The ballad of the one movie

When I was about 3 years old, maybe a little younger, I was taken to see a movie. I remember a bunch of us going, some of my brothers and at least my sister, and a family friend chaperoning us all neighborhood kids to see a Peanuts movie. (Why was it in theaters? I have no idea.) I can't remember which one it was, to be honest, but a quick search through IMDB.com, might provide a clue: I was born in 1978, and Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown (And don't come back!) came out in 1980, so it's quite likely that's the one we went to see.

The thing is, I hated it. Well, no, I was absolutely terrified of the whole experience. The theater itself was packed so we would all have to sit separately (I mean, that Charlie Brown is pure box office gold, right?)

I threw the other of all tantrums, but at least from my recollection, what I felt was utter panic at the flickering lights flashing in front of me. I was never afraid of the dark, or of going out, or ofmoving pictures, not even of crowds, but that day, I felt a fear so clear I remember it to this day. They had to take me outside to wait by the concession stand while the movie played inside. It's one of my earliest, clearer memories. Movies used to scare me. Which ultimately proved ironic, given the fact that I ultimately went to film school. But I digress.

I don't know how, or when, but not much later I developed a fascination with watching movies, and I have two very clear moviegoing experiences from before I turned 5: Watching Superman 2, at a friend's birthday party, and then, like a flash of lightning wrapped up in a burrito of earthquakes, Return of the Jedi, when it came out in 1983. (Dude, i'm old.... but I was 5!) It definitely turned me into a lifelong geek and a Star Wars fanatic, that somewhat faded a bit over the years, but it still holds a special place in my heart.

I grew up a movie aficionado, and if something were to catch my eye, I would develop a fascination with its minutiae that would border on the autistic. From the cinematographer to the best boy, I would love knowing as many details as possible, I watched Behind the Scenes and Interviews and read biographies and trade magazines, since this was before the internet, of course. (Did I mention I'm old? Momma is younger, gladly, even if still in my same age range.) Anyway, I attended film schol, where I majored in screenplay writing, and got involved in creative things and  used to watch and obsess and analyze about five or six movies a day! Then I met Momma. Which was a big deal.

That little kid who loved movies and wanted to grow up and tell stories, had another dream, to escape the clutches of stunting shyness, be normal, and have a family. Meeting Momma, and the ten years we've spent together, have given me the chance to do just that. While we dated, movies were a big part of our experience, something that would happen almost every time we saw each other. Movies are a fundamental part of dating, aren't they?

Thing is, that part has dwindled over the years, specially now that the kid is a toddler that demands 24 hour showings of Alvin & the Chipmunks 3. Once she goes to bed, we watch our shows, or read, or study (we're both taking online college courses) or talk or eat in peace, and whenever possible, both by time and our bodies, we watch a movie. A full movie, from start to finish can be a real chore if you are a parent. But here's the thing... I don't mind.

You know all those things you worry about losing when you become a parent? Your hobbies, your interests, your money, your sense of self? How they tell you that your life as you knew it is over? It does, it absolutely does. And I don't care one bit. As long as that tiny bundle of manic anger and unbridled joy is in this world, I can live, quite happily, with watching a movie with Momma only once every sunday. (Yesterday it was "Warm Bodies", which we loved.)

I am sure, that when this life ends, the movies in my head will all have been shot at home.

-Poppa

Our own movie diva.

The Doctor is in. Spoilers! ( see what I did there)

I am going to take this important day to talk about one of the important things in my life. I've talked about Papa, Momma, Baby (Toddler) and now I am going to talk about....Doctor Who (insert impressive music here. If you are a Whovian, insert intro music).

I am fairly recent Whovian. I am actually a converted Whovian. Who did the amazing job? Papa, well it did not take him much for me to become a fan, but it was all him.

Ever since we got Netflix ( before Emilia was born) we've been glued to it discovering and re-discovering new options of TV and movies. Papa also got a new habit, once I say good night, turn the light off and close my eyes he turns to Netflix and watches everything he knows I'll refuse to watch. When he finds something interesting he stops watching and asks me to join him because he thinks it might be something we can share. That was not the case with Doctor Who. 

My first encounter with The Doctor was not with the Doctor himself, it was with the Daleks. Last November, after I closed my eyes I would hear on my sleep "Exterminate, Exterminate!" I would also get up ask Papa to turn down the volume because those voices were creepy and were giving me bad dreams. All through November I heard weird voices on my sleep and I knew it was him watching Doctor Who. 

