Thursday, December 20, 2012

You Are Here






I was driving yesterday with my kids in the backseat when I realized I had just pulled in front of a police car. When his lights started flashing, my spine jammed straight up as I told the kids nonchalantly, We're going to get pulled over. Everything's OK. Don't worry.



At a stop, I watched in my rearview as the officer behind me turned on his siren before doing a sharp u-turn away from us in the opposite direction. OH GOOD. I relaxed back into my seat. Having an idea of why I was concerned, Daisy explained helpfully, "They probably took a picture of your license plate, and they'll find you later. That's why I want to be a police when I grow up - you get to use clues to solve mysteries." Thanks, kid.



I guess the simplest way to explain how I got here is I stepped into a DMV, insurance, registration, lost-ATM-card, misplaced-mail-key, official-mail-overflow quicksand about a year ago while my attention was on my job, raising my daughters, and working toward better options for us. There were signs in the spring, but I didn't notice how bad it really was until this fall, when I was pulled over in front of my apartment - without the kids this time - for expired registration. It was one of my more rude run-ins with the law.



The officer threw down a reality check, "Do you realize I can impound your car a month from now if you don't renew your registration?" before sending me into an existential crisis, "And look! Is this even your car? Your insurance covers a different model! That means this car isn't even insured!" What the? I glanced around to make sure I was in the right car. He decided to let me off with a mere fix-it ticket, and I shakily got on the road to forget about almost everything except work, kids, and moving.



On the way home after a late work night in November, I was pulled over again. The officer was polite but concerned, "Do you realize there is a warrant out for your arrest in two counties?" Oh no. "In some counties, they won't ask questions - they'll cuff you and impound your car. You look like a hardworking lady that doesn't need to go to jail. Make this a priority." [Gulp.] OK.



After fighting a sudden urge to see Smokey and the Bandit,  I did; I faced the box of guilt I'd been stuffing mail into since late spring. The box had been a fixture in the corner of my daily life for months. It was in the hotel room during Fourth of July with Bindy and the girls. It was in my car as I zigzagged to and from the apartment, condo, and work. Finally, I opened that puppy. There were plenty of bills I had been paying all along but there were a few surprises. For example, I owed the DMV a few hundred dollars, payable immediately, because my registration had been suspended. There was a band of red across the top of the official notice so I knew I was really in trouble.



Out of checks, I tried to pay online, but I was now in the bad category that didn't have this privilege.  I went to my bank to get a cashier's check for $342 made out to the DMV, then I stopped at a UPS store, the closest mail outlet. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and I hesitated before handing over the envelope - the man was fully engaged in telling a story to his buddy, and I just had a feeling.



Three weeks later, the DMV had not received the check. The good news is, I learned I actually owe exactly half of what I sent them. I was so excited when I learned the bill was lower from the DMV rep on the phone that I had to ask, So, what do you guys do when people overpay? The rep reassured me, "Don't worry, we will cash the check and send you a check for the difference . . . " Awesome! "But wait, I haven't received anything from you yet!" I know, I know.



Oh yeah. And that's the bad news - nothing is resolved. Still. I pray every time I get in my car: please let me get to my destination as planned. And keep everyone on the road safe. And give me the power to break the space-time continuum so I can be punctual for once in my life. Amen.



It took me two days of phone calls to BofA with conflicting instructions to determine that the cashier's check had not been cashed and what I needed to do was what my mother had advised all along - go into the bank where you got the cashier's check. Fine, I thought there was this thing called the internet that took over the inside of banks, but whatever; fighting your mother is fighting yourself. I went in and waited in line. I explained that I needed to put a stop payment on a cashier's check. The teller directed me to a manager sitting at a desk.



I approached the desk and explained that I needed to put a stop payment on a cashier's check. The manager, who looked to be a couple years out of high school, motioned for me to sit down while he made a phone call. Then he explained the good news. There's usually a 90-day waiting period for making a stop payment on a cashier's check. In this case, because the amount was relatively low, we just need to wait 30 days, which will be Friday 12/21. I had a knee-jerk, stressed out moment, But you don't understand! I need this money to pay my car registration yesterday and I don't have more cash for this right now. He was unmoved, "I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am. There are laws about how cashier checks are handled, blah, blah, blah . . . "



The bank manager went on, "I will need you to fill out paperwork and have it signed by a notary." He had asked to see my ID, which had just expired last week, when I had first sat down at his desk. "Of course, the notary won't sign anything with an expired drivers license, so you'll need to take care of that first. Hopefully, you will have that by Friday."



