|To us that is a mere toothbrush. To Tiny-Small it is a microphone!
We are always singing around here. We sing off-key and badly and now it has rubbed off on our offspring. It’s OK though, because it’s hard to be grumpy and in a bad mood when you are constantly singing. Tiny-Small is assimilating into this family with more grace and enthusiasm than anyone could have imagined or expected. She is a smart, beautiful, happy child. She deserves better, but she’s stuck with us and making the best of it! I give her loads of credit for that.
Tiny-Small is the only person on the planet that claps after hearing me sing. She makes me feel like a Super-Star! I am sure she will start wearing earplugs by the time she is 13.
I have a mind for theatrical performances, so while I can never remember the words to pop songs on the radio, I can always belt out a few songs from Annie or The Sound of Music. Don’t even get me started on Fiddler On The Roof. I don’t even know the words to half of the songs, but that doesn’t stop me from writing my own lyrics. Of course, if you have read my blog before you also know I have a year round obsession with Christmas music too. Tiny-Small will be well versed in how to be totally uncool by the time she is 4 years old at this rate. I can only imagine her future horror when her mom picks her up from Girl Scouts singing the theme song from Phantom of the Opera or that song from Wicked made super popular by the hit TV show Glee. Not only will I be singing it, but singing it badly. The best I can do is not wear slippers or have my hair in curlers when I pull up to the curb, swing the passenger door open wide and yell for her to climb on in. At least I won’t be smoking and won’t have a smile full of missing teeth (hopefully). I feel sorry for her already. Mostly because there is a good chance that sometime in the future I will pick her up while wearing my slippers and with curlers in my hair. Or, even worse, still in my pajamas (and flips flops) covered in dirt because I was gardening and chasing chickens all over the back yard. I can’t help it. I’ve never been very cool either and it’s unlikely I’m going to start now at such an advanced age. Old people don’t change, at least not into what teenagers want them to.
When Tiny-Small grows up and we drag out the family photo albums she will likely have to explain her family of misfits and the clothes we are wearing. The home videos will be filled with bad singing, horrible piano playing and endless barking. Her friends will wonder how she turned out so “normal” despite her up bringing. I am sure by then she will have perfected her explanations and through extensive therapy discovered the source of her fantastic resilience. Either that, or she’ll be just like us: Singing off-key while fake ballet dancing, chasing chickens around the backyard while daydreaming about the medical genius and just out of reach procedure of debarking, and laughing at her own awkward, quirkiness and sad but true love of producing endless pictorial documentation of it all. Yes, someday she will have it all and be just like her parents! Or, more importantly, just like me.
The best part is we have an endless supply of blackmail footage. It’s going to be fun when she grows up. She can’t really deny her part in any of these shenanigans because we have video of it all! Sing away, Tiny-Small, sing away! Your feature is bright and I see auditions for American Idol in your future.
We recently had some inquiries about our daughter’s name. We don’t actually call her “Tiny-Small” in real life. It’s just a nickname we use to protect her identity on the Internet. I mean, she didn’t exactly sign up for this whole blog thing. This way, when she starts attending Junior High, she can claim she is not related to me and that this blog is not about her or her family at all. The good thing is when she enrolls herself into psychotherapy in an attempt to recover from her childhood she can print all of these blog posts out as proof of her parents incompetence and eccentricities. So, our daughter does know her real name. She won’t be writing “Tiny-Small” on her future job applications, on the back of her social security card, or on her wedding certificate. I just thought I would address this and put an end to all of the worrying out there. Tiny-Small does have a real name and, no, it’s not “Apple” “Moonbeam” or “Duck” …we aren’t that interesting around here!
I don’t now how long that sippy-cup filled with milk was sitting inside the microwave of Tiny-Small’s little kitchen, but one day I opened the door and there it was: A cup full of yogurt. I know this sounds ridiculous, but it was thick and smelled like fresh yogurt. Somehow her little kitchen maintained the optimal temperature to create the perfect environment for all of the necessary bacterial ingredients to grow or ferment or to do whatever it is they do to produce yogurt. I expected it to smell of horribly soured milk and mold, but actually the smell of yogurt just made me crave fresh blueberries or maybe a raspberry swirl to put on top.
I was really impressed with this because just a couple of months ago I attempted to make sour dough starter and no matter what I did it just went bad and never bubbled up or did any of the things it was supposed to do. Tiny-Small throws a cup of milk into what basically constitutes a cardboard cabinet and magically yogurt appears. I don’t know if all of the recipe guru’s out there just like to make things more complicated than they need to be, but after searching several websites for instructions on how to make homemade yogurt I realized it should have been a little more difficult than it actually was. If you want to learn how to make your own yogurt you might want to check out the website below or you could tempt fate and try Tiny-Small’s method. I hope it doesn’t kill you though and I just want to say right now that I am not responsible for any yogurt you may or may not make or eat, especially if it puts you in the hospital or something. Tiny-Small says she is not responsible either.
I can’t really say if the home made yogurt tasted good because I was kind of afraid to try it. Maybe it had an ant colony on the bottom sort of like the “fruit on the bottom” yogurt they sell at the store. I wasn’t about to find out by inserting a spoon into the cup and stirring it all up. All I know is it is infuriating that a two year old child with a fake, particle board kitchen is a better cook than I am. Somehow, it just doesn’t seem fair!
For the record, I am now checking her tiny oven, refrigerator and microwave for any more foodie surprises on a daily basis. I’m thinking this doesn’t bode well for my housekeeping skills. I already found a bowl of oatmeal in her kitchen cabinet along with a few pieces of dog food and an old cell phone. She uses some strange ingredients. She doesn’t appear to be completely on board with the whole organic/whole foods movement that is sweeping the country at the moment. I’m holding my breath in anticipation of what she might come up with next.