First, Lucero has her first loose tooth. Last week, the four of us had just gotten home when she said she had a loose tooth. I was doubtful, given that I'd read that children begin losing teeth around 6. Then she added that there was a popping sound when she wiggled it... a tell-tale sign that few children would know to include in wishful storytelling. I hopped out of the car and took a look. Sure enough-- a loose tooth. I was excited, jumped up and down, but then I felt a little sad. She's very tall now, and a little girl. No trace of round toddler. Such is life. But say, how much is the tooth fairy paying for teeth these days? It was a dollar in my day.
Second, we were all listening to Vicente Fernández' latest album in the car for the umpteenth time ("Para Siempre", which is so amazing, btw). For those unfamiliar with him, he embodies the classic Mexican ranchera singer with violins, horns, and the 'grito', which is the crying out that sounds like a hyena laughing and sobbing. When I first heard him after moving to Texas I thought "wow, this music is awfully dramatic"; now I can't get enough. Pero estoy divagando. So we were listening to one of the songs heavy on gritos, and who should start belting out gritos from her carseat but our own little Rosie. This would be a way cooler story if I had an embedded sound file of her doing it. Alas, I do not.
Three, I hit and killed a cat today. His name was Mr. Keasbey, and may he rest in abundant fields of catnip and canned salmon. The girls were in the backseat, and it happened on our street (hence the cat's name). I wasn't driving fast (honest), but he darted out between my front and back wheels. I breaked and watched him die in my rear view window, somehow concealing my horror from Lucero, who remained oblivious. It was terrible. I managed to track down the owner, only after crying to my neighbors, the woman at 311, and the poor guy from Solid Waste Disposal, who convinced me not to create a street block to preserve the cat's remains while I tracked down the owner. The owner was an artist, who was really nice and actually hugged me (in a non-creepy way), as he processed the news. He said that he first found the then-stray right by the spot where he died, and that Mr. Keasbey has recently recovered after being paralyzed. Crappy. Extreme bummer.