Yeah sure, you betcha, kid. My driver's license renewal was another surprise from the box, which was further complicated by my change of address, which was even further complicated by losing my new mail key for the first couple weeks at the condo. During that time, I also managed to not forward my mail from the apartment, though I thought I had.



So basically, sinking a little but I'll find a way out. I always do.



picture



 

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Joy and Sorrow


Yesterday, I received an infinitecampus message - delivered as email and voicemail - that it was recommended to keep my children away from the news, which is how I learned about the shooting in Connecticut.



***



Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."

And he answered:

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.

Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.

When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.



kahlil gibran

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Ignore Him



We were debriefing in the car after school yesterday when Daisy announced, "There's a boy named Nick in my class who likes me, Mom! Isn't that a coincidence? Grandpa knew a guy named Nick . . . and you did . . . and now me."

I'm not sure Grandpa was talking about a boy named Nick in his insult rhyme, but YOU MAY NOT tell that kid he's a nut with a big, fat butt!

"I won't!"

Promise me!

"I promise!" Daisy was cracking up when I was making her promise because she's not likely to try out "Nick is a nut." She didn't inherit my naturally aloof nature, providing the proper amount of detachment and cluelessness necessary to be unintentionally harsh at times. Daisy's 4th grade teacher said recently that I should be proud of how sweet and considerate my daughter is in class; she called her a model of kindness.



I asked Daisy how she knew this Nick character like-liked her.

"Because there's this song called Gangnam Style . . . "

Oh no.

"And Nick was singing a part from the song that says, 'hey sexy lady!' while he looked at me and nodded his head and smiled. And a girl in class asked him if he liked me, and he said, 'Yeah, I like her. She's sexy.' And then the girl told me what he said at recess."

What do you think he meant by that?

"I know, right? I don't know! It was so awkward!"

Have I met this kid? What does he look like?

"Well, he has anger management issues. He has brown hair and picks his nose in class and has buck teeth."

Wow, he doesn't sound that great. Don't try to help him with the anger issues. He needs to fix those himself.

"Yeah, it's really weird. I was his friend for a few months, and he never seemed angry at school. And now he gets angry all the time."

Ignore him.


picture

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

New Action Item for Bindy




My first grader, Violet, has been making school mornings hell again since our move. I'm already in trouble with her principal for tardies a few months into the school year. I don't even know how to convey in words how bad it is, especially if you're familiar with Violet's TV-host face. I've said this a million times before, but with other adults, away from her mother, Violet is rarely anything but charming. I've even seen her put on a happy face for her father. It's not that it's always the case, but usually, if she goes off on anyone other than her sister, she goes off on me. Especially when we have to be somewhere.



I asked Violet the other morning, exasperated, why she thinks it's OK to take out her anger on me. Without missing a beat, she exclaimed, "WHAT? You want me to be MEAN to my FRIENDS? Maybe I don't want to hurt people's feelings!"

I'm a person.

"YOU DON'T WANT ME TO HAVE FRIE-EEEEENDS!!! WAAAAAHHHH!!!"



And, believe me, Bindy, I already know.

*She needs rest.
*She needs routine.
*She needs exercise.
*She needs her clothes set out the night before.
*She needs boundaries.

What if you are addressing all those needs in a slightly flawed, human way, and the kid still fights you every step: waking, dressing, eating, brushing, and leaving? Our morning routine is a noisy scuffle. I've noticed how much louder the three of us seem when we bust out the front door in the morning at the condos, as opposed to at the apartments when we at least had sirens to compete with the howling and the stomping and the slamming.



And the mooing. Whenever Violet's really annoyed with me for not giving in to her stubborn, stubborn will, she moos like an angry cow. That sound can do me in like few things can  - I have screamed til I don't make sense in the face of the mooing. When I'm in the zone, I can tease her out of it by calmly wondering where that angry cow might be. And, I'm never proud of screaming, but that kid has found one of my buttons and she's found it good.



The other day, I marched Violet to her teacher after school and told on her because she's obviously on the path to living in a van down by the river. The teacher took my cue and brought home the message to cooperate with getting ready for school in the morning in a stern voice, ending with a hug. Violet smiled brightly and looked a little pale. She is petrified of getting in trouble at school.



