Cali's Secret Life

It's not like I don't know that my child is an actual person. It's just that it surprises me at times. Like, what goes on in her little head all day? What is she thinking about? How does the world look to her? Is it really possible that she has an entire secret life all her own, thoughts I won't ever hear of, feelings I can't share? Don't answer that. I know it's true, but it seems impossible.

The other day, Ricardo was driving in the car with Cali while I was at work. Suddenly, out of the blue, she said, "No not that way! Don't wanna go that way!" When he asked her why, she said "We go this way. We see Cali's house." Baffled, he went the way she pointed, and they passed a house with a For Sale sign, and she announced "That's my house. Grandma's going to buy it for me."

What the heck? Where did this idea even come from? This is not a house we have ever pointed out or talked about, although we pass it often since it is in our neighborhood. Did she get this idea from a book? Something her nanny said to her one day when they were walking by the house on the way to the park or something? Not to mention, the only grandparent she refers to as "Grandma" is someone she hasn't seen or spoken to in months.

Then, the next day, just to see what she would do, he pointed to the house as they passed and said "what's that?" And she said again "that's Cali's house." Apparently Cali's secret thoughts are dominated by real estate ambitions.

And here's another interesting conversation I had with her.

"Mama, what's that noise?"
"It's the washing machine next door."
"Oh, at H an T's house?"
"Yep, at H and T's house."
"Oh, is H's clothes getting washed?"
"Yes, her clothes are probably getting washed."
"Oh no, H is nakey!"

She was unconvinced when I told her I was sure H still had some clothes left to wear. The laundromats in Cali's world must be very interesting places.

Gift

From Jul 6, 2011

Sometimes life slips one of those days into your hand, as if you've been running your fingers through rough grass and they catch upon a wildflower that you didn't realize was there. A day where you don't have to try so hard to be happy, where you don't even realize you are happy because it isn't a giddy, self-conscious feeling, but rather a simple contented sense of peace.

Remember last year, my manic search for holiday fun? Well, this year's Fourth of July was better. I haven't completely lost my neuroses, don't worry, but I really was able to let things happen much more spontaneously. And we had a really great day. This was in large part owing to our amazing neighbors, who have a little girl exactly Cali's age. To say they love each other would be an understatement. They are crazy about each other. So they came over for a BBQ (and I was even mellow enough to serve nothing but leftovers from the last two days) and then we lit a fire in our fire pit and we roasted marshmallows, and the girls had their first taste of s'mores. They liked them okay, I guess.

After that, we snuggled the girls together in the big stroller and walked out to the cliffs to watch the fireworks. Our city doesn't have a city-sponsored show, so everything is illegal. Usually most of them are shot off on the other side of the harbor, but this year people were shooting them off on our side of the cliffs and they were literally exploding right over our heads. Even I was nervous, and poor little H (Cali's friend) was terrified and sobbing. Cali, usually unperturbed at anything except dogs that might want to lick her (apparently she is unaware that their TEETH pose the larger threat), said nervously "I wanna go home. Let's try again tomorrow." So we left (just as the police pulled up with their lights off and sneaked up on the culprits). As we walked home, the booms faded and the girls calmed down and started enjoying the distant blossoms of light in the sky. Although, I have to say, when fireworks are going off incessantly, it becomes unnecessary to say "that's a firework!" every time you hear one. Even if you are only two and it is really cute the first 200 times. I swear, as she drifted off to sleep with the sounds of revelry still coming muffled through our windows, she mumbled "that's a firework, mama."