Silent night

I haven't blogged in a while. Which is possibly the most cliche thing for a semi-retired blogger to say when attempting to write again. So maybe I should delete this part. 

Tons have changed since I last wrote anything for this blog, including (but not limited to) having ANOTHER niece!!! More on the adorable Cami later, I hope. My memory is, shall we say, challenged.

I consider myself completely blessed (HASHTAGBLESSED!!!) to have been able to help my sister in the US the two times she's given birth. When Cami was born early 2018, I was around again. Her older sister Carlie was about 2 and a half years old when Cami showed up. Carlie was growing up to be a sharp and funny little girl, much to my constant amusement.

For instance, one time she heard me groaning when attempting to stand from a sitting position on the floor, and asked why I was making sounds. I said I was old. Which of course prompted her existential question, "Why are you old?"

Why indeed.

With a newborn in the house, we usually kept it pretty quiet. We were especially muted when Cami was napping because she was excruciatingly shrieky when she was awake and upset (thanks to her tummy issues).

It was during one of those Cami naps when I saw Carlie intently watching one of her cute TV shows with the volume set to like ... 2 or 3. It was really soft. I could barely discern words. I watched Carlie for a while and she seemed to be highly entertained and focused. Wow, I thought, this toddler's hearing is amazing. My curiosity got the best of me and I had to ask:

"Carlie, can you hear anything? Do you know what's going on?"

"Yes!" she said. Nodding. Not breaking eye contact with Peppa or whoever it was.

"Really? What are they saying?"

And Carlie said, in all seriousness and in a very soft voice:

"Wawawawawawawawawa."

Oh Car. Never change.

Dr Carlie is in

There's nothing like a funny family member to make me want to blog again. This latest story has a semi-new character, Carlie, the 2-year-old daughter of my younger sister, Mia. I sort of introduced her to you, my millions of readers, in this post from 2 years ago.

Me and Carlie, having none of this selfie nonsense

Anyway, little Carbaroni is in town for a while so we are all overjoyed. Carlie has grown up (well, sort of) to be an adorable girl who just won't stop talking until she gives in to sleep. Which can be good or bad, as I've learned from all my conversations with Carlie's cousins, Juancho and Martina, when they were younger. (I can link dozens of posts, but I chose just that one because it's past my bedtime. Please feel free to search my old entries from a time when I blogged regularly and furiously, and I was probably funnier. And thinner. *Sob*)

Today, I had to watch Carlie for a bit because her mommy was taking a much-needed nap. I was getting a bit sleepy myself so I had to end our catching and throwing practice (we used a tiny, fluffy dinosaur as our ball, but with my energy level, it felt like an oversized bowling ball ... on fire). We sat on the couch instead and she started to pretend to be a doctor examining me.

Oh no.

Because I've had countless experiences with too-honest kids and their evaluations of my body parts, I braced myself for the inevitable. After all, just a few months ago, a chatty and most entertaining 4-year-old girl told me – after a few minutes of careful observation and pinching – that my arms were, decidedly, 'too big'. She wasn't wrong.

Back to my niece.

Carlie: I look at your leg. 

Me: OK. It's big, right? 

Carlie: No, small.

(YES! Small victory! Literally!)

Carlie: The other one. 

Me: This leg is big? 

Carlie: No, small.

(WHOOHOOO!)

Carlie: I look at your tummy. 

Me (in mortal fear): OK. It's soft? 

Carlie: No, it's beautiful.

AWWWWWWW. Sniff. Thanks, Car.

Not all my blog stories have a weird ending, after all. 

(And I'll stop there before I tell you about the real ending of the night: her mini-tantrum during my futile attempt at brushing her teeth. When dealing with small children, just like the rest of life, you really can't win 'em all.)

Martina is her mother's daughter

Even at the ripe old age of almost-11, Martina still gives me many reasons to blog. Yesterday proved it. And how.

I was hanging out with Juancho (who just turned 15! FIFTEEN!!!) and Marteens, each of us doing his or her own thing involving a screen of some sort. I was working, Juancho was watching a sitcom and Martina was playing some modern revival of the Nokia snake game (I hated that damn game).

Martina has never seen the cartoon version, can you believe it?

