Sushi Arms

Kulani has been perseverating about knives for a few months now. He has quickly built up a pretty nice knife collection. The last time he went to Benihana's, he sat at the sushi bar so he could watch the sushi chefs do their magic. He also peppered them with questions about knives. Last night, he wanted to put all his hard, obsessive work to the test, so he made us sushi. We invited over Lani and Patrick, and later Alika stopped by after work to finish up the spoils. As always, it was delicious. He made a few Philadelphia rolls, a "sunrise" roll or "Utah" roll (it has salmon and lemon, so it tastes almost like a breakfast roll), a California roll, and a roll he called the "Patrick" roll. He made it for Patrick, who really likes Tamago--a Japanese-style omelette.

Melissa loves sushi. Lilia likes it too, but it seems like Lissy loves it more. Poor, Melissa. She and I have gone the rounds this past week trying to potty train her. She's 3 1/2 years old. She should be potty trained already. With Lilia, it just seemed like she started going on the toilet by herself at the age of 2 1/2. I've had to strong-arm Melissa, and she still fights me every time. The other night she pooped her pants twice. It almost sent me over the edge with rage. I had to walk away from her and give Kulani an "S.O.S." phone call.

I watch a few kids from the neighborhood a couple of days a week. The kids are the exact same age as my kids. The parents are really nice, and I don't mind watching the kids because they get along very well with my girls. But sometimes watching two infants can get hairy. They're fine as long as I'm holding both of them. So nothing gets done when the kids are over here. I just sit in the recliner holding the babies, and asking the two older 5-year-olds to grab this and that for me. In ways, I feel lazy just sitting there. But it's also kind of nice. I think I know a little better the difficulty in having twins. Holding the two babies inspired the following poem:

Arms
At times I wish I had three arms.
I saw a woman who was born with four,
But two didn't work so well;
functioned more like decorations.
And if I had three, then I'd wish for four or more--
God must shake his head at us complainers.
And I'm ashamed for complaining
When I pass someone with only one, or worse--none.
But still, holding twin babies in this rocking chair,
Each hand holding a bottle to their suckling mouths,
I'd love to have just one more extending from my belly
And holding the remote control.
The TV is stuck on soaps again.