Yesterday Mookie was putting the clean dishes away, which required her to be in the kitchen alone. She came out and said, “Mama, there are scary monsters in the kitchen.”
I sighed and yelled into the kitchen, “If there are any scary monsters in there, you’d better be helping put the dishes away. If not, get out!”
She went back in and we could hear her instructing the monsters on where the various kinds of dishes go. I swear, this child raises herself.
We had a day of serendipity today. The Guelaguetza, Oaxaca’s huge, multi-week annual fiesta, is underway. Joy and I had planned on picking Mookie up at her day camp and going on to a mole festival–that’s the distinctive sauce for which Oaxaca is famous, not the small burrowing rodent–and carried on with the plan even though it was starting to drizzle. But the festival was sold out. Instead, we tried out a Chinese restaurant (rating: adequate enough that we’ll go back), visited a couple dozen artisans’ booths, saw a couple of things we might not be able to resist buying even though they’re expensive–an alebrije of La Catrina, a really gorgeous traditional dress for Mookie–and happened on a terrific parade, with floats on flatbeds and people throwing candy, plastic toys, gourd bowls, and olives into the crowd. We know about the olives because Mookie was tossed a bag of them.
And in the Friday market in El Llano, a.k.a. Juarez Park, there was a booth selling jewelry and henna tattoos. Mookie and I both said “ooh!” Three years ago, when I got one at a fair, she didn’t like it at all–she disapproved of my changing something about myself, the way she does when I henna my hair–but this time she led the way. She chose a twining vine with butterflies and I chose a lizard. They’re not actually blurry, but this was attempt #17 with my left hand and enough was enough.
One day she will probably get a real tat, unless fashions have moved on and there’s some other form of body alteration that grabs her instead. And I will cry. (No, I’m not anti-tat; I just have a strong attachment to her body the way it is and don’t want to see it altered. It’s indefensible. Never mind me. Just hand me a hanky and move along.) But I will have only myself to blame.
When Mookie was three we lived in San Miguel de Allende, in the state of Guanajuato, Mexico, for six months. Now I have another sabbatical and we are doing it again, except living in Oaxaca this time.
As we were sorting through our belongings before coming here, Mookie released the beloved blue dress that she’s wearing in the cover photo of this blog. When she first got it, on our last Mexico trip, it was very long on her.
Three years old, San Miguel de Allende, 2010
Now it is not. So “new pretty Mexican dress for Mookie” was on our shopping list for our first weeks in Oaxaca, and here it is. She is posing in the courtyard of the beautiful short-term apartments where we stayed for the first two weeks.
I’m pleased to notice that the water bottle in the background in the 2010 picture is still in her possession; she’s got it with her again on this trip. She also still has the beautiful yellow poncho that her guidemother Darcey made for her. Some things aren’t outgrown so fast.
The last post was a mistake but I can’t figure out how to delete it in the middle of errands and on my phone. More soon explaining.
Mookie wrote a big report on echidnas and made this great diorama.
Ecihnas are monotremes, like platypuses–in fact, the only monotremes besides platypuses–which means that they lay eggs but are mammals in other respects. We have learned a lot about echidnas in the past few weeks, and I think the only reason we aren’t being begged for a pet echidna is that they live only in Australia and New Guinea and would be homesick.
Detail, so you can see the ants properly:
Echidnas love ants. I love the log. And the use of sushi grass, and the drawing of the echidna.
The kids on the movie screen were being asked: “What animals are your family members like?” I asked Mookie what animal I was and she instantly answered, “You’re a giraffe.”
“I’ve always thought of you as a giraffe,” she said. I have to say this was a surprise. I do not think of myself as remotely giraffelike.
“But in what way am I like a giraffe?”
She said, “Tall, thin…
I like the pause and the addition of -ish. I’m also not tall except in comparison to Mookie and Joy, but that’s enough to establish me as “the tall one.”
“You’re smart. You have freckles.
You had chicken pox twice.”
(This is true, and has clearly made quite an impression on Mookie.)
“Which makes you kind of have spots. And you’re almost a vegetarian.”
I’m moved to realize that since she was two, my daughter has thought of me as a mother giraffe. It’s sweet.