Costumes And Who We Are

At Halloween, I think about costumes. I believe Daisy, having a birthday mere days before Halloween, was born thinking about costumes for her birthday parties and for trick-or-treating.

For her fifth birthday, Daisy chose to be a princess. I went to my sewing stash and picked out a piece of neon pink fabric to fashion into a gown suitable for a five-year-old, pre-K princess. Daisy loved it. And I was left with a problem: Birdie, the Little Me-Too.

The pink gown caught Birdie's eye. And suddenly, she, too, demanded to wear a princess gown. I didn't have pink fabric left.. So I reached deep into my stash and pulled out a remnant of white cotton fabric sprinkled with black and white cows and red hearts. I cut and stitched it into a Birdie-sized gown, slapped a flower on the front and presented it to her. She loved it, cows and all.

I believe that costumes reveal something about who we are or whom we want to be. For Halloween, I have dressed as a witch, a clown and a gypsy. Daisy tends toward beautiful witch, Hula Girl and kitty cat. I'm told that Birdie will be a Hula Girl this year. But in Birdie's younger days, that cow gown started something. Like other girls, Birdie dressed as a fairy and an angel. But sporting cows fed her imagination and need to color outside the lines. Birdie--like it or not--is a free spirit. She can dress as a broom, a strawberry or a Mad-Hatter cabaret singer.

I know college-age Birdie isn't pleased that these photos are out. But I hope she takes a close look at them before she demands that I remove them. Birdie is a girl who loves life and goes where others won't. Silly photos or not, the world needs more Birdies.

I could have dug much harder through my fabric stash to find a shred of royal purple or sapphire blue. But then Birdie wouldn't have been Birdie. And where's the fun in that?

The Daisy Birthday

I remember Daisy's first birthday party. From her Minnie Mouse throne of a high chair, she ruled the event. She wore gift bows as her crown and waved a grape Tootsie Roll Pop to keep our attention. And all of our eyes were riveted on her, the prettiest--the only--baby in the dining room.

On Friday, Daisy turned 21. Big Guy and I drove to Columbia, Mo., to meet her for dinner at a nicely grown-up restaurant. Her roommates joined us. They brought Daisy's wallet. She had forgotten it on the one occasion when she yearned to be carded. Then the waiter forgot to card her. So Daisy waved her I.D. in the air, until he checked it. In that moment, she reminded me of the Tootsie Roll Pop-waving tot, so certain of her well-loved place in the world.

The tot Daisy, with candy-sticky hair and chocolate cake-frosting'd face, got put to bed shortly after her first birthday party. On that night, Big Guy and I stayed up to toast ourselves as parents...successful parents of a now sleeping one-year-old.

On this 21st birthday, after dinner with her parents, Daisy and her friends hit the bars of downtown Columbia for her first swing at full-fledged adulthood. Big Guy and I reminded her to be careful and gave her money for a taxi in case her ride fell through. Then we drove two hours home and put ourselves to bed. That's the ending shared by two exceptional birthdays for one exceptional girl. Someone went to bed. And someone celebrated long into the night.

Happy Birthday Daisy!

Jelly & Beer

As I stepped on to mom's front porch--exhausted after a nine-hour drive--I saw the raccoon catcher baited with grape jelly and beer. I didn't think twice about it. Until later. Do raccoons like canned domestic beer? Would they prefer it  bottled and imported? And what about grape as a jelly choice? If I eat grape jelly, it's with peanut butter.  I don't eat my jelly with beer or drink my beer with jelly.

But what do I know? Mom understands raccoons. At one time, she had three of them living with her as invited house guests. While Moss-Coon and Tonto were confined to the screened back porch, the most senior raccoon Zolone romped through the house. He swung from door knobs, pulled pots and pans out of cabinets, tossed down illicit aspirins like candy, rinsed wrist-watches in toilets, annoyed cats and ran his saucy little paws through the sugar in the sugar bowl--which pretty much made it "his sugar."

It took Mom two solid years to get Zolone and his companions out of the house and into the wild. In fact, she found it easier to send Sis to college a semester early than to unwedge the raccoons from their cozy digs.

But that was long ago. Mom has grown wiser. No more falling for cute bandit-masked raccoon babies. No more warning visitors away from the sugar bowl. The current raccoon trap, she says, is set strictly to resettle raccoons who eat cat food while lazy cats nap.

While I visited, Mom took a break from baiting the trap. After I returned home, Mom resumed her beer and jelly baiting. She caught an opossum. It took the dim-witted creature about 100 tooth punches to guzzle three cans of beer. There was no sign left of the grape jelly. Mom called Bro to remove the hapless drunk so she could restock with beer and jelly. Bro, too, knows better than to think too hard about her beer and jelly system.

After all, Mom cut her teeth on critters. And if she says beer and jelly catch critters, she's probably got reason to think it. Before there were raccoons in the house, Mom had an opossum as her childhood pet, a dairy cow to milk and a goat-pulled cart to collect the mail. When she was a teenager, there was an incident of kid goats turned loose in the house while her parents weren't home. She credits her brothers with the crime. But I know she enjoyed it--perhaps as much as the opossum enjoyed the beer and  jelly spread.

"Oh"

Big Guy: "Daisy called. She wants me to bring her the old kitchen table and chairs."

Miss Flonotes: "Yeah. She told me."

Big Guy:  "I guess I can take that table apart."

Miss Flonotes: "Take the table apart?"

Big Guy:  "To get it in the car."

Miss Flonotes:  "The car? We have a minivan."

Big Guy:  "Oh."