dear allison,

Today, I came over to your house for the first time. I brought you a book I saved for a special occasion, namely the birth of my first child. But since it's not terribly promising in that department right now, I want you to have it. Consider it a loan really because seriously, I'm not going to be single forever.

When I arrived, your mom came out to greet me because no one ever parks in front of your house and I think your parents became suspicious of my car. Your mom is a really remarkable lady. She looked so happy and casual this morning with her coffee and her big smile. I'm lucky that we are friends. Also lucky because I get to hang out with you.

You were sitting with your dad in the family room when I walked in to your house. Your dad, you may want to know, I call Potty Mouth because he says inappropriate words which I cannot print here but I'm sure you will learn by the time you are 5 or 6. Kids your age grow up so fast. Your mom gave me a tour of your home and I saw your room with all your stuffed animals. I may have to add one to your collection some time. Again, on loan. I'm a catch. Someone's going to see this one day. I just have to put myself out there but it's hard, y'know?

Your dad left to play soccer/ football/ recapture his youth and pick up Jiapo from the airport. You were busy putting your Sonya Lee doll in your mouth. You're so weird with that but because you are only 2, I'll overlook that behavior. Your mom toasted some bagels for us and we sat in the family room and ate while you played with your foam blocks. After putting away your foam blocks, I think you went to the "store" to buy "groceries." Then you wanted to clean the floor with your baby wipes. We had to hide the baby wipes so that you would move on to something else. You're so frikkin' gullible.

After successfully duping you into thinking the baby wipes had disappeared, you relented and played with Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head for a while. You were very intent on alternating between the two of them and adding parts to their "back doors." Your mom and I laughed about this and the potential for a Mistress Potato Head in the event that Mrs. Potato Head didn't let Mr. Potato Head get near her back door. Not really suitable for you to consider with us at age 2 but again, by the time you know those bad words your dad says, maybe you'll be savvy enough to know about back doors too. God help us.

After the Potato Head bit, I think you wanted to play with your wind-up chicken and bunny which Jiapo sent you for Easter. We let them hop around for a while but, you didn't really seem into it. I was pretty into it though. Too bad you get to have your way because I "know better" than to insist that I get to keep playing. I acquiesed with little objection. For you, that means you got your way. Again.

At this point, you went back to the store with your purse and your credit card and your "money" which was really just wallpaper samples that some ingenious people cut up and sold to your parents. Boy, what chumps huh? I could have sold them that crap. I suppose I'm just not an entrepreneur like those Trash for Teaching folks. No wonder no man wants me.

Anyway, you decided that it was your mom's birthday and pulled out a foam board with 25 pegs in it which became candles and concurrently a birthday cake. You decided to add ingredients to it like sugar, tea and coffee. I tried to tell you to add flour, eggs and butter but you claimed to know what you were doing. No one ate any of your cake, by the way. We only pretended.

You wanted to go outside. As you ran past me on your way to the door, I grabbed you around your little belly and said "Where are you going?" I realized that this may have frightened you but I was starting to get really bored of your repetitive games and decided to shake things up. You were chill about it, you know, pimp-style. We went outside while your mom heated up your lunch.

We stood next to your jungle gym/ plastic castle. You told me you wanted to "diet" which I totally understand because we should all look our best and be at our goal weight. I figured out quickly that you meant you wanted to "dry it" as in clean up your plastic castle. It had rained recently and you wanted to clean it before you got in. Again, I totally understand. It's a compulsion. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You just like things to be clean and sterile. I applaud you. One thing though honey, your language skills need some work. It's like you're drunk most of the time with your slurred speech. I was proud that I deciphered your inebriated mutterings. If only I could decode men's mixed signals. May need to enlist your help on this one.

We got paper towels and Windex (which you insisted on) to clean your plastic castle. I joked with your mom that perhaps the Windex would cure the two styes on my right eye. What a mess I am. I sprayed the Windex and you wiped up the bird droppings and water which your dad had neglected to clean for you. Probably because he was too busy watching the Manchester United game. You slid down one slide a couple of times and then wanted to slide rocks down the other slide. As they collected on the grass, new rocks would make a "click" noise when they hit their buddies. All three of us enjoyed this noise.