Then it was to Daisy's teacher for a parent conference, so I took the opportunity to tell on Violet again. Violet doesn't actually make herself late very often, but she makes her fourth grade sister, Daisy, who starts 10 minutes earlier and is held accountable for being on time, chronically late. The tardies feed into Daisy's anxiety around being behind grade level in a few of her skills. The coping strategy Daisy inherited from me is to release her stressed-out mind to fly free in the clouds, far from the light of reality. For three years now, I've heard that you can tell Daisy something in class and know she hasn't heard a thing even though she's looking right at you. Will Daisy's path even include the van? What if it's only a bench in a park? Inevitably, it's the mother's fault, so what am I going to do about her little hothead of a sister Violet?



Violet was tense with me about something tonight, and I reminded her of our daily affirmation -- "Fighting your mother is fighting yourself." It's actually been surprisingly effective at times, but she  wasn't into it, "I wish I lived with my teachuh!"

You listen to your teacher! If you didn't refuse to cooperate with me so much, your life would be a lot more pleasant. Why do you listen to your teacher anyway?

"Because she has a principal. I nevuh wanna go to the principal's!"

So if I had a principal, would you listen to me?

"Who ah you gonna get to do the job?"

Hmm . . . I don't know. Who are you scared of?

Daisy interjected, "She's scared of Bindy!"

Violet nodded in agreement, "Bindy's mean to me. Remembah when she made me put on pull-ups to go to bed because she didn't know I DIDN'T EVEN WEAR THEM ANYMO? And you saw and told huh I didn't need them? Membah that time?"

I don't really remember, but more importantly, Violet does.



So, Fair Lady Principal Bindy, (I know how you like a fancy title) we might have to set up a skype meeting with you soon because talking to you is my child's consequence. The hope still burns for Mothers for Peace, but this one can be done from the comfort of your own home. Talk soon.


picture

Friday, November 23, 2012

Thanksgathering


The kids and I were excited to host Thanksgiving this year, although we were still surrounded by boxes the night before. I woke up at 6 a.m. on Thursday to clean and unpack until noon, when it was time to pick up our catered feast.





The kids made decorations from stuff we grabbed at the dollar store the day before. Their creative process involved too much screeching and punching for my taste but I heard Martha isn't very nice either.





Sadly, raccoons living in the carport at the apartments ripped the head off each one of our vintage free-standing paper turkeys. We were happy to find the scarecrows safe and sound.




It took me more than four hours to make gluten-free stuffing and gravy and reheat our meal. I burned the mashed potatoes and was flushed and disheveled when it was done, but I was proud of the food I didn't make:

Brined All-Natural 17 lb. Diestel Turkey

House Gravy made from pan drippings & giblets

Salad of local apples, fennel, persimmon, walnuts & creamy lemon dressing

Roasted Brussels Sprouts & Winter Squash with balsamic-shallot vinaigrette

Savory Bread Stuffing with pecans, herbs & assorted dried fruit

Creamy Mashed Potatoes with roasted garlic & chives

Fresh Cranberry Sauce with citrus & quince

Organic Pumpkin Pie made with fresh-roasted local pumpkins and whipped cream 
 
 
 
I'm not completely unpacked yet, so Violet helpfully found the paper plates and set the table.
 

There's Grandpa's Shark Spot.




Grandma's Pretty Plant Spot.




Uncle's Bat Spot.




Auntie's Flower Spot.




Mommy's Butterfly Spot.




Violet's Pumpkin Spot.




Sister's Devil Spot. Wait a second . . . try again.



 
 That's better.
 
 
 
After eating, I sprawled out on the floor in front of Toy Story while my parents cleaned up. I don't think I even have pictures of my mother from the visit - she was so busy getting things done the whole time, and I was too tired to stop her . . . or lift my head to take a picture of her.
 
 
 
I think my father summed up the rest of the evening best in an email to my middle bro and Mathilda.
 
The girls got pretty amped up during the course of the evening. A long walk had no calming effect whatsoever. So they put together a puppet show extravaganza that began around 9pm.  Violet was the director and star. Daisy was in charge of lighting (utilizing a flash light held at different positions and angles) and provided commentary from inside a giant cardboard box that acted as the stage. Grandma had a speaking part too. Her replies to what started as a monologue had a grounding effect that seemed to keep things moving. The first act lasted for about 40 minutes. Then we had dessert before your brother and Mimi headed home. The remaining adults were pretty weary and we convinced the cast and crew to continue with Act II at a later date . . .










