like idiots, Ben and I both rushed over to see if we could somehow retrieve the package thirty feet down and semi hidden in shrubbery.




Now, I know we have been teaching him smoking is bad for your body and we don't smoke in our family. I'm not retracting that. But I also know that a pack of cigarettes isn't cheap. I was ready to reimburse whomever need be. No one ever claimed ownership and the incident was glossed over by our super nice hosts.




But here's what's been bothering me: Where in the world did my son learn to call cigarettes "smokes" like some kind of hardened criminal?




Here's the little rodent modeling my latest embroidery project. As you can tell, he is thrilled to have his picture taken.

Sugar Daddy thinks I am crazy for spending so much time on a T-shirt for our grubby son. Now that it's finished, I think he might be right.