Picture this: A serene Friday afternoon, the first day of summer break in the Cake Household. Mommy is cooking for Shabbos, Housekeeper F is folding laundry, Pes is out roaming the neighborhood like a teenage wastrel, Gorby is in his room sleeping, and the Gabor sisters are looking for trouble.
Now let me back up a minute. For weeks, Zsa Zsa and Eva have been begging for "side bangs." "What are side bangs?" you ask. Well, I have been asking the same thing. For weeks. Unfortunately, as you will soon see, I did not do my hishtadlus to find out what side bangs actually are/entail and, thus, tragedy struck.
You see, on this serene Friday afternoon, Zsa Zsa and Eva begged for the 1000th time for side bangs.
"Mommy," Zsa Zsa popped into the kitchen, "Can we get side bangs?"
"Um, now is not the time to go to the hair cut place, and you will TOTALLY REGRET getting side bangs anyway."
My understanding of side bangs at that point was some shorter hair around your face that constantly falls into your eyes and annoys you all day long, i.e., my Shabbos sheitel. I'm still not sure if this was the look they were going for, because, again, I still don't know what side bangs are and, frankly, don't care.
However, the Gabors were just DYING for side bangs and I remembered how, as a young girl in the '80s, I was DYING for a perm. I would beg, Mother would say no, and around we went until I ended up looking like a crazy poodle and regretting every permed moment as I said, "Wow, it looks so great, I love it!" with tears welling up in my eyes every time I looked in the mirror, not able to cry out loud since then Mother would know she was actually right and I actually totally regretted it.
So I thought to myself, "Those girls can just learn that same lesson I learned and go get those crazy side bangs. And as an added bonus, maybe I will actually find out what they are."
So I looked at Zsa Zsa and said, "Fine, go ahead, but you will TOTALLY REGRET IT!" Now, they had talked Housekeeper F into doing this lunacy for them because they had somehow come to understand that she had completed beauty school.
Two minutes after I gave my non-permission permission, Zsa Zsa walked into the kitchen. I almost passed out. She had a chunk of hair missing from the side of her face. Picture someone taking the hair from the center of the forehead until the ear and just chopping it straight across right above the ear. If you can't picture it, just know that it was SO HORRIBLE I ALMOST DIED!!!!
Now, as a testament to the deep love I have for my housekeeper, who keeps me alive and sane on a daily basis, I smiled at her and then turned to Zsa Zsa and screamed, "GET IN THE CAR RIGHT NOW WE ARE GOING TO THE HAIR CUT PLACE!!!!!" Eva and Gorby wanted in on the action and I screamed at them to hurry put their shoes on get in the car RIGHT NOW. Misplaced anger.
We zoomed along to our favorite family haircut place, a barber/beauty shop attached to a house on one of our main semi-highways, manned by two extremely hardworking Vietnamese immigrants, Lila and Vinny. Vinny is a perpetually smiling, sweet and gentle black belt in tae kwon do, and Lila has an acerbic tongue and says, "Honey," after every sentence. We sheepishly walked in and I said, "Um, she tried to get side bangs," as I pointed to Zsa Zsa. My daughter smiled guiltily, braces glinting in the afternoon sun.
Lila looked at us as if we were complete morons. "Those aren't side bangs, honey," she scolded in her thick Vietnamese accent. "Who did this?"
Busted. I was trying to make it seem like Zsa Zsa had done it herself, but the wily Lila caught on pretty quick.
"Mmmm-my housekeeper," I stammered. "What?!! Honey!! Leave your housekeeper to keep your house. Those aren't side bangs, uh-uh, honey." And she began to try to fix the damage.
This was not easy. It's amazing how one quick slip of the scissors can undo years of hair growing outedness. You totally know what I mean if you're a girl. So she snipped away and finally ended up with, um, a MULLET!!!!
I said, "No, um no, that's no happening. Lila, this is a mullet."
Zsa Zsa said, "Mommy, it's fine, I don't want her to cut off all my long hair."
I said, "Nobody in my house is ever going to have a mullet. It is not allowed in the Cake family. Lila will have to cut it so it's layered all around. Sorry."
Zsa Zsa sighed and sat back down in the chair. And I am totally not making this up: Lila turned around and mouthed to me, "Mullet is Red Neck?" I smiled. She nodded conspiratorially.