On December I had a cold that turned into a horrible cough and that cough stayed with me well into the new year ( I remember that because my neighbour "the slut" complained that I coughed like Shrek (have you heard Shrek cough) and that would keep her up at night, that I should cough in a more ladylike manner). Every night I had horrible cough spells that literally would shake me to my brain and I had to wake up make me some tea with lemon and honey. It was during this nights that I first met The Doctor, 10 to be precisaley. I didn't know at the time but while having tea and calming my cough syrups  I met Madame Pompadour,I witnessed the final goodbye between Rose and 10!  Some other night I witnessed 11 and Amy meeting with Vincent Van Gogh and some other night I saw Amy pregnant in a dream world. I was in front of the TV facing my destiny and my Shreklike coughing did not let me appreciate it. In fact Papa told me "if you are ever going to watch the series with me you better not pay attention" And I didn't.

It was at the beginning of this year when I finally decided that I would give The Doctor a chance. I'm not a Sci-Fi fan, actually, I usually hate it, so I wasn't expecting much from it. I was WRONG!!!!! I am not going to say that in the very minute 9 takes Roses hand and runs away from killing manequins I was hooked. Nope, it took me a little bit more. I was sad at 9's regeneration but I was, much as Rose, confused as what was happening. Thankfully, Netflix allowed me to answer my own questions by reproducing the next episode immediately. 

I was hooked when 10 quoted The Lion King and I was completely addicted by the moment we got to "Satan's Pit" and I heard him scream at the top of his lungs " I BELIEVE IN HER" my eyes filled with tears and I let them pour out because I knew I BELIEVED IN HIM! I found myself THAT invested into this show. Of course it came the moment of Rose dissapearing to Pete's world and my tears came again. After that, along came Martha. I hate her, I really do, She's not Rose. Donna, that's some companion and she gave Rose her place, She is the most important woman in the world. 

But of course, I did not know how deep in my heart was Doctor Who until 10's regeneration. It happened, I knew it was going to happen but still it hurt like nothing else in history of TV has ever hurt. I cried too much, for too long. I found myself at 2 in the morning sobbing incontrollably while Papa gave me tissues. I cried a good half hour after the episode was over. I woke with VERY puffy eyes the next morning. As I type this and I remember " I don't want to go" my eyes fill with tears. Doctor Who had crawled deep into my heart and became a symbol in my believe system. I knew it then when saying goodbye to 10 felt like saying goodbye to a relative.

Along came 11 and with him my rejection. Nope, Matt Smith would never, EVER, be my Doctor (he is not by the way). And suddenly I was crying again, suddenly I was glued to his face every night and suddenly Melody Pond as a baby made me cry and suddenly.....The Ponds were gone and I was once again left in tears in the middle of the night while holding Papas hand and feeling that a part of myself had died. Matt Smith WAS the Doctor ( not mine, 10 is still mine). He was perfect. 

He gave the most beautiful monologue ever created on entertainment history and of course.........I cried. 11 was Amazing.

This November The Doctor is giving the closest thing to a TV induced orgasm. 11 and 10 together. Smith and Tennant on the 50th anniversary. Rose and 10 together again. THANK YOU!!!!

Of course, Moffat can't give joy without taking a few pounds of tears. On June Matt Smith let us all know he is leaving. He won't be 11, the 12th will rise. Me? I was shocked. I was angry, I had barely caught up with the show and they were already taking The Doctor away from me? How dare they? I tried not to dwell on it and tried to ease my pain by re-watching the entire series (from 9 to 11) on Netflix

The feels did not feel strong until today. Today they announced the 12th Doctor. I've decided that Peter Capaldi is OK and I will give him a chance, after all, he IS a Whovian. It wasn't the fact that we know who the next Doctor is what turned on the water faucet in my eyes, it was watching Matt Smith talk about regeneration what did it for me. He said that coming out from regeneration was fun but, he thought, going into regeneration was going to be painful. Well, my friends, that did it, I put my head between my hands and began to sob. I couldn't stop I even asked Papa "What's happening to me?" Because it was right then that I realized I had to say good bye to 11 and my heart pre-broke, it will be completely broken on Christmas this year. 