It was then time for lunch. I thought you were a girl after my own heart what with the baby wipes for the floor and the Windex for the slide but no, you really disappointed me here. Watching you haphazardly eat pasta with your hands was nothing short of mortifying. Your fingers were covered with sauce and you just didn't seem to care that most of the pasta wasn't even getting into your mouth. Oh, and get this, you would wipe your face or run your hand over your hair presumably to clean yourself up a bit but you would inevitably just get more sauce on you. You also drank some milk from a clear pink cup and ate a few bites of D'Anjou pear. Both of these items were eventually, as you were, covered with sauce. However, although this was the most horrifying experience I'd had recently, I took a bunch of photos of you because you were pretty darn cute with the sauce and the errant pasta all around your plate, on the table, the chair and the floor. Sloppy and disgusting cute. I finished your half-eaten D'Anjou pear, by the way. Good stuff.

After lunch and a quick hose down, you sat to watch some weird animation DVD about your homegirl Sonya Lee and her ability to speak to animals. Man, I was really hurting for some adult conversation so, I suffered through the 10 minutes of LSD-high-like bizarreness and told your mom that I should go. You didn't want to give me a goodbye hug but you gave me a wave and I took it as a sign that we were cool when earlier in the day, you said "Katie, leh go owside." Whatever the hell it was that you meant is inconsequential. Remembering my name is huge.

I really had a fantastic time with you today. You're so unpredictable. What amazed me most is that you understood the reasoning behind so many things. I mean, aside from the mystery that is why I can't find a boyfriend. But many other less useful things you comprehend. And I enjoyed spending time with your mom, as always. She's awesome.

The book I gave you, sweet child (not) o' mine, is called Hello Kitty Hello World! and it's got a bunch of drawings and names of things you may find should you travel this big ball of dirt one day. I wish you a safe journey, Allison. Wallpaper currency--don't leave home without it.

Love,
Katie

wax on

There are many luxuries which I do not allow myself to enjoy often. Carwashes are one of them. My parents instilled this in me. They taught me to love frugal conveniences. The garden hose drawn out onto the driveway like a skinny, water-spitting snake; the rags draped on the rim of a bucket filled with soap; the countless pennies saved by not going to a carwash, even the chintzy kind--automatic and attached to the side of a gas station. Once, I thought about creating a hip-hop video out of my chore. Perhaps a bikini and short shorts for my own amusement, I thought. Let's see what the neighbors say. Mother quickly poo-pooed the idea. Understand that I don't love washing my car. I do it because I'm that kind of girl. I'm that oversized t-shirt wearing daughter of immigrants kind of girl. The executives at my office are not this kind of girl.

Every Tuesday, a company that specializes in car detailing arrives with an army of men who wash the BMWs and Mercedeses and Lexuses and Range Rovers that occupy the special parking spaces reserved for the big swinging dicks. Each detail is $27.50 which includes a wash, a wax and a vacuuming of the interior. The boys do a great job. They are car detail oriented and each vehicle is impeccably clean at the end of the day. They work hard and what they earn in a day, our executives spend on a single business lunch.

One of the main men is from El Salvador and every Tuesday, he comes up to the executive offices and collects the many keys and alarm button doodads. I chat with him, ask about his daughters, his life, his general state of being. He's a short man, very round with a shaved head and a tough expression. But inside, he is sweet and kind. He always notices when I have fresh flowers on my desk. One time I gave him a scented lavender bloom and he brought it to his nose and smiled.

My boss was out of town this Tuesday and I parked in his reserved space. When El Salvador came up to collect keys, he asked if I wanted to have my car washed. I told him that I didn't have a problem with it every once in a while when I've cleared it with my boss (since he pays for it) but, on this particular day, I didn't think it was necessary or a good use of their time. My car wasn't that dirty and I proudly told him that I wash my own car. We chatted for a bit about the rigamarole of the duty which has become his defacto profession. We talked about Easter and his family and his living situation. It doesn't matter that we are different, we both wash cars and we both struggle to make our place in the world.

Later that day, as he returned the keys to newly cleaned cars, he stopped by my cubicle and said "I left you a surprise." I thanked him. I was hoping it was a flower or a cookie but was entirely happy with the gesture. When I left the office that evening, I found the exterior of my car washed and waxed. I drove home a very happy girl. A very grateful girl. When people are generous with their time, they create joy that makes the world seem shiny and happy. At least this car and driver were.