When asked by Be what I would like for Christmas, nothing else came to mind when I said, “Bibik, Babe!” Hubby grinned and responded, “Yeah, can we share?” Chuckle chuckle chuckle, and we both fell silent, looking at each other  in a quiet reminiscence of how in order life was when we shared our house with Ms Caskinih Kawi for those five years of our life in Oman and Malaysia.

Little that I knew that sharing this on Facebook - as I put my status as: “Enida, when asked what she wants for Christmas, said: “Bibik, please.” – would lead to an interesting discussion on Malaysian economic growth! Yeah, you can drop your jaw like that again! I must admit, the comments I got from an old friend got me rolling about Malaysians as a ’service nation’, I tell you!

It all started when Julia asked if my Bibik was a Filipino, Indonesian or a Russian. And then Amir suggested that I should take a Malaysian domestic helper as they are now available – to which I responded…

Amir went on saying that it had been reported that Vietnam is catching up with us in growth and predicted to ’overtake’ Malaysia just next year. And of course to which I replied:

It was when I saw Amir’s response next that I actually lost the plot of the whole discussion. I mean, I could not quite understand what he meant by: “Enida! i am very sure that you can distiguised services rendered! when you leave abroad!”

Well, me being Enida that I am, wrote in response…

Amir: Oh I am able to distinguish service that has been rendered for me. That’s why I’m assertive about my preference. Economic growth, I believe – in Malaysian context – is not relative to service availability. In fact, BECAUSE of our economic status among Asean countries, our people refuse to work in the Domestic Help line.

But then again, if economic status is an excuse, why don’t we see Malaysian Domestic Helpers in countries that pay them well (like here in Russia, a full-time helper makes between USD1200-1500 per month)?

That’s why I said, Malaysians are not a ’service nation’. Tanyalah walau orang kampung yang hidup susah ambik upah cuci baju (just like any other domestic helpers), tak nak dia gaji RM4500 cuci baju kat Moscow. Excuses wil be: tak pandai cakap omputeh/Russian, susah nak tinggal mak/bapak/suami/anak/cucu, ayam/itik/kucing, sawah/pokok serai/pokok getah, takut susah cari halal food, omputeh/Russians tak suka orang Asia, etc.

You ask a Pinoy/Indonesian if they would want to make 70,000 Pesos/14 juta Rupiah… they would leave everything they’ve got. No excuses.

Trust me, I can host a talk show on this topic alone if you let me! Kalah Kak Nita, Kak Oprah and Abang Jerry Springer semua. So don’t let me, okay?

Dah. Enida nak pegi potong kuku. Sebelum adegan berchekau berlanjutan menjadi adegan berchakorrr yang anda ingin sangat lihat sebenornye. Kan?

God works in His mysterious ways to restore me when, in the midst of all hurt and pain I chose to almost drown myself into, He pointed me to an old box to find a piece of paper with this on…

“Should you despair over a relationship gone bad;
think of the person who has never known what it’s like to love
and be loved in return.

Should you find yourself the victim of other people’s bitterness,
ignorance, smallness or insecurities; remember, things could be worse.
You could be them!”

I literally belted up for one good heavenly minute, took the deepest breath I had not taken since October 5th 2008 walking away from the enemy gate, then in great relief belted out… “Oh Enida! God loves you!”

Nothing felt better after that than putting the Watsons shower cap on my head, singing to the tune of Ville Du Havre in the shower, and smirking at every little lie someone (has been telling and) has to tell herself through her teeth for the rest of her perfect life to deny her bitterness towards her warehouse-sale-price self, to deny her ignorance, the smallness of her conscience, and her insecurities.

Pity.

If I am to be blamed for finding what I wasn’t looking for, then if you ever asked why I looked… I would just give you the answer all fools have given, “Because it’s there and because I can.”  The pictures, that is.

If I choose to feel the pain this time and be hurt by what I wasn’t supposed to see, then if you ever asked why I kept picking at the scab… I would unashamedly be that human left with no strength and say, “Because it’s there and because I can.” The wound, that is.

If I am cornered, left to deal with this emotion no one dares to call it anything else but anger, then if you ever asked why I couldn’t just forget it and move on… I would with no pride say, “Because it’s there and because I can.” The past, that is.

And if I just let me be that weak foolish human being unable to move forward, pulled back by painful reminders I didn’t know I was supposed to avoid… then let me make my mistakes. Because I am just a human. Because mistakes are there and I can make them.