So, that's the story of how I came to love The Doctor, how I found a symbol in my belief system and how in a peculiar way I found something that gave me a connection with Papa in a whole different level. Doctor Who is cool ( see what I did there?) and I think that being a Whovian is Fantastic! (see? Again?)

So, Allon-sy ( wink) and on with the show that I know the regeneration will leave me in tears for hours and I know that 12th won't cover my expectations, at first, but I know that by the 4th episode of series 8 I will be in tears once again thanking the Gods of  the Time Lords for having sent me this amazing piece of pop culture into my life. 

Two spouses and two felines. And a baby. Part Two.

So, to recap: one five month old cat gets spayed (or is it neutered?) on the same day that the not-yet-Momma announced that she was pregnant, and that our tiny and anesthetized cat was going to become a middle child.

With jubilation, trepidation, exaltation and utter panic we announced to the world that we were going to become parents. While there were, as it's always the case, a bunch of concerns that anyone who's ever been married to a pregnant woman or have been a pregnant woman themselves, the world you know slips away from underneath your feet slowly at first and then all of a sudden, knocking you off your feet. When you get back up, the whole room is different, the person standing next to you is different, and you yourself are different. Now picture that with two cats.

Almost straight away, it was if the cats could tell. Tapete in particular acted quite like a cat. He was distant and aloof, looking upset over the whole situation. He peed himself on the bed once and always acted distant. When it was just me, he acted the same as always, wanting to be the center of my attention. Pie, on the other hand, grew closer to Momma, always wanting to be near hear, near the belly, like a hen hatching an enormous egg.

The world at large, we discovered, seemed quite set in their views about old time myths regarding cats and pregnancy. (I don't know if you have noticed, most likely you haven't if you are not a cat person, but there is a quite clear and distinct anti-cat bias in the media. Yes, I'm calling it out. The media has an anti-cat agenda.

Cats are always the tricksters, the conniving ones, if not the outright villians, even when they are the celebrated stars of the show, like Garfield, for instance. Cat-like qualities are always given as adjectives to the sneaky, shifty, untrustworthy and selfish person only out to look for him or herself, when cats, while prone to their pecularities, are loyal, caring, loving companions. I was so perfectly made to be a male cat lady. Oh yes.) One of the villianizing myths around cats is how they are bad for pregnant women and for babies. After researching ans asking, we found out that, if you follow the right precautions, the risks are nonexistent. It came to a point where the third or fourth question out of people's mouths, after "When are you due?" or "what's the baby's name gonna be?" was "So... are you getting rid of the cats?" or its variation "When are you going to get rid of the cats?" And the answers were always the same.

No. Never.

The pregnancy went on as planned, and our bouncing female ball of joy was born in August of 2011. We were cautious at first inhow they approached her, never letting them get too close, even though we had done one of the recommended things, before taking the baby back home, I took the blanket she slept in so they could smell it. Then the baby came home, and they were sure this was the newest ball of fur on the block of a higher stature than theirs. Luckily, there were no behavioral problems, the cats never felt displaced or out of place; there were no bouts of jealousy over our attention, not really. 

What did happen, was that the roles reversed: Pay, who seemed to be the protective, nurturing one, became intensely disinterested in the baby and even dettached from Momma as her person. He used to follow her everywhere, and then just stopped, opting to sit on my lap and sleep on my face instead. Tapete, on the other hand, became a big brother right from the start. He would come running if he heard her crying, sniffing her for wounds and to see if she was alright. If the crying got too intense, he would meow and look at us, like a judgemental parent awaiting you to do something to help the poor  little thing.

Emilia, almost two years old now, has grown withthe idea of animals around her as a normal thing. She spends a lot of time at her grandma's, who own a small poodle that she pets and fights over food with. She has petted dogs, cats, sheep, foals, and many other forms of small livestock.  She's grown healthy and undisturbed by the constant presence of them, and most importantly, she is learning the lesson that there are creatures in our world who don't look or act like her, who are an integral part of the world she inhabits, and that they deserve respect and gratitude. (she likes ham and eggs, after all.)

And it's all because of two entitled and princely felines that live in our home.

Two spouses and two felines

Before there was a daughter, and even before there was a Momma, there was someone living with me who still remains, Tapete, our cat.

