**A blog post from the summer that never got published. (Oh, Mommy. Is it really so hard to press the big blue “publish” button??) But, considering the state of things at the moment, maybe it’s fun to reminisce. Whatever that means.**
Once again, America, we find ourselves in chaos. Political turmoil. Social unrest. And most disorienting: my preschool is closed for nearly two weeks before the school year starts. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to nap. Ever. Again. (And I’m ok with that, America.)
Food. I have been refining my palate. Translation: I’m done with raisins. And apples. And tomatoes. Daddy still puts them on my plate. (Some people are slow learners.) Big waste of effort. Because then I need to get up out of my chair, walk across the kitchen floor, and throw them away. “Emma, you don’t need to do that” Daddy says. “Just leave them on your plate.” Daddy, have you ever met a four year old? Leave it on my plate? I. Don’t. Like. It. WHY WOULD I WANT TO CONTAMINATE THE OTHER FOOD? (Didn’t anyone ever teach you germ theory?!?)
Language. Well, America, it took four years but I finally won. After four years, Daddy stopped speaking to me in Japanese. Now he speaks to me in English. He tells people it has something to do with his “vocabulary” in English. (I guess he finally developed one.) Don’t worry Daddy. I’ll speak slowly if that helps. (Do itashimashite.) And don’t worry, America. The Emma still goes to a Spanish immersion preschool.
Play. My favorite game now is called Baby Emma. I play it with Mommy. All. The. Time. (I understand that consistency is important to grown ups.) I pretend to be a baby who needs to sleep. And then I tell Mommy which of my stuffed animals should (rudely) wake me up. By speaking too loudly. Or singing. (I don’t specify that it has to be off key, but Mommy seems to like to play it this way.) Anyway, Baby Emma gets (rudely) woken, she is grumpy. And cries. Mommy calls this “irony”. (Which presumably is the name for some type of performance art.)
Summer vacation. This summer we spent a week in Maine with my Bubbe, my four big girl cousins and my aunties and uncles. Maine was full of surprises. First, I discovered that having a tantrum in Maine works even better than having one in Massachusetts. Because Mommy and Daddy are more willing to cave in when there are lots of other people around. (It’s like that cool, crisp Maine air makes them smarter.) Second, I discovered that Jacob likes touching slimy sea creatures. This was not a big surprise. Because he likes slimy land creatures too. Jacob held a sea star (the slimy creature formerly known as a star fish), and crab and kissed a sea cucumber.
Also, Maine is full of mountains. Here’s what you need to know about this. Mountains are always big. This means that there is no easy way to hike up them. Grown ups will tell you it’s easy. And then you get there. And realize that the mountain you are supposed to hike is about 13,000 Emma’s high. And Mommy will say something like “Oh, Emma. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this was going to be such a tough hike. Are you okay? Do you want a sip of water? How ’bout you give Mommy a piggy back ride?” No, Mommy. That joke NEVER gets old.
Also, Maine has moose. And they are not chocolate. I have been wronged, America. I’m not going to lie.
When Jacob wasn’t kissing sea cucumbers, he spent his time learning the words to a show called Hamilton. He learned all of them. From our big girl cousins. Who sang it all week. On and off mountain tops. Mommy says this has saved us a lot of money in Broadway tickets. Because the big girl cousins sing the songs better than the people on Broadway. Well of course they do. How could Broadway people sing with all that background noise and cars honking. The Emma has been to New York City. It is not a quiet place.
Politics. Here’s a parlor game that Mommy likes to play. She says, “Emma– who do we want to win the election?” And I say “Hillary CLIN-TON”. And Mommy says, “Why?” And I say “Because she’s smart and she’s nice.” And then Mommy says, “And who else is running for president”. And I say “Donal-Trump”. And Mommy says, “And why don’t we want him to win?” And I say “Because he uses mean talk.”
Oh, America. Cringe worthy, isn’t it? Sure, I could talk about the depth of Hillary’s foreign policy experience. How many world leaders Trump is likely to offend during his first 100 days. Implications for the Supreme Court. Racism. Sexism. And yet, here I am reducing this election down to these bite size morsels. Sadly, it’s the only way Mommy will understand. And apparently she has the right to vote. And I do not. Which as you can see, America, is a travesty. Side bar: I’d also like to point out that Hillary CLINTON had the good sense to choose a preschool teacher as her running mate. (Buen trabajo, Hillary!)