I don’t hate many people. But because I am just a human today, I hate you. You keep making nothing but the same mistakes. I don’t hate many things either. But because I saw what wasn’t meant for me to see, I hate your mistakes. They keep bringing nothing but pain. (I called them lessons before, those mistakes. But I wasn’t human then.)

If you ever cared enough to ask why the hate now, I would just say, “Because it’s there, and I can choose to either live it or leave it.” The pain, that is.

I have not learned my lessons well, have I?
Maybe I should just walk away.

According to the weather forecast, it is going to be 20 degrees well under zero today. When we woke up this morning around 7, it was already -14°C. And at the time of writing this post, Facebook Weather is reporting -18°C in Moscow and “Fair”.

Fair? It’s only fair that we have heaters and a fireplace in the house, and have to bundle up if we’re thinking of getting anywhere near the door! Fair thee well!

It was fairly fun though this morning to tease Kitreena. With a straight face I told her not to stick her tongue out too long in the air during outdoor playtime at school.

“Why Mom?”

“Your tongue will freeze, Monch!”

“That’s right.” Daddy added. Now he got me thinking if it was true!

“And no matter what, do not cry! Your tears will freeze out and you can go blind!”

Kitreena looked really shocked with this new thing she learned about the subzero weather. Worried, if not scared. Though she was born on a subzero winter night, she had never lived in a four-season place, never had to live a subzero life… walk to school against a subzero biting wind, at least.

I don’t know if our tongue or tears can freeze in this weather. But I had to put on a heavy winter jacket just to get close to the garage door this morning – to open it and let me Monchie out, walking to school. I told Kitreena the freezing tongue-and-tears was just a joke. Let’s see if Kitreena’s mothertongue freezes today and she comes home speaking Russian.

Dear Dove,
I was standing in the corridor just outside the gym waiting for Kitreena to finish her basketball game last Wednesday when I realized it was no fun anymore. Standing in the corridor outside the gym here is not as exciting as standing in the corridor of that school, with you.

You and our silly underarm-hair stories. You and the gossip about those parents with their designer-kids. You and our exchange of reminders that although we are no engineers, nor are we ever to be seen wearing a Coach bag on each arm purchased with a split-second decision (and paying for them through our nose credit card scheme for the next 98++ months), we are doing okay.

I miss those little ‘Hey you!’ and ‘Don’t hug me, I stink!’ greetings in the morning at the school parking. I hugged you anyway. I miss those little ‘I see you at 3!’ and ‘Don’t drive too fast!’ goodbyes when we walked from the canteen or past the security post. I drove fast and drove you crazy anyway.

I can’t make myself sit on those low benches – the kind that they usually have in the gyms – anymore. For I fear I would miss you so much I could cry while watching basketball games. I don’t look around for familiar faces – the way I used to do whenever you saw me – anymore. For I fear I would not find you, miss you even more and for the fear that I would cry anyway.

The thing is, I don’t cry anymore. Not the way I used to cry with you. Sad stories were told with smiles on our face back then, when we realized we were just two little doves trying to mend our hearts and fix our wings. No matter how cruel love was treating us, we were saved by each other in that corridor. We kept on flying.

And the thing is, I don’t laugh anymore. Not the way I used to laugh with you. Burdens were weightless back then, when we caught ourselves talking about things as silly as unwanted hairs and Panasonic mother-pluckers. No matter how challenging the struggle was to come close to being sane moms, we were comforted by each other’s craziness in that corridor. We kept on going.

And the thing is, I don’t try anymore. I don’t try to make new friends, to make things better, to make do with this broken heart of mine, to make fun of heartaches and betrayal stories, to make out what love  is all about, or to make sense of what life is throwing at my face. For peace’s sake, I don’t even try to make peace with my past, present or future!

These days I just make a point that those unwanted hairs are plucked, make believe that my voice sounds like an angel singing when I’m yelling, and make sure to chin up and think of you when the corridor seems too long to make pass, walk through, or stand in. And I do make time to stand on my knees and be alone with Him too.

Maybe when I am back in Malaysia next time you and I should go for a total makeover eh?

“All I have, as a matter of stating the painfully obvious, is one life. I have lived it in a way that no clocks can ever put yesterday back into tomorrow.”

Did I really write that? Oh my, I sure did!

