Nuse v. (as in, “I need to nuse that fork for eating my hot dog”)

pri-acy n. (as in, “I need pri-acy to go the potty”)

sumping n. (as in, “I need sumping to feed my dolls. They’re hungry!”)

nuffing n. (as in, “Rory, what was that crashing sound I heard?” “Nuffing, daddy.”)

What are they? All are special words that are a intrinsic part of Rory’s vernacular, really cute things that make us smile, even when they are part of a temper tantrum. Sadly, we are fully aware that they soon will fade from Rory’s vocabulary and become fodder for “Remember when….?” conversations about our little girl.

The first to go: wemonade. She can actually pronounce the letter “L” sometimes, a firm indicator that our Sweetness is growing up bit by bit. Also evidence of precociousness: her liberal use of the words dangewous, actuwally, and cawamity (the “L” hasn’t reared its ugly head in this word just yet).

=

Sorry for the radio silence. We just returned from celebrating 60 years of wedded bliss between Mema and Daddy Mac Hammond, Rory’s great-grandparents. A week without internet and phone on a boat, and we are trying to recover 1) our sea legs and 2) our communications with the outside world. Add in a day at DisneyWorld, and we are also trying to recover from sensory overload. Bear with us.

You know you are in a small town when…

“…the best iced tea in town is at Ace Hardware. Really!”

Hope you had a happy 4th.

Dave, Castillo, Stu, Clif - thanks for all you do.

Clay, Ernie - you are missed everyday.

Boys and girls are SOOO different.

We saw it in full effect a couple of weeks ago when we had the opportunity to go to SF and visit our close friends, Team Yeager. If you think it’s crazy in your household, try 3 boys under the age of 5. Two words:Totally. Wild.   Three fun hearts full of love, but wild nonetheless. You know you are in boy-land when the three year old is fiercely protecting a WHOLE PLATEFUL of beans like a lion over its prey when jackals are approaching. There’s a reason for that, folks; he’s learned the hard way about his food getting poached right under his watch. In Drew’s words, hovering over the plate and howling “MUUHH BEEEEANNNS!!!!” means he’s all business. Marked his territory. Seriously, look at the size of that plate. He was protecting his weight in pinto beans.

For a while, Rory slipped right in with the crowd, hanging with best friend Abe like we were still running the Pinewood Greens ‘hood of Falls Church, VA. We walked around San Fran, the kids rolled deep on the trolley, and we broke bread over some In-N-Out burgers. Rach turned 29 for the third time in a row, and while the kids were tearing up the house, we made acquaintances with Don Patron Resposado. Fine fellow, that man. Throw in a brisk beach walk, a little AT&T Park and McCovey Cove, and you have a perfect long weekend in the Bay Area.

However, when it came time to leave, the emo from Rory came strong and Abe, well Abe was a boy.

Actual scene (roughly transcribed) in the backseat of the Sienna, the limo of minivans:

Rory: I love Abe, Drew and Ben. But Abe, I love you best. (Rests her head on his shoulder, across carseats)

Abe: (awkward, mumbling acknowledgement) Me best. (Trying to figure out what in the world just happened. Vigorously processing, and then…. silence, staring out the window, trying not to make eye contact.)

And that was it. No follow-up attempt to save the conversation. Just let it drop.

Another actual conversation (one way):

Rory: Abe, I won’t forget you. Drew, I won’t forget you. And I won’t forget you, Baby Ben. But MOST of all, I won’t forget you, Abe!

Abe: (Silence, staring out the window, even more nervous now, still trying not to make eye contact.)

Just protect your beans, boys. Play with fire trucks, wrestle each other until you are blue in the face, and protect your beans.

How to get into a sari (as experienced by Rach):

1) Pick a sari. That’s anywhere from 1-1500 steps in itself, depending on with whom you are shopping/borrowing. With a full spectrum of saris on hand from friends and friends’ moms, the choice can be overwhelming (thanks Linta). Every sari is wonderfully unique, and the one you wear to the engagement ceremony should be totally different than the one you wear to the wedding rehearsal, which, of course, should be outshone by the one you wear to the wedding. If you are really hardcore, go to India and pick them out. Because they are way cheaper there. Just don’t account for the $1800 plane flight. BTW, the sari should be the approximate square footage of a typical Manhattan one-bedroom.

