On the Origin of Species

I picked Alison up this afternoon from her first weekend in a gated community. She'd been invited to an overnight in Carmel at the home of her friend Dominic's grandparents.

Both Jeff and I went to meet the family before we gave her over. Not so much because we didn't trust them, but because when she saw the huge pool in the backyard, the tennis court, the home theater and the playroom downstairs, we were sure she'd never want to come home. We went to case the place for when we had to break her out.

Somehow, I managed to extricate her without having to call in the National Guard. On the way home, I was treated to this:

"Hey, Mom. Did you know that God did NOT create the world?"

"Really? What makes you think so?" I ask, knowing she'd had doubts but I'd left her with a very Catholic set of grandparents. What had gone on at Casa Fabuloso?

"Well. Here's what really happened," she said. "First, there was just the atmosphere. That's all there was. It was dark and really cold. And then, the sun was formed and it's heat started to move some of the gasses around. God had nothing to do with it."

"Really. Well, how did the atmosphere and the sun get there?"

"Uh. Well," she said. "I don't know that. Let's just go back to the atmosphere. OK?"

"OK, but do you think, maybe God might have gotten the atmosphere started?"

"I don't think so. See, the sun was so hot, it heated everything up and the planets started forming. And then, here came life. God didn't do it."

"Wow. Where'd you learn all this? National Geographic?" I asked. She's got a subscription to National Geographic Kids and had kept each one. They're in stacks by her bed and in her bathroom. She spews random nature facts like that 8-pounded kid from Jerry Maguire.

"Well not just that. Science class. Scientists have discovered all of this stuff," she said.

"That's really interesting stuff," I said. "You sure know a lot of stuff. Now I'm not saying I have any of the answers, but what makes you so sure that the way God decided to create the world was by having the atmosphere there first and the the sun, just like the scientists say?"

"Well, where did God come from?"

"Um, I said I didn't have ALL the answers."

"This kind of makes my head hurt, Mom," she said. "Like, how did people come to the Earth? And animals?"

"I don't know Ali. It's pretty difficult stuff. No one really knows one way or the other about anything."

"You know what would help?"

"What?"

"Time travel," said the Phinneas and Ferb fanatic. "If we had a time machine, we could go back and learn all kinds of things."

"That would simplify a few things," I allowed.

"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "That what we need for sure."

She's promised to look into inventing the time machine just as soon as she grows up. Her first project was going to be a tricked out car that the homeless could live in. It would have full kitchens, TV and all the stuff anyone would need. It would cost a dime to anyone who was poor. The rich, they'd have to pay millions.

But hey, a time machine would be cool, too.

Summertime in Maine

If it weren't for winter, I would totally live in Maine. One day I'll get smart or rich enough to summer there. Until then, I'm happy to mooch lodging off my father-in-law and hang with Team Reed Down East.

We sacrificed our annual 4th of July fireworks extravaganza in favor of a visit back home. And it was great.

Even though we were at the beach, Alison continued to frown on boys who went about without shirts on.

"Mom, look at that!" she'd say, shaking her head, disgusted.


Reminded that it was a scorcher, she was not moved. "Put a shirt on," she'd hiss.

We all had a great time, though it was far too short. We did get to see Auntie Jen's engagment ring up close. We're still recovering from the glare -- it's gorgeous.

I'm crazy excited to be a bridesmaid, and Jen and I spent some time poring over bride magazines looking for dresses. She's going to be a beautiful bride and we get to go back to Maine next summer for the wedding! I see summertime in Maine become a tradition for TeamReed Indiana.


Alison is excited about going to Maine regardless of the weather. And while she's happy for Jen because she truly loves her, as well as Peter, her soon-to-be uncle, she doesn't really care about the wedding or the dresses.

She remains more concerned about state of people's undress. She was aghast at the airport when she saw the cover of Rolling Stone.

And the grocery back home today, she turned around the magazines that featured women in teeny bikinis, again shaking her head in disapproval at the display of nearly naked flesh.

Just her little public service, I guess.

Sofa Trauma

I moved to Indianapolis 17 years ago and, due to what turned out to be the anti-heist of the century, had to buy new furniture for my new apartment in my new city. In between my life in Evansville and Indy, I'd rented space in a storage facility in Linton, Indiana.

When I found my new place and went back to get my furniture, it had vanished. There wasn't a stick of anything in that little rental cube the nasty man brought me back to. As you might imagine, I was pretty ticked. Especially when the man absolved himself of any responsibility. I was young. I was poor. I hadn't yet started sleeping with a lawyer.

So I went to Indy, financed a whole new living room and kitchen and settled in. The couch and love seat were covered with a brilliant white fabric splashed with pastels. Totally impractical. But I loved it.

Then the rental place called. They'd looked one bin over and guess what was there: yeah. The whole thing. The guy was even less helpful when I went back to get the stuff, which I parceled out to whoever would take it.