I let out a sigh saying, “Awwwhhh it’s getting dark now,” to Edrick who came to me at my corner to give Mommy an afternoon hug.

“Why is it getting dark, Mom?”

“Because it’s four o’clock and it’s winter.”

“Then we need to pick up the sun and put it back up over there, Mom!” Edrick pointed at the space between the two blocks of townhouses seen from our dining room window.

I could not hold back a chuckle.

“I am serious, Mom!”

I chuckled even louder, thinking…
Who cares about the sun. I have my sunny-side up son right here in my dining room. Seriously!

If I could find a picture to manifest the way I feel right now, I would. It woud be easier. But I don’t feel like looking for a picture now. No. Not this morning. If I could say it in words, I would type a thousand words more, I assure you I would do that too. But isn’t that what I have been doing?

It doesn’t get any easier if you choose to read my words with your thoughts, giving them your meanings. Dare you call me a liar when all I write is about myself? Who do you think you are to tell me how to be Enida? Come then… become me for a day. And write the way I write my thoughts, with the words I see my truth through.

If you are reading this, chances are this is not about you. Please don’t flatter yourself. For those who are reading, those who are reading between the lines, and those who aren’t reading… I am just going to copy and paste what my KaCher wrote on her profile about her writing and her needs to write.

“I write because I want to, because I feel good doing it, because I can. It doesn’t matter what I write, truth or lies, they all come from a place you wouldn’t know. So if you ever feel at any time that you understand me, save it. You don’t.”

I repeat:

“… It doesn’t matter what I write, truth or lies, they all come from a place you wouldn’t know.”

Peace to the world, haaiihhh!

I do not expect one to know everything. I don’t. And as I am very open to learning a little bit of something everyday, I take one day at a time. But not knowing where Moscow is when one is almost 40 however, is very sad for me to digest. Not knowing to Google for it and believing that it is 120km south of Timbuktu, Mali, Africa… is sadder, if not sadistic!

Today I just learned that the best and most natural facial scrub is sugar. Just mix a tablespoon of sugar granules to your regular facial cleanser. Wash your face like usual every night with it for a week. It is good to cure dry skin.

I have yet to learn how to cure dry brain.

Postlude:
Uh, I know for sure what shower caps can keep dry other than hair. Bah!

I saw an old old friend on the internet the other day and had a bit of a catching up chat. She didn’t sound like she was all that new to the internet. Well at the very least she knew what Facebook, YM and Google were about.

She asked about my present whereabouts. And when I said ‘Moscow’, she responded with, “Kat mana tu?” Huh? I thought she was trying to be funny. So I said, “Oh Moscow is in Mali, just 120km south of Timbuktu.”

It was when she went on to ask, “Mali kat mana ye? Bunyi familiar je.” I honestly thought she was joking. So I gave her a matter-of-fact answer ‘Africa’. “Oh so ngko kat Africa lah pulak sekarang ni ye?” Oiiii!

“No lah, I am in Moscow.” I repeated myself to see if she was actually a classic case of listening-with-her-knee-cap or was another shower-cap-woman case. “Tadi ngko cakap ngko kat Moscow, Moscow kat Mali. Dah tu, kat Africa lah tu.”

“Isssyyy… ngko ni bior benor. Ke ko buat lawak Geography dengan aku ni? Aku kat Moscow. Pernah dengar tak Moscow?”

“Tak sure lah. Tu lah ngko! Tak reti duduk satu tempat. Pegi pulak tempat orang tak pernah dengor saper suruh?”

I was flabbergasted, lumpygutted and goonyjuted all at once! It was then that I thought of making a lawak Geography to her, “Sebenornye aku kat Chaah je.”

“Chaah? Kat mana tu?”

Suddenly we got disconnected!

Oopsie daisy! Never mind.

I mast say to know like this Tai Wan Xin Zhu Rice Noodles very mouch espfcially becourse althought it’s not easy break or bumt, it’s not abzorb the souce and spise I putt in with it. I apriciative that it won’t wound my stomach, and I was very worrie it’s going to get angry when it’s hungry like that Mr. McGee don’t make me angry. You don’t like it when I’m angry.

Howevery, the spfcialty that scanted me was the sweetness, the smoothness and also the scantiness. So I was extrimly toochsome! Event though it’s robot was aboratively starchy, it’s recomended becaourse of it’s bumtation. I hopped, with the unwounded stomach, it’s smoothing this Tai Wan Xin Zhu Rice Noodles that is mouch the robot product and it’s tooched me!

