In case you're not friends with my sister on Facebook...

Nik posted on her blog about playing with the lion cubs, but she couldn't upload the picture to her blog, only to her Facebook page. Since there are plenty of people (like my Grammie) who aren't on Facebook, I thought I'd post the picture here instead (hope that's cool, Nik). In her words, they are "tiny, angry, [and] meat-eating." Apparently they were growling at her the entire time she was trying to get a picture with them, but that's probably because she just always smells like dead donkey and they were getting hungry (hah!). I asked if the 10 house cats the share the property interact with the lions in any special way since they are like distant cousins, but she said no. Probably because in a few months (years?) the two cousins would eat the other 10 cousins if given the chance.

Nik is doing really well out there, working her ass off in her new job as a volunteer coordinator, and hopefully not catching AIDS, tuberculosis or cholera. But, of course, we all knew she would (kick ass, not catch diseases). Miss you, Kiko-san!

Hanukkah prayer.

Last night Ruby and I went over to my mom's house to celebrate the first night of Hanukkah. She didn't have the official prayer written down anywhere or memorized, so here's what she said as she lit the candles.

"Dear God. Please keep all people safe and happy, Ruby most of all. Please don't let Nikki get cholera. God bless Nikki. God bless everyone. Let's all be happy this year. Thank you for everything. And... um... God bless America."

Amen, Mama.

These two things are killing me. Once I have them sorted out, I will freak out about my Christmas cards.

I'm dying of frustration at this very moment.

Thing #1 that is making me insane: As we all know, I am a loser. In that I lose things (heh). Currently on the MIA list (because I AM AN IDIOT AND CLEARLY SHOULD NOT HAVE NICE THINGS): my prescription sunglasses (though those are hopefully just chilling somewhere in my in-law's house in San Antonio) and our camera (which I just now realized). The camera came with us to San Antonio. It made it in to the car on the way to the airport to come home. Did it make it on to the airplane? Off the airplane? In to our house? Um, I think so? Gah. Kill me now. My poor mother-in-law already had to ship my planner back here from when I left it there this last time.

The other reason that I am going to run away from home: the process of teaching Ruby to use a fork and spoon. Is there a trick to this? Something that makes it easy and unmessy? Are we even sure that hand-feeding isn't really the way to go in the long run? Because I have no idea what I'm doing. I introduced this process because I remember that my friend Lora's kid Declan was eating cereal by himself at 18 months, so I figured it was time for Ru to learn. Fact that became disheartening after we started trying to teach Ru to use utensils: at 18 months Declan was eating CEREAL! Cereal, as I've discovered is, like, advanced-level utensil-using. That shit is sloshy and does not stay on the spoon easily. Beginner-level stuff is more like hummus or rice pudding. Intermediate is oatmeal (a little clumpy, but can fall of the spoon easily) or yogurt (can be a bit runny). We're OK with beginner stuff because we can angle the spoon however we want and it's OK. Intermediate is still a struggle, and if this morning's ambitious try at cereal and milk was any indication, we're still a ways off from a solo endeavor with the advanced meals.

What really kills me about this is that she will not let me show her how to do it. I swear to god, most meals where I give her a fork/spoon, it's like a scene from "The Miracle Walker." I'm Anne Bancroft, trying to grab Patty Duke's hand and make her sign water, and she's struggling trying to hit me and pull my hair. But I'm no feisty Annie Sullivan, and I'm mostly the one who ends up stomping my feet and making wookie noises. This morning when she told me "NO!" for the millionth time when I tried to help her hold the spoon at anything but a completely vertical angle, I had to call in the relief toddler-handler, Dada, to close the deal. I was so done.

OK, clearly I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself and her. Perhaps this is supposed to be more of an organic, figure it out yourself kind of deal. Maybe I just need one of those shirt-bib things, lay some tarp down, and let her teach herself. OK. Deep breath. Bless and release. Let go and let God. Generic calming mantra. Breathe. Breathe.

My hope for this Thursday is that my camera turns up and that I don't stab myself in the eye with a toddler fork.

UPDATE: I forgot to mention that we're also missing a duvet cover (we washed it and put it away in the spring when we started using our lightweight quilt, and now it's not here -- what? I know) and that my sciatica is acting up. Because I'm 80.

Holiday Spirit

This made me happy: Detroit Homeless Men Adopt Local Families for Christmas.

The world is an alright place sometimes. :)

Cute overload.

The pictures with Kermit and these below were taken by my nanny while I was at work. Can I just say how nice it is to come home from a long Monday at work and have these little gifts waiting for me on my camera? And also, please to admire her hair, because nothing says Monday like four ponytails.

Honestly, just kill me now. How did something this cool come out of me? BTW, in this shot she is TOTALLY channeling my sister (who, last week, crossed the Zambezi with nothing but a helmet, life jacket and boogie board). Africa Nikki for the win!

That is not, as I originally thought, is a unrolled condom in her hands. Unfortunately, once you get that thought in your head, it doesn't look like anything else (especially because the kiss mark just below it sort of looks like it's the round base of the condom). But then I was like, why would Tasha let her chew on an unrolled condom? (Note, I did not at first think, why does she have an unrolled condom, just why is she chewing on one. I don't sweat the small stuff.) But, rest assured, it is only the undone wrapper for the string cheese that she's finishing off just above it. But for a minute, you were wondering too.

There will come a day when I am jealous of Ruby's pretty eyes. Damn it, I think I might already be there. I'm pretty sure that's going to mean therapy. Crap.

Fwah-vah.

Fwa-vah is what Ruby calls Kermit (it is also what she, more appropriately, calls a flower, but that's neither here nor there). Ruby squeals with delight whenever she sees Kermit, and she tries desperately to hug him -- which inevitably ends up with him upside down in her arms and me trying to stop her from accidentally stepping on his face. But because Kermit is such a shitty pet, I don't stop her. If he were better and didn't try to smother me in my sleep or wake me up in the middle of the night by licking the same spot on my chin repeatedly (though at least he's not still trying to kill me and Ruby), or wailing at all hours of the night, or liking his oceanfish dinner one day but not the next (or one morning but not that night), or generally being the worst roommate ever... then I would feel bad for him and try to stop her. But as he is all things suck (and has no claws and, like, three teeth), I let Ruby unleash the full force of her love on him.

I love my sister, she's the best, she's cooler than any other girl that I have ever met.

http://www.nikkiinafricaagain.blogspot.com/

Go there and read all about the adventures of Nikki, queen of the jungle (or at least, princess of home-based health care in Livingstone, Zambia).