I took some new pictures of Cordelia today, and as I browsed through older pictures of her on Flickr, a thought occurred to me:

This kid should be doing product promotions.

I’ve gone too long letting her promote the wares of various large companies for free. It’s time to start asking them for payment for these services! After all, this little girl will need to go to college someday, and we’re certainly not rich enough to pay her way. She’s cute, she likes the camera, and she’s always willing to show off new products. Perfect!

So, for you corporate giants perusing this little blog, here are some ideas of just what she could do for you.

Avent sippy cups – for the toddler with discriminating taste.

Diet Coke: Tastes great and fun to stack!

The Children’s Place socks: Not just for feet!

Kleenex tissues are the only tissues I’d use!

The Britax Marathon: the perfect carseat for not sleeping all the way to Chicago!

Are your eyes this beautiful? If not, then try Acuvue colored lenses!

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See? The possibilities are endless! Why, I’ve even used Cordelia in my own shameless self-promotion:

You know you want a t-shirt for your own little blog fodder.

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As you can see, Cordelia can advertise nearly anything. (Promoters of spinach, vacuums, and Santa need not apply.) So, hurry and book this kid for your next promotional gig! Operators, er, mommy is standing by!

Little girl: Mommy, will you buy that for me?

Mom: I’m sorry, dear, you can’t have it.

LG: But why?

Mom: Because I said so. When you’re a grown up, you can buy whatever you want.

LG: Yes, when I’m all grown up I’ll buy whatever I want!

Mom: Of course, you’ll have to get a job first.

LG: Why?

Mom: Because you need to work to have money to pay for things.

LG: But mommy, YOU don’t work.

Mom: Um, well, daddy works so we can buy things.

LG: Oh, OK. Mommy?

Mom: Yes, dear?

LG: When I grow up, I’m going to have a daddy work so I can buy things!

(I was trying so hard not to laugh as I walked past these two.)

Please welcome my guest blogger Vicki from Spells with… for the May Blog Exchange! I’m hanging out over at her site today, so be sure to come visit.
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My mother’s mother was not a part of my life, so much so that I don’t even call her my grandmother most times. My only memory of her was of her lying in a hospital bed, possible in a coma, but I was so young I couldn’t possibly know the difference between napping and coma. My mom was distraught, and I was confused for many reasons. Though it seems obvious now, why my mother would be so upset, the world was black and white to me then, and the things I knew of my grandmother made me very curious about my mom’s reaction to the visit in hospital.

My confusion was partially because I simply didn’t really understand that she was dying. She may have died that very day for all I knew. My brothers and sisters and I didn’t go to her funeral, and though I am assuming that my parents went, there was no talk of it. I feel as though my grandmother was always talked about in the past tense.

The other reason that I was so confused by my mother’s sorrow, was because of the family folk lore surrounding this woman. She was a horrible woman, as my father would tell it. She was responsible for making my mother’s childhood a nightmare. He even had little anecdotes he would pull out of his back pocket just to demonstrate what a zealous fanatical fundamentalist nut she was.

A family standard: The Rolaids Story. My parents were visiting my grandmother and grandfather for dinner one evening. Afterwards, they sat on the porch and attempted to have stifled conversation. My dad begins to complaining of a stomach ache (And no, its not a part of my dad’s story that this might’ve been a little bit impolite to go on about a stomach ache after eating a dinner that my grandmother had cooked for them). Without any word, my grandpa walks off the porch. He returns a few minutes later, having walked to the corner store. And hands my dad a packet of Rolaids. As legend has it, my grandmother now went postal on my grandfather, for having interfered with the will of God in regards to the stomach ache.

Eh hem….If I hear that story one more time, I’m gonna need a packet of Rolaids. The stories all took this basic format. Someone just a perfectly natural thing, and grandmother goes postal on their ass.

And so I was confused. I thought that if my mom didn’t have contact with this woman, it would clearly be for the better. She would be happier, right? Why was she so sad sitting here in this hospital next to my grandmother’s bed? Everything was played out exactly in that way. And after years and years, I think that my father’s folklore of my grandmother probably prevented my mom from having the grief and mourning time that she needed. It certainly prevented her from ever really speaking about her mother. My father would tell his tales, and she would sit in silence, as if she didn’t even know the person he was speaking of.