And the best spfcialty that scanted my sweetness the most was it’s good mouch feel I have never having before this want! Beleave me, you will not angry with me or with it’s aborative starch, ever! Until you toochsome of it’s scant and bumt cooking, it won’t get angry and it will smooth your stomach. With that, I live it up to you to try this Tai Wan Xin Zhu Rice Noodles four great spfcialty!

I gez just like this Ken Lee Meju More tulibu dibu douchou ken. Very spfcial to me!

A friend stopped by tonight. No, that’s not true. It was I who stopped her on her busy track. I just wanted to say hello. But I didn’t just get a hello back. She stopped and gave me power!

She enriched me with a simple-but-simply-overlooked philosophy, that “Life is a process.” I thought I knew that all along. Well, indeed I did! I knew that. All along. But the trouble with knowledge sometimes is, we don’t put all of it in words. And when a great friend came along and put my knowledge in words that I thought I had heard before, I was stunned nonetheless.

For I realized that it was not her words that I actually heard. It was her thought. One of those many that I had shared. All along. In silence. And from a distance. She was there to say hello and release my wordless thought. The stopping-by was brief. But it was enough to have done wonders.

I am blessed with great love from great people. So blessed… that it made me wonder if in the many of my previous lives,  perhaps I was that smart accountant in Singapore, or that marathon runner in Hong Kong, or her sister in India, or was I that great professional gallivantor who speaks English, Dutch, French and Malay just as easy as her eating Nasi Lemak with sliced cucumber, boiled eggs, roasted peanuts and deep-fried ikan bilis?

Life is a process. And that’s what I am. In this life I am that thoughtful but wordless writer who knows very well how to love but knows not what love is all about.

Being thoughtful and wordless hurts. But that’s a process. Knowing how to love well, yet clueless about love… is painful. That, too, however, is a process.

But then, one day… when I have all the words and lose all the thoughts, the process will end. When I know what love is but know not how to love, I will end.

I would rather be a process in this life then. Be a work in progress. And in the meantime enjoy every strand of my gray hair, every wrinkle on my face and be entertained by every slightest thought of revealing the real name of that Shower Cap Woman (who had no idea that her middle name is also the brand of birth-control pills… until she got pregnant and did not know who the father of her baby was!)

I like this process of accepting that life is a process!

Had you come to me before July last year wanting me to talk about shower caps trivially, I would have. I could have. As trivial as shower caps could be. And as trivial as telling you that my favorite and trusted ones are those available at Watsons pharmacies. Thick, polka-dotted, and come in two’s.

And those Watsons shower caps were exactly the ones I got for Be’s colleague who had asked him to get in Malaysia (as she was on the Russian island where shower caps were nowhere to be found). Up until the end of July 2008, shower caps were not too personal to me. Sure! I drove to Watsons KLCC to get the colleague those precious shower caps.

But came August 2008, life taught me many lessons I could not have trivialized. Even shower caps taught me one:

• That if one’s husband comes home telling the wife that a female colleague had asked him to get her (kirim) some shower caps, what may be going on between the husband and the colleague is nothing trivial.

Nothing is more personal than a shower cap but a thinking cap.

“What you do with your thoughts is entirely up to you.”
- Anonymous

He wasn’t supposed to be a late November baby. In fact, he wasn’t supposed to be a November baby, late or early. Our first date wasn’t supposed to happen until December 15th, 2005. But then again, he wasn’t supposed to sit the way he sat… across Mommy’s tummy, however he wanted, refusing to compromise his own comfort.

Hence, Dr. Ravi Chandran suggested the dreaded C on December 1st. Came Noah’s Ark, hovercraft, high water of the water-break, he had to come no shorter than 2 weeks earlier (than the due date). And then again, Mommy had a selfish idea – she wanted to have a collection of two November babies!

And so he came on a Wednesday morning the 30th day of November 2005. It has been four years now since our first date and since I fell in love with this boy. The blessing is, I have kept falling in love with the same boy. Everyday.

Happy Birthday, Edrick Karl Johnson!

Me Monchies were changing into their pyjamas when Edrick started this conversation last night with:
“Kakaa, when you were a little boy…”

Kitreena abruptly, naturally and nurturally corrected the brother:
“Edrick! I wasn’t a little boy. I was a little girl.”

Edrick insisted:
“No Kakaa. When you were three, you were a little boy!”