I had always been a dog person; dogs are reliable, dependable, messy, loyal and what pets "should" be, aren't they? Cats seemed shifty, angry, aloof, dettached, and generally incapable of love. Also, they aren't dogs.

I had already moved in to our apartment by myself, before Momma moved in a few months later after our wedding. It was mostly empty and I spent a good deal of my time by myself. Momma told me her sister had rescued a cat, and really couldn't keep it. We spent an afternoon together, and after getting along well with the little fella, we agreed we (me) would give him shelter until Momma's sis could keep it. She named him Tapete, the spanish word for rug and along he came with me.

I never had the sole responsibility of taking care of a living creature before, sure I used to babysit my nephews, but I was mostly another playmate and if something ever went bad, I could just turn to my brothers for help. also, being that I'm a the youngest of five, I was usually the one being looked after.

That first night... I don't know how exactly, but I just knew what to do and say to him at all times. I took him to the sandbox, showed him his food bowl, taught him to only scratch on his scratcher, found a comfy way for him to sleep on my lap, and he snuggled between my legs when we went to bed. The next morning I woke up to the feeling of a sticky wet thing licking on my face. It was him.

So we bonded in a way I had never bonded with a pet before. I had plenty of dogs growing up and I liked them, but never like this. I also became a cat person.

A couple of months later, Momma and I got married and it was a bit of a struggle the first few days, because the cat was jealous and mad at this new person who had moved in and taken most of my attention and space. Luckily, over time, Momma fell in love with him too, and somewhat begrudgingly, Tapete bonded with her too. (Even if at the moment, Momma is trying to keep him from sitting on her keyboard as she tries to study.)

Tapete grew up as a part of our family, and we both learned to take care of another living thing. We were that family with a cat that is like a son. We were cat people of the almost worse kind. (We never dressed him up. Though we tried.)

We became obsessed with cats, their behaviors and their species. We scoured on youtube for videos of cats, and not too long after, we found this video. That cat seemed impossible to us, it was like something out of a cartoon! We found out it was a real race called Scottish Fold, and that were nearly impossible to find in our area.

About a year later, Tapete got sick with a strange cough and our regular vet was away on vacation. A panicked search through the yellow pages led us to a duo of vets who made house calls. Tapete got better, but our conversations with them led us to finding out they were true cat lovers and breeders of all sorts of cat varieties. Right away, we mentioned that our dream was having a Scottish Fold cat, and they told us they owned a female.

Momma and I went on with married life, and during a vacation trip, we decided it might be time to start thinking about children. We were ready, or as ready as we were going to be. During that trip, the vets wrote to me to say that the female Scottish Fold had given birth to a litter, and that they had immediately thought about us for one of the kittens.

A baby and two cats? Don't they say they don't mix? That cats are harmful for babies? Well, we had done our research from the moment Tapete came home, and we discovered that indoors cats rarely spread diseases, that as long as she stayed away from the kitty litter, she would be fine, and the eventual baby would be, too. So we knew there'd be no problem. After all, humans domesticated animals sometime around 8, 000 B.C., and babies had grown up around them ever since. When did it become a thing to get rid of animals to make room for babies, anyway?

We visisted the little fella first, before we decided to take him home with us. He was the most beautiful ball of hair I had ever seen. You see things these cute in movies, or in cat movies on youtube, but this one was in my arms, about to be part of my family. This time, it was our turn to name him, and while the name suits his colors, we always thought of him as our little pumpkin pie, and so we called him Pie, even before seeing him.

The process of having a new kitten at home took some getting used to for our Tapete, who hadn't seen another four legged mammal, let alone another cat, and the process took a few days before he even let him be in the same room with him. Eventually, as all the websites and experts told us, the little one started to follow the big one along and the big one eventually let him. It was a nice thing to see, how the bond of feline love grew between them.

All the while, we were trying to get pregnant.

Little Pie had grown into a 6 month old cat that needed to be neutered, cuz we are responsible cat owners, you know? Momma had been feeling a bit queasy and lightheaded, but we had to take Pie to the vet, and well, other concerns had to be put in the backburner. When we were at the vet, I took Pie in his little cage, while Momma went to run some errands. Pie had to stay in for a few hours and I met Momma back in the car. She had a bag with something in it, it was a pregnancy test. A positive pregnancy test. We were having a baby!

Next time: Two Cats and a Baby!

A Home is not a Home....

