We need a montage!

Today feels like a math word-problem kind of day.  As in, "It's 10 am on a Friday, two weeks before Christmas.  Kim's boss left work at 4pm yesterday, and won't be back until Monday.  How much work in the area of corporate finance do you think Kim will accomplish today?"

 

Answer: As little as possible.

 

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Today—and maybe all weekend— is Montage Day.  Let's play a little catch up, shall we?

 

On October 11, Calla was born in the wee hours of the morning.  That same day, my best friends had a garage sale.  I went over to help out by keeping an eye on their daughter (my goddaughter, Chava) while they were taking care of business.  As I was running around with Chava in and out of the house and all around, my BFF Cheri was helping a couple of older black ladies carry their purchase, a vacuum cleaner, out to their car.

 

When they got out to their car, one of the ladies asked Cheri, "Is she your Saturday help?"  Cheri didn't have a clue as to what they were talking about, so the older woman clarified, "That nice young black lady: is she your Saturday help?"

 

Cheri, aghast, quickly explained that no, I was her best friend and her daughter's godmother.  The ladies were greatly impressed with how nice she was.  Because she had a black friend.  Ouch.

 

Gotta love livin' in the South.

 

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Two of my male cousins, whose girlfriends are knocked up, are now unsure of the babies' paternity.  Apparently, both girls have been exposed as two-timers who were possibly screwing other guys around the time of conception.  Nice.

 

Gotta love livin' in the South (the remix).

 

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Chava, who is now 3 ½ years old, has some very funny little-kid speech patterns.  The word "she" doesn't exist in her vocabulary; everything is "her".  As in, "Her went to the store with her mommy".  It's insanely cute.  She also mispronounces some words.  Coca-Cola is Coca-Lola; yellow used to be lellow (but she has yellow down pat now).  Oddly enough, she had no trouble at all saying "La Posada" the other day.  Weird kid.

 

Oh, and she loves coffee, which she'll sneak out of your mug if you leave it unattended.  She even likes her dad's coffee, which is black and unsweetened.  And I hate to say it because it makes us sound like child abusers, but she also likes red wine.  Before you start dialing the number for Child Protective services, the wine she'd had up until last weekend was just sips of communion wine in church… which she likes.  A lot.  As for last weekend, well, several of us were drinking wine at dinner, and Chava grabbed her mom's glass exclaiming, "I like wine!"  After we all snickered for a minute at how funny it was to hear that coming out of 3 year old's mouth, we shared smug glances as we thought about how she WOULDN'T like that wine if she took a sip, as it was a Beaujolais-villages, and not the candy-sweet communion wine.  It was like a silent adult conspiracy: let her take a sip, she'll be disgusted with the flavor, and won't try to steal sips of wine anymore.

 

We were so wrong.  She took a sip, hummed in enjoyment, and started to try to turn the glass up again.  Her mom quickly took her glass back, and we all spent the next five minutes talking about what a strange child she is, the 3 ½ year old who likes coffee and wine.  We decided that she's a 35 year old trapped in the body of a toddler.

 

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I'm going to lunch now (it's now almost 12:30), so I guess I'll take up the montage later. I've had so much going on in my head, that I'm almost afraid of how long it will take to catch up!