Kitreena looked VERY confused at this point when she said:
“No Edrick! When I was three I was a girl. I am a girl!”

Edrick:
“No! I am three and I am a boy. When you were three. You were a boy too!”

Kitreena:
“What are you talking about? When I was three, I was a girl. Now I am seven. I am still a girl, Edrick.”

Edrick tried to explain his theory:
“Kakaa, I’m three and I’m a boy. When you were three you were a boy. When you’re seven, you’re a girl. When I’m seven, I will be a girl. Goddit?”

Kitreena’s jaw dropped right to her feet when she finally understood her brother’s Gender Identity Theory:
“No Edrick! You don’t change! If you’re a boy, you’re always a boy. When you’re a girl, you’re always a girl. You don’t change when you’re seven!”

Edrick was puzzled when his theory was denied by his seven-year-old sister:
“You don’t change?”

Kitreena:
“Noooo silly! You’re a boy. So you’ll still be a boy when you’re a grown-up. And I’ll still be a girl when I’m a grown-up.”

Edrick went into his vocabulary show-off mode:
“You mean when you are adult?”

Kitreena bolayan:
“Yeaaahhh… grown-up, adult, the same thing.”

I might have looked like I was busy putting the laundry away and sorting the hangers in the closet (Edrick’s hangers are blue and green. Kitreena’s are pink and orange.) And I might have looked oblivious, but I could tell… there were so many theories formulating in those little heads. There is so much going on right now – upstairs. Oh I can tell!

I mean… just look at their face!

If I  were to flirt with  the idea of flirting with him, I would first thank MokcikNab for the pantuns and the beautiful translation. Well, not that he can’t read bahasa. He is probably the only man with steel eyes in the whole wide world that can say, “Maaf, bahasa saya tak berapa bagus,” in perfect bahasa. And it was both his eyes and his tak-berapa-bagus bahasa that actually changed my tea heart to coffee!

But I am not going to. Flirt with the idea of flirting with him, that is. I don’t do the flirting thing anymore. Not since the year 1999, at least. With the knowledge I have about myself, breaking a heart is too heart-breaking for me to do. Afterall, even my heart is in its work-in-progress mode. But someday, he needs to know that there is a book written from the strength that the images of him had given me. Someday, he will have a page dedicated to his green sofas and his orange cat. And oh his hanging owls too! But that someday is not today.

And then, if I were to seriously flirt with the idea of flirting with him… I would send him these pantuns:

Dari mana punai melayang
Dari sawah turun ke kali
Dari mana datangnya sayang
Dari mata turun ke hati

From whence flies the dove
From the fields and down the brook
From whence flows the love
To the heart from just one look

Dari mana hendak ke mana
Tinggi rumput dari padi
Tahun mana bulan mana
Hendak kita berjumpa lagi

Tell me where you go from here
The grass grows taller than the padi grain
Tell me the month, tell me the year
When you and I shall meet again

From: MokcikNab

But then, these were just thoughts I flirted with back then. The thoughts that got me through the nights of counting beads of tears. The thoughts that got me through the days of counting beads of prayers. For Mom, for me and for me Monchies. The thoughts that were wordless then as they all went into healing my heart. I am still one good work in progress. Wish me love and luck, that with my tak-berapa-bagus bahasa, I will have a book of heartful words.

I ended up with my own Roses Are Red poem because I could not quite agree with its ‘Violets are blue’ logic. Violets, to me, are not really that blue. They are reddish blue, perhaps. But not blue blue. Or true blue. Blue and red equally. Purple perfectly. And of course purple is a mix of red and blue. Violets are logically, literally, and therefore should be literature-ly purple. Not blue. I stood to have been corrected by myself, thank you very much. And now I stand to be corrected by anyone who dares to correct me with a better correctness than mine.

This is my blog, lest you forget.

I began changing it by first mental-scanning for a word that rhymes with sweet. It would have been nice to keep some of the poem’s original sense. And then I recalled Kitreena’s artwork today of a hummingbird. She spelled bird as b.r.d.e. Hmmm… oookayyy, let’s tweet the birdie shall we? And then I found this fancy post-it with a bird. Call it karma or sutra, I must have been a bird in my past life. And so I saw the blue skies. Blue violets can be on somebody else’s notes then. Haven’t got the blues for ya, violets!