So Lila fixed it up. And Zsa Zsa ended up with a very cute layered hair cut that will take a year or two to grow out. And I realized that while Housekeeper F may have gone to beauty school, she may only have been licensed to practice on Afro-Caribbean individuals.
Now we have spent the weekend convincing ourselves how cute Zsa Zsa's hair is. And since she is a gorgeous girl (naturally, as a Gabor), she really does look amazing. But I wonder, as she looks in the mirror, if the tears aren't welling up a little. And I see myself looking in the mirror at exactly Zsa Zsa's age and thinking, "Mother--how could you have let me PERM MY HAIR???"
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Science Experiment
This morning, Eva and I were lucky enough to unwittingly be part of a neat science experiment. Here's what happened:
Eva overslept due to our late night at my nephew's graduation. I decided to take her to school after dropping Gorby. Well, this was extremely fortuitous, as we would soon discover. On the way into the car, we smelled something that was strongly fishy as the three of us lingered in the mudroom. First, I powdered Eva's shoes with Odor Eater powder as I do most days. Though she is a gorgeous little girl, she has super smelly feet. Anyway, that didn't seem to be the problem, which I discovered after she shoved a shoe into my nose when I asked, "Are your shoes the smelly culprit?"
The three of us could still smell the icky odor as we got into the car so searched the car fervently. Gorby declared from the depths of the minivan, "Here! I found it!" and handed me a cereal bar wrapper. Um, OK. "Gorby--that's not it! Come on now." We decided to press on after the three of us concurred that it was probably something in the garbage or recycling in the garage.
We dropped Gorby at school and finally arrived Eva's school. Since she was over an hour late, the parking lot was quiet and I pulled up right in front of the door. We exited the vehicle and, suddenly, the lights went on in Eva's brain.
"OH!" she exclaimed, "IT'S THE BIRD'S EGG!" I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. You see, the other day (please don't tell me it was Friday, but I fear it was), Eva ran over to me as we were hanging out in the front yard (i.e., kids were playing ball and I was playing Scramble on my iPhone). "Mommy, look, it's a blue birdy egg!" I looked up, wrinkled my nose and we both noted that it looked like something was inside the egg. Then one of the following two things occurred:
1) I jumped up, dragged out the microscope and we both excitedly inspected the interior of the bird's egg under intense magnification.
or;
2) I kept wrinkling my nose, said, "Hm," continued my Scramble game, and said, "Wash your hands REALLYWELLWITHSOAP!!!!"
Anyway, Eva decided to place the shell into a baggie and take it to her beloved first grade teacher Ms. G.
And there we were, many days later (shudder!), in front of a venerated Torah institution with a baggie thrown on the ground. The contents of said bag were: 1) bird's egg, 2) gooey liquid and 3) maggots. Yes, you read that right. The two of us looked at each other and then started laughing. This laughter was the kind where you are in disbelief and don't quite know what to do, not the one where you are reading, for example, a blog and laughing hysterically. But since I was the mother (darn it), I had to figure out something quick. Good grief.
"Wow, Eva," I said, "Those are maggots in there."
"What are maggots?" she asked.
"Well. maggots are little bugs that like to eat dead stuff." Here is where I realized that the contents of that little blue egg must have been an embryo or dead bird. Luckily, just yesterday, I was listening to the "This American Life" podcast about gory crime scenes and it talked about maggots so I instantly identified those little guys.
So what did I do? You ask. I wondered the same thing. After trying not to die, I sprung into action. "Eva!" I shouted, "I have Clorox wipes in the car, let's use them!" I started scrubbing out her backpack (luckily it was just the outer zipper pocket, and there wasn't actual spooze in there, just odor. I scrubbed it out with about 27 wipes and took out 5 plastic bags from my car to throw maggot-bag into and tie up with a plan to toss it into the outdoor Starbucks garbage can, and wishing I was there right then.
I asked Eva to grab my keys and iPhone (she hadn't touched maggot-bag) so I could do a surgical scrub after I signed her in. I left my stuff in the office and started scrubbing like crazy in the hallway washing sink. I used so much foaming soap that it was all over the sink, the soap dispenser and the paper towel dispenser. I also ran into Zsa Zsa's teacher who is about 10 months pregnant (and adorable still) and when I told her the story she looked extremely queasy. Oops.