The couch and love seat managed to stick with me for many years. But Jeff did not love it, and it was relegated to the basement. By the time Ali came along, the couch had a few stains from chocolate ice cream, and stains from when a couch cusion fell out of a truck onto super-hot asphalt. So if Ali drooled, dribbled or drew on it, I didn't really care. She was little when she started jumping on it.

But she kept growing and the couch turned into a trampoline and sometimes doubled as a dinner napkin. As my appreciation for the thing waned, it waxed for Alison. She loved that couch. Ratty and dirty and torn as it was. It's logged millions of snuggling miles, and Jeff and I may or may not have had a few celebrations ourselves over the past dozen years or so.

But all good things must end, and I've been warning Alison for a good year now that the couch was going to go. Each new tear or stain was just one more step to the scrap heap. Finally, last week, I got a great deal on a leather set -- couch, love seat and oversized ottoman. The couch, ultimately, wouldn't fit down the stairs, but I've since found it a good home, so all is well, and I really only wanted the two pieces anyway.

You can't fit all three pieces and still have room for the Wii, you see.

Pleased as I was, Alison was not. She cried. She pleaded. She slept on the old couch the last night we had it.

When she saw it in the front yard with a "free" sign on it, all the drama returned. She and her Ogden pals (they're equally unhappy with the couch's demise) conspired to steal the pillows so they'd have a momento of all their good times on it. Jeff made them put them back.

Then it rained. Hard. On the sofa. Somehow, no one wanted to cart it away.

Even soaked and more disgusting than it had been in the basement, Ali still didn't want it gone. Today, the trash men came and the couch was finally out of our lives. We pulled into our drive loaded down with groceries just as the trash truck pulled away.

She at least fought the tears back this time.

"Mom. I'm still steamin' mad at you about the couch," she'd informed me yesterday on the way home from camp with Team Ogden aboard.

"Yeah, honey. I know. But it was the best thing. Really. You'll see."

"I've decided what you'll need to do to get me to forgive you," she said.

"What's that?" I asked.

"If you put in a pool that's in the ground, with concrete around it, I'll forgive you," she said.

"Ah. I see," I said. "I guess I'll have to work on that."

Hannah took the time to remind me that she and Alex had discussed the matter. They've spent many years climbing, jumping and dripping on the old couch, too. She was 100 percent supportive of the in-ground pool idea.

"We'd come over way more often," she said.

Tempting as that prospect is, I think I'll let the new furniture grow on the kids. I'm pretty sure my forgiveness will arrive any day now. For free.

There's more than corn in Indiana

We're off to Maine in the morning and excited to see Auntie Jen's ring up close and personal. We hope to canoe on the Adroscoggin River, I'll find a lobster and try not to exceed the Weight Watcher point tally too much.

Jeff's Father's Day present finally made it to our house last Saturday and he's been practicing ever since. I think he's hoping that James and David will pull out their corn hole set (a beauty handcrafted by Peter Chase with bags handmade by Jen) and let him practice some more.

Jeff's set was handcrafte by a northwest Indiana man who apparently makes the boards for the tournament crowd. Even with those credentials, his price was way better than anyone else we found, and we'll be happy to share details if anyone wants to give him some more business. He'd never made one with a Bosox design before, but we were really happy with his work.

In addition to the fancy corn hole set, pie arrived at our house this week.

It was made and delivered by our neighbor, Mark, with raspberries from his farm. Mark is a devout Christian, quiet, highly moralistic and a prolific gardener. He's a great person to have next door.

I'm still battling the bulge, and I'm not really a pie maker anyway. When Jeff got home, Ali broke the news to him that pie had arrived.

"I think Mark was doing community service," she said.

***

Happy Fourth of July! If you're blowing stuff up this weekend, do it safely.

Congrats to my friend Jonathan on his great news!!!! Seems that romance is in the air all along the Eastern Seaboard....

We need to take a parenting class

This morning, for a moment or two after a parent-to-parent conversation, I thought Jeff might have to start having only supervised visitation with Alison. Either that or he ought to stop telling me stuff. Because according to Jeff:

While I went out in search of milk and breakfast treats, Jeff and Ali were lounging amid gift bags and cards, watching a little Father's Day TV. Jeff was in charge of the remote and lingered over a channel showing the Katy Perry and Snoop Dogg's California Girls. While the thing starts out in candy land and pastel hairdos, it devolves into cupcake boobs that shoot whipped cream or something and a lot of near full nudity. It's a fun video. If you're, like, an adult... or at least in double digits.

As anyone who knows Alison, knows she's not a fan of nudity. She is a huge fan of candy. But even the background of the video didn't earn Ms. Perry a pass from my prudish little redhead.

"Dad. That girl is naked," she informed her father. She would probably have fought for the remote, but then some gummi bears entered the scene. Shortly after, that the cupcakes started erupting.

Alison was somewhat aghast. "Dad, that's just wrong," she said.

Later, they were in the basement. Alone again.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Ali."

"Why can you say 'crap' but I can't?"

