Tag Archive for: teapot

Moink and Ooo

/in /by


Being a Grandma is absolutely delightful and positively exhausting.

A couple of days ago, I babysat from 4 to 7:30. When I arrived, my son announced that Ms. Riley, age 9 months, hadn’t had an afternoon nap (and only a 30 minute one in the car in the morning). Even Riley, the perfect child, is not so perfect at that time.

I decide to take her for a walk in the stroller – she likes it and she usually falls asleep – except when she doesn’t because she likes to look around. It was a beautiful day and she enjoyed the neighborhood stroll. To be fair, she finally did sleep, for all of 20 minutes because she woke up within 15 seconds of my stopping and I wasn’t up for another 45 minute walk.

So we came inside and played…and played…and played. I fed her dinner which she thoroughly enjoyed, especially the part where she squished the banana slices in her fingers before struggling to make the transfer from sticky fingers to mouth. Often the dexterity eluded her, which meant banana in the hair (hers and mine) I gave her a bath, again lots of fun, even if Grandma was drenched by the end. But it was clear that she was fading fast.

I didn’t want to put her to sleep because if she went to bed before a final nursing with her Mom, she’d wake up in an hour, refreshed from her nap just about the time the adults in the house were ready to call it a night. So I just had to hang on for another 30 minutes and the cavalry, e.g. her mom, would be arriving.

At this point, her only comfort was me holding her (all 20 pounds of that cute bundle), swaying back and forth (while ignoring growing lower back pain), and most of all, singing her favorite song. Now this little ditty was written by my daughter-in-law, as an accompaniment to a rather oddly designed stuffed animal that Riley adores. It is affectionately called Pig Cow, which is in fact what it looks like. The song is as follows:

I’m a little pig cow, pig cow, pig cow
I’m a little pig cow, pig cow, pig
Pigs say oink
Cows say moo
I say Moink
And sometimes Ooo.

I was up to about my 2,000th rendition of the song, when it struck me that, with just a little minor variation, it’s exactly the same tune as the childhood classic, “I’m a Little Teapot, Short and Stout, Here is my handle, Here is my spout.”

I decide to change it up, and launched, with much bravado, into a full-out rendition of this new ditty.

The Queen was not amused.

She looked at me like I had belched, loudly, at Buckingham Palace.

Her face screwed up, her tears were big and plentiful.

I apologized profusely and immediately switched back to the Pig Cow tune (which I’m humming now even in my sleep).

Temporary peace was restored, although it was clear that trust had been breached.

What could I do to restore the sunny disposition of this wondrous child? I still had ten minutes to kill. It was time for the last resort.

Have you ever heard of Mum-Mums? I have raised four children and until a month ago, had never heard of this delicacy, each box of which costs about the same as a new car. They are rice rusks, organic of course, with a touch of sugar, and the equivalent of Godiva chocolate in the baby world.

Interrupting the Pig Cow song long enough to explain to Ms. Riley what I was about to do, I said, “Riley, honey, there may be sugar in these Mum-Mums, but don’t worry. Your Mommy and Daddy will buy you braces when you are a teenager. Grandma is going to get you a Mum-Mum right now.”

All tears, even hints of tears, stopped. Did I mention that the child’s only vocabulary right now consists of Mum-Mum and Hi? Clearly I was on the right track.

Peace reigned. We sat on the steps, child contentedly eating her treat, me continuing to murmur Moinks and Oooos.

Mom arrived. Grandma gave big kisses and headed for home, exhausted but triumphant.

Would all the problems in the world be so easily fixed with a little Moink, Oooo, and Mum-Mum.

Grandma, aka Marian the Northern half of Evelyn David

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

The Sullivan Investigation Series
Murder Drops the Ball (Spring 2011)
Murder Takes the Cake- Paperback – Kindle
Murder Off the Books- Paperback – Kindle
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

The Art and Artistry of Wedding Gifts

/in /by


Weddings are on my mind. Of course, here’s where I’ll give the expected plug for the forthcoming, Murder Takes the Cake (May 2009) – which is fun, furry, and festive. But both in the fictional world and the real one, I’m awash in tulle and lace. In the last 12 months, I’ve hosted or attended four bridal showers, one engagement party, and two weddings. I’ve got two more weddings on the calendar in the next couple of weeks.

All of which means, besides dusting off my dancing shoes for the ceremonial, raucous hora (Israeli celebratory dance), I’m also spending a lot of time and money on wedding gifts. Part of me is envious, as I scan the bridal registries of the young couples. I wish that I could start over with new unchipped dishes and glasswear. I swear I’d still pick the same husband – but I’d like to replace my faded, thin towels, as well as my pilled, shrunken bottom sheets which pop off the mattress in the middle of the night.

Picking the right gift is always a delicate balancing act of taste and budget. The registries are much more elaborate today. Within days of getting engaged, I picked out, at my mother’s insistence, good china and silver – and in fact, got full services of both. But today, there are registries for the honeymoon, for gardening supplies, computer and electronic gifts, luggage, camping gear – you name it, somebody has registered for it.

But despite the often elaborate registries, I think every couple still receives at least one wedding gift that defies explanation. Ours was a silver-plated, four-quart teapot that rested on an elaborate, ornately carved ugly stand, and was engraved with the Greek letters of some fraternity. I still have it in the basement, waiting for the occasion when I host Queen Elizabeth and her family for tea.

Of course, no one owes you a gift and we need to remember to be grateful and gracious for the gesture and goodwill. But I read one story from a bride who recounted receiving a box of condoms as a wedding gift which seemed, pardon me, slightly tacky; or another who recalled the elaborately wrapped brick she received with a note that advised her to use it as a cornerstone when she built a house, which probably takes “practical” to a new level.

What’s your worst wedding gift ever?

Evelyn David