My mother’s mother was an over-zealous fanatical fundamentalist nut. There was no mistake about that. Even my mother and grandpa would admit that. But she was a mother. And she was my mom’s mom. She was the one who comforted her when she skinned her knees, and the one who brushed out her hair, and the one who sat next to her while she said her nightly prayers.

About a year ago, my mom came out to visit me for a few days surrounding Little A’s dance recital. And one morning, she told me that her mother hadn’t been so bad. It was both shocking and not. My father wasn’t there to contradict and tell his tales. And she had plenty of her own stories about how strict her mother had been. But she also had stories about dresses that her mother made for her. Time they spent cooking and crafting together. She had stories about love. Love that all mothers and daughters have. And that no husband with endless legends or anyone else can obliterate.

This post is a part of our May Blog Exchange on the theme Mother May I. Click around to read some of the other posts: Nancy, Vicki, Julie, Chase, Stacy, Christina, Jen, Mabel, TB, Mel, Izzy, Mayberry Mom, Amy, and Laurie. If you’d like to participate in the June Exchange, please email Kristen at kmei26 at yahoo.com. Enjoy!

The Good: Aaron had a gig this weekend: the Ashville Viking Festival. It’s a small event, but the pay is better than other festivals in the area, plus the organizers are good guys and friends of ours. He and his partner had a good time, the crowd enjoyed their show, and the weather was mostly nice. Plus I met a new mommy friend – yay!

The Bad: They were performing today through sheer will due to being poisoned by something they ate last night. It was either the Dominos pizza or the Killians beer, and neither could ever believe the sacred beer could have caused it. They were also up late gaming with friends. This morning both of the upstairs bathrooms were occupied by men who wished for death over the stomach pain they were enduring. Poor Aaron is asleep on the couch right now, recovering from exhaustion and food poisoning.

The Good: Aaron had a job interview this week. It went well, and we’re both crossing our fingers for this one.

The Bad: When stopping by the ATM so he could get out of the parking garage after the interview, he left his debit card in the ATM. I normally wouldn’t embarrass him by mentioning this, but the interview was Thursday, he realized his card was gone Friday, and today is Sunday and he still hasn’t called to report it missing yet. Grrr…

The Good: Saturday night, while the guys were gaming, I went to Cincinnati for a party. It was hosted by friends I haven’t seen in a long time, and many of the other guests were friends I also hadn’t seen in months. I also was childless and husbandless at this party; I spent a lot of time chatting with old friends about things that happened long before I met Aaron. Good conversation, good alcohol, good times.

The Bad: I didn’t get to stay as long as I would have liked. I carpooled with two friends, one of whom is chronically late. Very late. We were supposed to leave at 5:30, then she called and pushed it back to 6:00. They arrived at 6:45, and we had to stop to get food on the way, too.

The Good: Cordelia was cute and charming all weekend at the Viking Festival. Everyone made a fuss over her as she ran, jumped, played shy, talked nonsense, ate dirt (seriously!), and even threw a fit. If you think a child throwing a tantrum is cute, you’re clearly not a parent. Still, Cordy loved the attention and was happy to perform.

The Bad: Cordy’s newest trick: grabbing mommy’s shirt and pulling it down to expose bra, or sometimes boob. She thinks it’s hilarious. I am less than amused. I once thought the only time I would expose my breasts in public was for breastfeeding or beads at Mardi Gras. I never expected to be exposed for a toddler’s entertainment.

At the park this afternoon:

Cordy runs up to a 3yr old boy. They stand close and look each other over.

Cordy: BwaughbEUYdtlllOMM.

Boy: What?

Cordy: MyUHHhdduffnutrrsSEEE.

Boy: What?!?!

Cordy: FuuubbbNOOOwaaacceeyyy.

Boy: (becoming distressed) I don’t understand what you’re saying!

Cordy: Ggeeeewahttttaaa! ViwwwuuubbKKKAAA!

Boy: (running away, near tears) Mommy! I don’t know what she’s saying!

Cordy: (following) Hi! Hi! Ruuuuvviinnoobbsss!

Boy: (clinging to mother) Mommy, make her stop following me! I don’t understand her!

Me: I’m sorry, she’s just trying to be friendly.

Mother: Oh, it’s OK! (to boy) Honey, she’s little and can’t talk yet. She just wants to play with you.

Boy: Mommy, she scares me.

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There you have it, folks. My child can scare other children just by talking to them. She rocks.