Then, without provocation, Martina started singing with all her might from "Beauty and the Beast":

Course by course!!! 

One by one!!!

'Til you shout ...

(To those who have no idea, the next line is supposed to be "Enough! I'm done!" ... but my niece thought it was ...)

TARANTANTAN!!!

Wahahahaaaaaa! Juancho and I couldn't stop laughing.

To be honest, I quite like how it rolls off the tongue. 'Til you shout tarantantan! "Do you want more bread?" "Tarantantan."

This really shouldn't surprise me because Martina is so much like her mother, my Ate, who also tends to mishear Disney lyrics. Three words: a pretty walk. (If you click that link, you'll see that this isn't the first time Martina has mangled songs either.)

Full disclosure: Martina cannot sing a single phrase of that movie correctly ("I need success!" is definitely NOT in the opening song "Belle" – figure it out), but life is short, and we must get on with the next story.

Another topic we discussed was Ate's height (hahaha sorry, Ate).

Juancho: What's Mom's height? 5'2"? 

Me: No way. I'm not even that height. I'm 5'1.75" and your mother is smaller. 

Juancho: She says she's 5'2". 

Me: Don't believe her. 

Juancho: Martina believes her. 

Martina: Of course I do. She buys me donuts.

End scene.

Happy mother's day?

Martina fires some shots

My 10-year-old niece Martina is turning out to be quite the loaded weapon. Of zingers. Not that this should surprise me, as I've documented many of these attacks in my blog throughout her life. But it's still quite shocking when I get hit.

Just yesterday, while I was in the car with Marteens and Ate, her mom, she fired two awesome shots targeted at very innocent victims – all within 5 minutes.

First victim: JUANCHO

Martina: Mom, Juanch has so many friends. 

Me and Ate: That's a good thing, Marteens! 

Martina: ... but I have more.

Boom.

Second victim: ME

Me, longing for ice cream and aiming to make an announcement that I would treat them: You know what I REALLY want to eat right now? 

Martina: Everything. 

Me:  

Martina: You like everything.

KABOOM!!!

My advice? Run and hide. 

Weekend radio tales, starring Mama

[Before you accuse me of bullying the saint who brought me into this world, please know that I told her I'd write about these. And I told her I look forward to her bloopers because without them, my blog would be dead. OK, now you may accuse me.]

On Saturdays and Sundays, I drive my parents to tennis at an ungodly hour. I get to listen to the radio only when I drive, so twice a week, Mama and Dad have to bear with my station choices. This was a particularly good weekend ... for blog fodder.

Saturday, Mellow 94.7 FM (Hahahaaaaaajudgeme):

Just some random cute photo of a car radio ...
and the right station!

The Star Wax jingle is a song that's particularly hard to get out of your brain, which makes it a very effective, very irritating commercial. When Mama heard it (apparently, for the very first time) yesterday, her reaction was:

"Wow, I didn't know they had commercials like this now."

Which was a strange thing to say, given that most of the local brands feature original songs in their radio spots.

But I know how Mama's mind works. So I said, matter-of-factly:

"Ma, Star Wax. That's not an ad for STARBUCKS."

"Ah. So that's why."

Hahahahahaha.

Now sing it with Starbax in the lyrics. Go. I'll wait.

By the way, the previous link was an older version of the song. This is the newer one. If you click this too, I admire your courage. You're a star (wax). (I apologize.)

Sunday, Magic 89.9 FM (Throwback! I don't know if this station's as cool as it used to be.):

Speaking of "hard to get out of your brain," Nicki Minaj's Super Bass was playing softly in the car this morning. I didn't think Mama was listening until she heard part of the verse that said something like "yadda yadda yadda American guys."

"American guys again?! I heard a song yesterday with American guys. American guys, American guys ..."

I was just quiet, because I had a feeling this was going somewhere absurd. And of course, Mama didn't disappoint.

"Oh no wait. It wasn't American guys. It was QUEEN ELIZABETH."

HAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!

Wrong country, wrong sex! Christmas came early this year! Thank you, Mama!

--------------------

PS: I was curious so I looked for the Queen Elizabeth song. It might be this one. As to where and how Mama heard it, don't ask. Or ask her, and tell me if something funny happened. I'll need the material.