‘Sugar is sweet.’ Sugar? That is such a processed sweetness. Can’t we have something a little bit more natural here? Like honey! I honestly think it goes better with birds, skies and all. Honey from bees, bees and birds fly, and they like clear blue skies as well. Plus, I don’t wanna be thinking of that sugar refinery in Felda Mukim Chuping or of a packet of Gula Prai when I get to the ‘Sugar is sweet, and so are you’ part in the poem!

Well, as you can see… I went through quite a bit of a thought-process for such a simple note for Kitreena. And oh yes, she is on the second rerun of her spaghetti boxed lunch from home. I made Spaghetti Carbonara but with some fresh chopped tomatoes and pickled artichokes the other day. Mama mia! Tanto gusto. Tutto belissimo. Abiss ito. Massu tido. Mmmuuuaaahhh! Buona notte, mia colibri!

Original version:

Roses are red,
violets are blue.
Sugar is sweet,
and so are you.

I was going to start writing Kitreena simple notes tonight – notes that I will slip into her lunch box tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, and everyday after that. Found these two old old glow-in-the-dark pens and was going to write on the recycled black cover of a color pad. I had already found one of those Roses Are Red poems to be my first notes.

I did say those two glow-in-the-dark pens were very old, didn’t I? I can bet you a dollar to a vareniki that they are actually older than Kitreena. Hmmm… guess what? They don’t work no more. They don’t even glide. Forget about glowing!

I am off to look for my gold and silver marker pens. They are not older than Kitreena. They are older than me!

Not me!
Naaa. I am more like a Ma Faker, to be honest.

I don’t bake. I can be sweet - thank you – yes, I can. But I am not known for makin’ n bakin’ those sweet and chubby stuff you call muffins. Yeah, or cupcakes. With my oven I can bake, broil, and roast things that move on two, four and eight legs, or things that move with feathers, fins, fans and fangs. Oh I can have a fishy affair with my oven, for all that my lover cares. But I am not your cupcake chef with cherry on top.

That’s why when my hubby had to leave for Siberia on Sunday, I felt deserted, dejected, rejected, cheated and very very deeply impacted. He is the baker in the house! For him to be away when I need him the most is just cruel! By the way, I finally said yes to his marriage proposal after nine times asking, after two years, and after watching the movie Deep Impact! (Go figure!)

And now there is no impact deeper than this week, when… almost ten years of marriage, two kids later, and when it is Kitreena’s turn to bring snack to her Girl Scout meeting, Daddy is not home to bake it! You can tell me if I am exaggerating it. Tell it straight to me faeces, weel ye?

It was, to put it in a very plain term, a stressful night for me last night trying to decide what snack to make for the girls. Kitreena was begging me not to send apples. Apparently there are many health-conscious parents out there who would fain want these Daisies to snack only on fruit. Well, I could have sent pears or bananas. But being Enida, I take snacks very seriously.

Deserted, dejected, rejected, cheated, deeply impacted, seriously stress-outed and all… I made these:

To hide the hideous cracks on the muffin caps, and of course for hygiene purposes, I individually serene-wrapped them. The recipe calls for VERY ripe bananas. But my Bonanza bananas, though looked bruised and brown, were pretty middle-aged. Hence, not enough moisture. Hence, the cracks. Hence, told ya ma no baker way early in me post.

I wasn’t trying to scare the girls with the ugliness of the muffins or anything. But I, in fact, almost accidentally poisoned the Girl Scout troop today with my muffins had I not checked that the stickers – which I thought were candies – were not edible! I was going to stick ‘em pretty stickers into the muffin caps. Luckily I decided to suck on the first one. The stickers are plastic!

I don’t blame myself for not speaking or reading Japanese, nor do I feel handicap for having such a cheap idea trying to cosmeticize my not-so-pleasing-to-the-senses-looking muffins. But the label and instructions that came with the stickers sure gave me such a misleading idea that they are made of sugar and meant for decorating cupcakes.

Aaahhh well. It all went well in the end anyway. Kitreena came home with Kristy (the Scout Leader) who announced that my Bonanza Banana Muffins were a hit at the meeting. (Of course, Kris, after many meetings snacking on apples, anyone would go bananas!) I was just happy that my cosmeticization effort didn’t end up being a plastic surgery.

Postlude:

The day before Kitreena’s next turn to bring snack to Girl Scout meeting, Mommy will make sure Daddy’s house-arrested!

“They’re here, Mom! They’re here!”