He paused. He thought. "Well, Alison, that's probably not a word either of us should use."

"You use it a lot."

"Yeah. I'll work on that."

"OK Dad."

And now, in the interest of full disclosure, I should admit that I feel responsible for Alison's lack of religiousity. Is that a word? Part of the reason she attends catholic school is because I want her to learn about religion from a qualified authority. Which clearly isn't me. I try to keep my own doubts and cynicism away from her, but I think it's seeped out.

She's opted to believe in paleontology rather than Christianity, and it was one point on her Religion grade that kept her from straight As for her last report card in third grade.

So we were in the car yesterday and a song came on the radio that I think is hysterical. It's called "I pray for you" by Jaron and the Long Road. It's about a guy done wrong who for some reason visited a church after a long absence. He takes the preacher up on his words and starts praying for his lady lost to fall victim to a very long list of bad stuff.

"Mom. That is the worst song EVER," Alison shouts from the back. She's shouted a lot of bad commentary of my country music, but she was particularly unhappy with this one.

"I don't think God wants you to ask for bad stuff to happen to people," she said.

I tried for a moment to explain why it was funny and that she shouldn't take the comments literally. "Haven't you ever been so mad at someone that you wanted something bad to happen to them?" I asked.

"Yeah. But I didn't ask God about it," she said.

She's so much smarter than either of us...

RIP Miss Cheryl

We read "Dinner with Dracula, A Spine-Tingling Collection of Frighteningly Funny Poems" the other night.

We took turns reading of creepy creatures and vampire brats, Frankenswine and dads who turned into werewolves. It was a lot of fun. As she was getting herself ready for sleep, her father wished her sweet dreams.

"Oh Dad, I will rest in peace," she said, crossing her arms across her chest and closing her eyes.

***

I'd like to say the book inspired her bloodthirstiness later, but instead I think I'll blame Jenna Louise Tokash. We we blessed to have the sweet little tyke for a sleepover Saturday and this afternoon, I was driving the girls to the pool of our neighbor's mother's apartment complex. I'd helped them gather water guns, thinking they might need some toys. We were following my neighbor and her daughter, Chelsea.

Jenna and Ali were using the guns to "shoot" people along the route. Problem was, there weren't any pedestrians.

"We could shoot your mom," suggested Jenna.

"Uh, Jenna. She's our driver. Plus, who would take care of us if we shot her? How would we get home?" Alison asked.

"Yeah, well," responded Jenna, thoughfully. "Miss Debbie would probably drive us home."

I think Jenna forgot that I haven't bought her birthday gift yet...

***

Ack! My Eyes! My Eyes!

Alison has not yet developed an appreciation for the nude, especially male body, and of course I'm grateful for that. I'm not sure how she came to this antipathy. My friend Annmarie is anti-nudity, but I don't think Ali has spent so much time with Annie that it's rubbed off on her.

But from the time she's been able to express herself verbally, she's never enjoyed seeing anyone baring too much flesh, and she's never been quiet about it. She's especially affronted by seeing men without their shirts.

"Dude! Put a shirt on," she'll shout from the back seat as we drive by joggers or even as we bike past them on the Monon Trail.

Saturday, at the Indians game, she took off on a baby. "Did you see that?!" she gasped. "A shirtless baby! Sheesh!"

I started putting a few more clothes on several years ago when she started creeping into bed with us. It just seemed the right thing to do even though she's never once complained about seeing me in the flesh.

I think she's studying me as what might be coming down her pike. She's probably terrified. I keep reminding her that she won't be short and that she is blessed with her father's metabolism, so she probably won't have to worry about being overweight, either. She is keeping a sharp eye on her, um, other development -- some girls in her class are already wearing bras, and she's not looking forward to that.

Jeff, who appreciates snuggles from his daughter, and is just as unhappy about potential development as Alison is, has never felt pressured to cover up on the chance she'll creep into bed with us. He looks upon it as his turf, and he's not always as welcoming of the intrusion. She's usually on my side, though, and we've never had an incident where he couldn't snag his pjs when necessary.

Until Sunday morning. She jumped into bed, pulled back the covers and, I swear she said, "Ack! My eyes! My eyes!"

Jeff, thankfully, was on his side with his back to her, but she'd seen enough. "Geeze, man. Put some pants on! Mom. Dad is naked!" she informed me. Heck. She informed the world. She was outraged and her volume just increased.

It was hilarious. Well, I thought so. Jeff was not so amused. Alison certainly wasn't pleased at all.

He gave her some story about how he gets too hot and has to take off his clothes in the middle of the night. She actually nodded and accepted that story. She herself will often strip off her shirt and sleep in just her pj pants. She's also been known to strip entirely.

"Yeah, but just to see what it was like. And, it wasn't in public!" she said.

"My bed isn't public either," Jeff retorted.

"Yeah, well. Put on some pants, man!" she shouted back.

I don't have a photo of this occasion to share. My guess is you won't have a problem with that...