2) Put on the blouse and slip. If you can barely breathe and your arms are losing circulation, then you have just about the right fit for the blouse. A little tighter than a boa constrictor hug should do it. (Fortunately - or not - Rach’s wasn’t near as form fitting as it needed to be.)

3) Put your arms out and look straight ahead. If properly positioned, a 50 year old Indian lady (or four of them) should quickly swarm and spin you around. Wrap, tuck into waist, unwrap. Rinse. Repeat. 5 times. Throw some safety pins in there for good luck. Fold the sari into pleats, say a prayer, and hope they don’t fall out. Stand there while the Indian ladies huddle and confer. Throw it over your shoulder, and don’t forget to smile!

4) Once you are totally comfortable with the color and design (because gold really does not go well with blond haired fair skinned ladies), walk the runway for the kind Indian ladies. Let them huddle, confer, take you to the back room where they pull out old suitcases FULL of more bright and colorful saris, and then chuck the old one. Sit down on the couch as the Indian moms debate it out, heads tilting to the side, grimacing, and fingers wagging in disagreement. Relax (hopefully with a chai latte) as they unfold entire saris, fold them up again, and review that process with an OCD-like fervor. Find solace in the daughters of these ladies, who have grown up with this process their whole life and learned to love it and appreciate its relational beauty.
5) Agree to disagree and come back in the morning, bringing a dress just in case the 100 options don’t work out. Repeat steps 2-3, and then realize that there’s a point of no return. Go to the engagement ceremony and luncheon, pulling the random wonderfully available Indian mom into the bathroom to adjust and re-adjust. Watch as the same Indian matrons wear their ornate saris with ease and grace, while you realize you are fidgeting like a three year old. Have fun!

The engagement ceremony was about as big as a normal American wedding, and just as fun. Zeena was wearing the most beautiful sari, and we can’t wait to see her at the ACTUAL wedding, which will end up being AT LEAST twice the size of ours - no joke. Gotta love the Indian culture - they roll deep and know how to put on a party. Congrats Jerry and Z!

This evening, true to her word, Rory let the butterfly, with fully dried wings, out into the setting sun.

It was a pretty wonderful experience and hopefully replicated with cocoon #2.

DALLAS (AP) — In an exciting move yesterday, caterpillar #2 went up to the top of the terrarium to, in his own words, “hang out for a little”, and this morning, while the Badrina household was gone, it formed its cocoon. Eyewitness reports last encountered the ravenous caterpillar in the late hours of Sunday night, but paparazzi were unable to take photos due to the lack of light. Anonymous sources revealed its last known words were, “dude, get that flashlight out of my face!” It has been exactly two weeks from the time he was whisked away from the milkweed patch while the Badrina’s were foraging for caterpillar #1’s food, so experts predict another couple of days before caterpillar/cocoon #1 transforms into butterfly #1. Rory Badrina, in ballet class, was not available for comment.

Rory doesn’t talk about the current credit crisis too much at the playground or ballet class (sort of a conversation killer), but during her usual scan of Norwegian economic blogs, she noticed this chart that signifies the overwhelming presence that the US has in the global economy, and she is quick to remind us of how good we have it here, and to think globally in our actions, spiritual and otherwise. If only her cousins in the Philippines were two hours north of us…. Good find Rory (thanks, Uncle Jordan).

Each state’s economic output is analogized to another country’s GDP.

Source: http://carls.blogs.com/my_weblog/2007/01/norge_sett_fra_.html

And this:

“The parentheses below each country name is how much additional money you’d have to add to each country’s GDP to make it genuinely fit the US region assigned. The amount of money that’s left over after plugging these countries in is roughly equal to the GDP of Russia, the 11th richest country in the world. That in itself is pretty amazing.”

http://bigpicture.typepad.com/comments/2008/05/4-national-gdps.html