On Apple Cake and Race

"What colour this, Mama?"

So asks The Monster on a regular occassion. She might be asking about the colour of a toy, a bird, a carrot, or a person. In all but the last case we hapily give her the answer in detail - aqua not blue, chartreuse not green (I am a quilter, after all). But when she asks about people I struggle to answer. I feel the weight of race relations on me. I feel like that moment will define how she approaches people who look different than her.

Yup, I know I'm over-thinking it. But on today, of all days, it's at the forefront of my thoughts. We watched a bit of my show - the inauguration - before she left for the day, after I convinced her to turn off Sesame Street, of course. Hubby and I tried to explain to her what was going on, but I think the significance was lost on a two and a half year old. But tonight we'll be reading stories and she'll ask me what colour Dick and Jane are and then what colour are Pam and Penny.

Hubby is straightforward about things, but I'm not comfortable with that. He and I debate over the best approach. We were both raised without much of an issue over race. Here in Western Canada we just don't have the race issues of the US, at least as we see it. It is a product of our own suburban upbringings and the exposure to so many cultures along the way. I prefer to focus on exploring cultural differences, rather than race. But that still doesn't answer the Monster's questions.

And when I cook her coconut curry or spaghetti and meatballs or pierogies or suya she will learn about the world in a way that our travel budget just doesn't allow. Will that teach her about race and different cultures? Perhaps. But in the coming eight years both our girls will grow up with the memory of their first US President and not even understand what the big deal is.

To change the topic slightly, I've been thinking about what it would be like to live in the White House as a young family. What if Michelle and Barack want to make pancakes for breakfast? What if Malia and Sasha want to bake cookies? Is there a special family kitchen in the White House? There must be, otherwise it would feel like living in a hotel. That's got to wear on anyone.

I'm hoping to keep tabs on things by faithfully reading Obama Foodorama. And today, in honour of the inauguration I'm baking this apple cake. It isn't the recipe from the luncheon, but it looks beautiful and honours the food of the day.

The Games We Play And the Songs We Sing

For all you with thirty-something suburban white rap fans as partners, this one is for you. Hubby grew up on De La Soul, Public Enemy, Beastie Boys, Eric B. and Rakim, and Methodman. For all these folks there is actually a kids show for you. We are addicted to it in this house. Please welcome DJ Lance and Yo Gabba Gabba into your house.

Sure, it is pretty much as irritating as any other show geared towards toddlers, at least when you are forced to watch it as much as they are allowed to watch TV or DVDs. It is not nearly as painful, however, as purple dinosaurs or creepy costumed grown men with fake hair. But it is quite catchy and oddly entertaining, what with the beatboxing with Biz Markie, celebrity guests who dance, and funky monsters with weird names like Fufa.

Hubby and I were never ones for pretending that airplanes or choo-choos were making their way to the baby's mouth when she ate. Open up or don't eat. You don't want to eat? No worries. But as The Monster asserts some independence and, at the same time, is getting a bit lazy about eating, we've glommed on to one thing to help us through dinner.

Normal dinnertime in our house generally involves Hubby and I trying to have a conversation over The Monster's singing, or rousing bouts of all of us roaring like lions or comparing owies and eye colour. The Monster hasn't been eating much lately so we resorted to a bit of a guilt trip a la Yo Gabba Gabba. Did you know there is a party in your tummy? And the beans want to be there, so do the pierogies, and the roast beef. Seriously, all we have to do is remind her about the party and she eats more. And when she is done she repeats all the attendees to her party. Heck, days later she is still telling us who came.

She had a bit of a gastro problem the past few days and yesterday she asked why she was sick. I told her it was because a funny bug went to the party in her tummy and made her sick. A perfect explanation. And then she asked to peel a banana and send it to the party, complete with the action of lifting-up her shirt and pointing at her belly button. Let the Party begin.

Check out the official version of the song here.