 

Monday, November 19, 2012

Big, Big, Big Thanks





This is not the year to be thankful for bats and moss and cool stuff like that. This year, the girls and I have something way bigger to be thankful for -- our home. We're still barely moved in but we are already a hundred times more relaxed.



When we first moved into our one-bedroom apartment a couple years ago, we were in shock and hurting. The kids and I sort of huddled together when I had them, so a small space was fine. I felt liberated from having to clean a house and relieved to finally have privacy to heal away from my ex, who I had been living with post-separation for months. So what if I couldn't open up my oven door all the way because my kitchen was so small and one of the two shared washing machines in the complex was broken most of the time? I thanked my lucky stars for every worn, stale-smelling inch of our little space.



We enjoyed the community at the apartments. It's probably the most reasonable rent in the area if you have a dog, and tenants were mostly in transition - other single parents, students, Cuban refugees, people who qualified for Section 8, people with visiting probation officers, a man with failing health. It wasn't fancy but it actually felt very safe. I left my car doors and even apartment unlocked all the time. People looked out for each other, sharing food and drinks in the courtyard, and the kids left their scooters and bikes unlocked. I would even say it was idyllic.



Then, sometime last spring, something shifted. The population of hardcore drug addicts, homeless alcoholics, and mental cases that gathered around the neighboring Taco Bell as well as the RVs at the Burger King a block over multiplied. I don't know if you've seen this in your town, but all over the Bay Area, there are areas where people down on their luck live in clusters of RVs. The police may clear them out, but they come back; if they had somewhere to go, they would probably be there.



I heard our local law enforcement explained the reason things got crazy around the apartments was a result of the overflow of state prison inmates who were transferred to county jails, necessitating the release of those locals who aren't handling life so well but only really pose a danger to themselves. Some pretty crazy people showed up on the apartment grounds, often going through the dumpster by my car for food and souvenirs. Stuff started going missing, including my bike. We knew it was probably the meth heads because they didn't really steal so much as trade. There was a dusty camping chair left in place of my bike. Good thing it wasn't a total loss.



A woman, a friend of one of my neighbors, who had been sober for 20 years but somehow got mixed up with the Taco Bell crazies relapsed on meth. One morning, she ran full steam at me demanding "her" purse. It scared me but I yelled at her to go away - and she did. And that's the thing, other than theft, the crazies were harmless and easy to run off. Still, what was formerly known as my peaceful rundown apartment home became strangely chaotic and unwelcoming.



Our miracle came in the form of my parents beating out another bidder to make a down payment on a foreclosed condo for me to rent to own. The girls and I are now in a two-story two-bedroom, two-bath condo with a garage and patio. There's a public playground with basketball and tennis courts across the street. There is a pool and hot tub on site. We couldn't be more thrilled. Grandpa joined Angie's List and either hired out or completed a series of home repairs so that everything is safe and working properly.There was plumbing work, a sump pump, new locks, new garage opener, new circuit board, as well as other interior and exterior repair. Grandpa also painted the girls' room sky blue on the walls and dark blue on the very tall ceiling, just as the kids requested. And even more amazing, there was a brand new washer and dryer installed in the laundry closet before we moved in.



I've been sleeping better than I have in months. Daisy and I are getting along much better. Violet's a little better in the morning before school. We're happy.



Life isn't easy - I'm working lots and there've been personal setbacks, but the most important thing is: I have a good place to raise a family. My parents have given us not just a condo but a home. And even though I didn't do this on my own, I feel badass to be the head of my household.



picture: http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevensnodgrass/5557639906/sizes/o/in/photostream/

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Dear Lil Bro and Sister-in-Law,

Congratulations! I'm so happy for you both! You must be thrilled to finally have your own place. I'm sorry I haven't visited yet; we're all busy, and our schedules are so different. I was thinking that since we haven't had time to see each other much, I'm probably overdue for some big sister advice.



When I think about you guys recently, I can't help but remember what it's like to be early in a marriage. There is so much to do and process. The details to be hammered out, the boundaries to be acknowledged, the shock you might feel at some of the more peculiar traits you discover in your mate, and the realization that someone you love could be so wrong so often.







Well, the thing is, EVERY COUPLE goes through this. The person you're staring at across the table at night will be wrong about a lot of things. Accept this and point it out. It's really best that you don't let your partner go blind to their own weak points.



On the other hand, there will be those moments when it is you who is clearly wrong or peculiar. Accept this and point it out. You will be amazed at how avoiding a defensive attitude will open up discussions you've never had.