THIS IS BULLSHIT

When it`s time for Home Office with a "sick" toddler to take care of. How did I end up like this you ask? Well, it all began on Sunday when Pappa,me and my father took the baby to Disney On Ice: Princess Edition. It's not called that but it should because it's all about the princesses. My daughter is only into Rapunzel but she loved the show anyway. She loved it and ate popcorn like there was no tomorrow. Once the show was over we went for lunch and she ate some spaghetti and ice-cream. When We got home she had more popcorn (left from the show) and dinner. She over ate and I was waiting for a night full of vomit and screams, but it never came. 

On Monday me and Pappa went to pick Emilia up from daycare and she came out dressed with a completely different outfit from the one she was wearing that morning. The teacher told us that she had thrown up and they had changed her. I knew she had thrown up because of the over eating from the weekend; it had happened before: she ate like a pig and she would throw up, she'd scream and cry and then forget everything and go on with her life like always.

This time things were not like that. We came home and she threw up again, she was whiny and lethargic. She had a fever, a fever that wasn't too high but refused to go down so, on Tuesday, she stayed home just in case the fever would be back. 

The fever never, ever showed it's face again. I was happy but then.....Emilia realized she had skipped school and momma and pappa were home all for herself. She was like a wild animal, screaming, throwing things around the TV room, throwing fits, asking us to play with her. All that while we both had very urgent and important work to do.

I had to finish a stupid excel report for my boss (who is my father by the way) and it was HUGE!!!!! Worst thing was that 1.- I do not know one thing about using Excel. I'm a beginner and formulas and shit are not on my resume yet. 

2.- I had no idea what all the data I was gathering was all about. It was somebody else's report and I was doing it for reasons that are too long to explain to even bother. 

I spent the whole day doing that horrible thing with a screaming baby and a Pappa that had a crisis of his own. The server in which the office software and system are connected suddenly got disconnected. Why? No one knew, all he knew is that he had at least 30 people on an office not working because system was down. 

So, we left the baby by herself, she was no longer throwing up and we had purchased her a new DVD (Alvin and the Chipmunks), she was supposed to be all set, but she wasn't she had one of the worst days of her life when it comes to temper and tantrums and being needy and hunger. I only got off my computer for two things: Make some soup for the baby and Going to my nutriologist appointment where, by the way, was told I gained 1 pound. 

Pappa and Momma did not eat shit until 6 pm (like 2 chicken wings each) and I did not finish my report until 7 at night, a little after Pappa and the baby took a shower to calm her down (it did not work, in case you were wondering) I finished, sent it to the boss and I finally lay down in bed while an all wet baby jumped on my stomach waiting for sleepyness to arrive (it didn't we had to take her to her crib while she was awake and screaming).

Pappa never solved his problem and all defeated sat down in front of the computer while he hoped that Dell techs in Texas had enough abilities to solve the problem before today. They didn't, in case you were wondering, it was solved until noon today. 

Anyway, while I laid in bed getting all caught up with my gossip of the day, royal baby and Amanda Bynes break down, I had The Big Bang Theory as background noise to keep me company. After a long day, where I realized how horribly bad I am at Excel and spread sheets, where my daughter was in time out 3 times, and 3 times grounded with no TV (she is not even 2!!!!!!!!) the fact that Penny was taking a History course on Pasadena's Community College caught my attention. I miss school, I really do.

I've said countless times that if I could I would go back to school in a heartbeat. I've wanted to certified myself as an English (language) teacher for a while because that requires studying and it's affordable but I've also said that I would love to go for another major or masters degree but I can not afford it, money and time wise. 

So, when I looked at Penny, being able to walk into a community college and take a course I felt a pang of jelousy, I was jelous of Penny of The Big Bang Theory. The day had really gotten to me but not enought to break me. I got online to find free online courses and to make the story short: Momma is getting a major on English Literature!!!

I am going back to school (not in real space, school) and Pappa was so inspired by my excitement that he enrolled and is getting a History major. Today we began our first classes and it seems to do wonders for both of us. 

In the end a bad day did not kill that spark in me, that spark that every now and then screams at me that I need to learn new stuff, that I need to study, that I need to be creative. HOME OFFICE DID NOT KILL MY LEARNING SPARK!!!!!!! 

OH YEAH!!!!!!!!!

I'll keep you posted because what I studied today was really hard!!!!!!! 

