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••• Thursday, August 07, 2003

While Hope Lies Bleeding..... 

My husband and I are very, very happy with our daycare provider, Sasha. We feel lucky not only to have found such a gem in our own neighborhood, but also that she had an opening, and allowed us in.

Before finding Sasha, we looked at several daycare providers. The place my husband has dubbed "Children of the Corn" Daycare was the worst. 'Nuff said.

Another place was well-reputed (YMCA) but huge. While waiting to begin the tour/interview, I saw two child care workers pushing a tiered, twelve unit condominium stroller down the hallway. It was packed and stacked with babies. I started crying and continued so through the interview and tour. Not only embarrassing, it's hard to ask the tough questions while stifling a snot blob.

So, we are really lucky to have Sasha, who has raised several children of her own and has run a day care out of her home for the past 12 years. She and her husband are immigrants from Eastern Europe. She holds a degree in Child Development and was a pre-school teacher in the "old country." All meals served to the children are from scratch and kosher. The weekly menu includes salmon, mac n cheese, cabbage rolls, stews and soups. The Friday before Father's Day, she sent home "take-out" orders of cabbage rolls for all the dads. She's truly a care provider.

When we interviewed with Sasha, she warned that the children in her care get so accustomed to
her great cooking, they may not eat well at home. I remember at the time thinking "We'll see." I fancy myself as a damn good cook.

Well, fancy this. My daughter won't eat anything I put in front of her except for cereal ("yeeyoo"), peanut butter toast, and any bread item with melted cheese.

This week at daycare Ana reportedly ate two helpings of Sasha's beef stew. She ate meat? I asked. Well yes! Doesn't she eat meat for you? No. Chicken? No.

She picks it, flicks it, and adds an "ocky" for good measure.

Says Sasha, She always eat so good for me. But I cook meat very tender.

I really do love Sasha. But a comment like this rouses my inner Aunt Bea, whose meat is always cooked to perfection and tender as a mother's heart on payday. You might remember that Aunt Bea also had a competitive streak when it came to issues of domestic prowess.

I want my daughter to eat my cooking. I want her to love to eat my cooking. Evidently Ana's not interested in playing the prescribed role in my vision. I have to respect that and follow her pace.

So yesterday I decided to make my culinary contribution through a bit of whimsy. One big fat blueberry, smack dab in the middle of her yeeyoo.

She's never had a blueberry before. She giggled. She poked. She rolled it on the table. She called it "ball" ::redflag:: I went away for a minute and when I returned, the berry was gone. I looked on the floor, in the bowl and in her seat. I felt kind of disappointed that I missed her response to the taste (probably an Mmmmm). But I was satisfied it was gone. Aunt Bea smiled smuggly, and sat on the couch to knit.

An hour later I'm walking in the hallway outside of the "gated community" where Ana resides. It's her favorite place to throw balls over the gate, then scream for retrieval. On the floor are two quarter-sized dark red splats on our light beige carpet. It was the big fat blueberry, eviscerated.

I hadn't asked or hoped for much. I just wanted to provide her with a novel, enjoyable eating experience. And a good enough feeling for myself. And...there...right there....in a couple of two-bit blobs, my hope lies bleeding on the floor.

Sasha would say Don't give blueberry to baby.
Aunt Bea would wring a towel and say, Oh Opy!
I say Thank God for OxyClean.

Squeaking By
I'm making catnip mice for Wendy's charity event. I partially felted a few of them because the seed stitch seemed holey. The felting made for lovely fur and I like the look better than the non-felted. So far the mice have used up one skein out of 90 (yes, 9-0) of some ancient dk tweed wool I bought on ebay a while back (for less than a buck a skein). Other plans for this yarn include a felt bag, felt slippers, and a tent.

The mice knit up easily, so I was able to crank out three in short order. They are kind of strange looking, pre-stuffing. Bulbous in a triangularly phallic kind of way.

And on that ribald note, my tail is done.

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# posted by Marcia @ 2:13 PM


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