The couples I knew who claimed to never fight early on were divorced long before I was. Maybe that doesn't sound very comforting, but I guess what I'm trying to say is don't be alarmed if you suddenly experience conflicts you weren't expecting. It's normal.



I don't need to tell two preschool teachers about positive reinforcement and timeouts, but remember: these work well for adults too. Recess and clean up time are pretty important too. However, I think the most important thing is to find the humor as much as possible. If you can make each other laugh, everything will be OK, and you'll create a homebase to nurture and inspire each other.


See you soon! Send me pictures of the new place when you can!



Love to you both.







pictures

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Nephew Coming!


My middle bro and Mathilda are expecting a baby boy in January! I am thrilled for them and better get my passport because he's going to be born in Germany. I don't know how to explain this to someone who hasn't had a child bust out of their private parts and keep you awake for four years straight; it's certainly not something I plan to repeat, but, like mothers everywhere, I struggle with an addiction to babies. When I see one I don't even know, I want to hold it and smell it and squeeze it. Mathilda will understand soon, but for now, she's probably glad I'm safely on the other side of the planet from her . . . don't worry, baby nephew, I'm getting my passport soon! Get ready for lots of squeezing!



When I first heard the big news from my brother, I had a few questions . . .

how do you say aunt in german?
when is the baby due?
how is mathilda feeling?
how are you feeling?
start documenting now. EVERYTHING. maybe you need a blog!
when can i talk to mathilda???
bro, maybe twitter is more suited to you. maybe it's time to start twittering.
have we started talking names yet?
how does delivering babies even work over there?
wait, i just reread your orig email. you just took the [pregnancy] test. please disregard my previous emails. i'm gonna calm down.
update me.
 
 
 
Mathilda's from Germany originally but lived in the states since high school and has recently returned to Germany with my brother. As usual, Mathilda has been patient with me, answering my thoughtful questions . . .

you asked what the giving birth process is in germany. i am told that when the time comes, the woman go in the woods, where no one can hear their labor screams. there, they hold on to a tree trunk and start pressing. ;) i have no idea how different it is here. i've watched episodes of teen mom both on mtv and german tv and it looks pretty much the same. i think. i hope the doctor can tell me things i need to know. maybe a book too. a midwife? maybe a pregnant meet-up group?

Pregnant meet-up group. Oh, to be hip and pregnant.



Isn't Mathilda beautiful?





Good luck, guys!!!




And that's not even all the good news I have to share. More to come . . .

















 

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Celebration of 9!


There are numerous happy occasions this fall but no time for celebrating. So, like any mother with her finger on the pulse of 2012, I will celebrate with a nice, long blog post.



Actually, there was celebrating yesterday. After Daisy turned 9 on Thursday and I didn't get to see or talk to her because of our conflicting schedules, I took a day off to make up at Great America.



We had a shaky start. We were running late - I drove the six year olds and the ex drove the nines - and on the way, another driver obnoxiously rode my bumper; when I was finally able to get out of her lane, I yelled FUCK YOU! through the closed window, giving her the finger, until I spotted four round saucers in the rear view mirror. Violet was appalled, blushing, "Mom! What are you doing?" and after her best friend got over the shock, Wowo said sweetly, "My daddy almost said a bad word once." Uh oh.



When we arrived, the four girls were only interested in baby rides. The ex and I passed the kids back and forth like hot potatoes while Daisy and Violet, bubbling over with unrealistic expectations and overwhelm, had alternating meltdowns. I wondered why I thought it was a good idea to take the day off work to make my kids miserable.










Then, Violet decided she would go on the log ride because her older sister chickened out.






She liked it! Violet liked it! To be shown up by your little sister on your birthday is not happening and soon all the girls were addicted to the log ride, until we were all shivering in soaking wet shoes in the breezy October sun. I was so happy - finally, we're having some real fun around here.














Oh and fourth grade in our town is apparently when kids enter their Bob Marley phase. Dasiy is suddenly wearing reggae t-shirts and lecturing me about Bob. She turned to me at the park , "Why did they make Bob into a banana?" as if they should have asked her first. I started to say that I didn't think that was supposed to be him but why bother; I'm pretty sure she has lost the ability to hear me speaking about anything she thinks is cool. I'll check her on the other side, in another decade or so.






There is more to celebrate . . . to be continued . . .





 

Monday, September 24, 2012

Park


Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park.


Not yet!


Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park. Mom, I want to go to the park.


OK.