I grabbed my stuff and drove quickly to Starbucks so I could dispose of the bag. On the way, I used my five different flavors of hand sanitizer. However, there is not enough hand sanitizer or soap in the world to scrub the memory of what was brewing in the baggie right in my very own Eva's backpack, right in my very own mudroom. I'm happy I took her in late because think how many days those maggots (AAARRGH) could've lived in there (Big Shot Husband usually drops them at school extremely quickly on his way to work, with no time to sniff, locate and fumigate). So I will leave you here while I go wash my hands again. With lye.
Eva overslept due to our late night at my nephew's graduation. I decided to take her to school after dropping Gorby. Well, this was extremely fortuitous, as we would soon discover. On the way into the car, we smelled something that was strongly fishy as the three of us lingered in the mudroom. First, I powdered Eva's shoes with Odor Eater powder as I do most days. Though she is a gorgeous little girl, she has super smelly feet. Anyway, that didn't seem to be the problem, which I discovered after she shoved a shoe into my nose when I asked, "Are your shoes the smelly culprit?"
The three of us could still smell the icky odor as we got into the car so searched the car fervently. Gorby declared from the depths of the minivan, "Here! I found it!" and handed me a cereal bar wrapper. Um, OK. "Gorby--that's not it! Come on now." We decided to press on after the three of us concurred that it was probably something in the garbage or recycling in the garage.
We dropped Gorby at school and finally arrived Eva's school. Since she was over an hour late, the parking lot was quiet and I pulled up right in front of the door. We exited the vehicle and, suddenly, the lights went on in Eva's brain.
"OH!" she exclaimed, "IT'S THE BIRD'S EGG!" I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. You see, the other day (please don't tell me it was Friday, but I fear it was), Eva ran over to me as we were hanging out in the front yard (i.e., kids were playing ball and I was playing Scramble on my iPhone). "Mommy, look, it's a blue birdy egg!" I looked up, wrinkled my nose and we both noted that it looked like something was inside the egg. Then one of the following two things occurred:
1) I jumped up, dragged out the microscope and we both excitedly inspected the interior of the bird's egg under intense magnification.
or;
2) I kept wrinkling my nose, said, "Hm," continued my Scramble game, and said, "Wash your hands REALLYWELLWITHSOAP!!!!"
Anyway, Eva decided to place the shell into a baggie and take it to her beloved first grade teacher Ms. G.
And there we were, many days later (shudder!), in front of a venerated Torah institution with a baggie thrown on the ground. The contents of said bag were: 1) bird's egg, 2) gooey liquid and 3) maggots. Yes, you read that right. The two of us looked at each other and then started laughing. This laughter was the kind where you are in disbelief and don't quite know what to do, not the one where you are reading, for example, a blog and laughing hysterically. But since I was the mother (darn it), I had to figure out something quick. Good grief.
"Wow, Eva," I said, "Those are maggots in there."
"What are maggots?" she asked.
"Well. maggots are little bugs that like to eat dead stuff." Here is where I realized that the contents of that little blue egg must have been an embryo or dead bird. Luckily, just yesterday, I was listening to the "This American Life" podcast about gory crime scenes and it talked about maggots so I instantly identified those little guys.
So what did I do? You ask. I wondered the same thing. After trying not to die, I sprung into action. "Eva!" I shouted, "I have Clorox wipes in the car, let's use them!" I started scrubbing out her backpack (luckily it was just the outer zipper pocket, and there wasn't actual spooze in there, just odor. I scrubbed it out with about 27 wipes and took out 5 plastic bags from my car to throw maggot-bag into and tie up with a plan to toss it into the outdoor Starbucks garbage can, and wishing I was there right then.
I asked Eva to grab my keys and iPhone (she hadn't touched maggot-bag) so I could do a surgical scrub after I signed her in. I left my stuff in the office and started scrubbing like crazy in the hallway washing sink. I used so much foaming soap that it was all over the sink, the soap dispenser and the paper towel dispenser. I also ran into Zsa Zsa's teacher who is about 10 months pregnant (and adorable still) and when I told her the story she looked extremely queasy. Oops.
I grabbed my stuff and drove quickly to Starbucks so I could dispose of the bag. On the way, I used my five different flavors of hand sanitizer. However, there is not enough hand sanitizer or soap in the world to scrub the memory of what was brewing in the baggie right in my very own Eva's backpack, right in my very own mudroom. I'm happy I took her in late because think how many days those maggots (AAARRGH) could've lived in there (Big Shot Husband usually drops them at school extremely quickly on his way to work, with no time to sniff, locate and fumigate). So I will leave you here while I go wash my hands again. With lye.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)