Until Next Time

-Nighttime Momma

Papa and Mama's disappearing act.

Food. Eating. Lots.

Among the things the Momma and I consider to be "entertainment", food holds a very strong hold and place in the hierarchy.

Eating has always been on par with Academy Award winning movies, or best selling novels or the most downloaded casual game for the iPhone.

We both discovered later in our lives, after getting married, that our passion for eating could translate into a passion for cooking.

Momma became the cake and cupcake and pasta lady and I was the breakfast and meat and fish guy. We were foodies, but not very discriminating ones; a bag of Cheetos were held in the same esteem as the finest south american cuts of meat.

And we, obviously, were very happy. We had worked hard to be able to eat whatever we wanted, when we wanted and as much as we wanted.

Until it caught up with us.

Earlier this year, Momma had a health scare with an upwards spike in her glucose and deterioration of her pancreas, resulting in a condition that could lead quite easily and rapidly to diabetes.

So, well, the eating stopped.

Not only for her, but for me too. I wasn't going to let her walk into a healthy lifestyle without joining her, and after a good long look in the mirror, Poppa realized and decided that, if we want Emilia to have a set of two parents for as long as possible, that I needed to change too.

Now for the past six weeks, we've followed a doctor approved diet and lifestyle change: it doesn't involve eating only lettuce and being sad, but it's a process of learning to eating healthily, and we're both very happy and feeling well. We have lost something close to 32 lbs. between the two of us, and we look and feel better, sleep better, and get no heartburn at all. Imagine that!

As for the fun part, well, being in this process with Momma, both of us picking new foods, thinking healthily and restraining ourselves instead of indulging our whims, has bought us closer together, as a couple and as a family. No amount of lettuce is going to turn that into something sad.

8 to 10 words

That's all the words I've ever heard from my 23 month old daughter. One of them is not mom, not even "ma". She calls me "pi" "pe" or "come". I've heard "grape" "yes" "no" and several other things that have to do with food mostly. Her favorite form of communication is screaming random vowels at the top of her lungs while she expects us to read her mind, I'm sad to inform you that it usually works for her.

I've been wondering for a while why no one at daycare have said anything about it. She is old enough to be at least refering to things by it's name, but that day has not come. They say she is doing great, no longer crying for every little stupid thing, going out to the playground with other kids, sharing toys and even making friends. She is loved and known by everyone at daycare. She even comes home with dolls and clothing that are gifts from her teachers. 

I always thought that she had managed to charm everyone with her peculiar dances and humming of every single song she listens to. But no..it is not her charm what have gotten her out of the "why is she not talking" problem, it was the fact the she actually SPEAKS when she is at school! How do I know this? Well, let me tell you the story of how we learn this tiny detail.

On Thursday my mother picked her up from daycare and my daughter's teacher asked her " How does she call you? Grandma, Grannie?" My mother looked at her and laughed saying "She doesn't call me anything. She doesn't speak" The teacher said "Emilia speaks a lot! She says everything from soup to doll!" 

Needless to say, my mother called me up and said to me this wonderful news. Papa said he felt betrayed and swore that he would get out of her at least one new word by the end of the evening. Once we picked her up from Grandma's Papa had no success at all. Emilia did not speak any other words besides the ones that have to do with food. 

We thought that maybe, just maybe, Grandma was over reacting and decided that we would ask at school next day while dropping her off. We did. We received wonderful news. She does speak. She even calls her friends by their names. I mean she is not giving out speeches in class or anything but she does communicate. Papa still feels betrayed.

Me? I do not feel betrayed, I know we enable her every need, besides, I'd gotten wonderful news by my doctor confirming that my pancreas is finally working the way it should have for a long time and I was no longer at risk of dying. So I thought, well I'm "Pi" or "Pe" but at least I'm something and maybe being healthy I will be able to get some more words out of her. 

Today we got to hear "quesadilla" that sounded something like "quilla" and she does count from 1 to 5 both in english and spanish. I'm ok with that, as long as one day I get to hear the word "Mom" I'm alright with that.

Although.... I've done my research online and I only seem to get mom's talking about their children speaking at home but not at school. Does anyone out there has a case similar to mine? Is my child the only one trying to drive her parents nuts by screaming random vowels while at school she's all Miss Talkative? Help?

Until Next Time

- Nighttime Momma.