Well, hello all! It's been quite awhile since my last blog. I'll just write that off to general life, and the new job. The new job also requires writing, but does not allow me to fully exercise my "snark muscle", which sends me back here...
Many of my past posts have been of the more humorous-type; reflecting on the day-to-day existence in a household with a teenager. This post will, again, deal with 'said' teenager, but rather the challenges of releasing her into the world (in its current state).
Having just celebrated yet another birthday, I'm feeling kind of old. The old part, however, also makes one predisposed to being a bit nostalgic. When I was Child's age, I used to spend many weekend days, with my pals, exploring the local malls, bowling alleys, and fast food eateries- sans parents. I would be shoved (literally, traumatic childhood..) out the door on fine Summer days after lunch, and told not to return with "Trigger" (my faithful mode of transportation, aka my banana-seated 70s bike...) until dinner. There were no cell phones, and no pagers; just a wrist watch and my own wits. Not to sound like too much of an antique, but those were the days!
Now.... humor me, and fast-forward to the present day... Child has a "thing" for shopping. I enjoy shopping just about as much as I enjoy discovering new gray hairs. What could possibly appease her need to spend, and my need to...well...*survive* the HOURS that it takes for her to spend? Well, it takes the company of good folks, that's what!
So, about five days ago, Child and I set out to the local urban mall with one of her best friends from back in the day, her friend's 'lil sis, and her friend's Mom (also one of my good friends... cheers BL! :) ). There had been questionable activity at this mall in the past, but we figured that arriving at ten in the morning would be a pretty safe bet, as the thugs would be most likely sleeping-off the mayhem committed from the previous evening. Child was armed with her cell phone (volume set to ear-rupture..), and Friend's Mom and I had our phones set to a similar frequency. Time to let out the leash a bit on our two, and do a little browsing ourselves. Getting a bit tired of trailing two teens, 'Lil Sis decided to hang with us old ladies.
So...we were leaving Talbot's, and 'Lil Sis piped up, "Mommy, they just made an announcement that all people under 18 need to be with a responsible adult NOW!" Friend's Mom and I checked our trusty cell phones, and noted that it wasn't even quite 1 PM; this directive was usually set into place on weekends, after 3 PM. The three of us proceeded to go to the Guest Services kiosk to inquire further. The nice lady confirmed that this was, indeed, the case. When I questioned why it was in writing on their kiosk that this was to take place after 3, and they were enacting it *now*, I was given no good answer. Because Child had been so responsible with her own behavior (texting her location to "home base" each time she and her friend switched locales), Friend's Mom was quickly able to catch up with the girls to supervise them as I finished making a quick purchase.
As I arrived at the Barnes and Noble where they all were, I noticed quite a bit of police presence in the mall. Shopkeepers were also standing in the entrances of their stores, with stern and concerned faces. I caught up with my little group, and we finished out our pleasant day together. As Child and I walked to our car, I noticed more police activity then would have been expected in the parking lot, and also armed officers waiting at the city bus shelters. Hmmm....
Sooooo...Child and I got home and shared the events of the afternoon with Husband. He and I felt pretty much the same way that it was really *odd* for the mall to change their rules without warning, and how it pretty much sucked that our girls, who were out for nothing more than jump-starting the economy, eating fast food, and gossiping, had lost an opportunity to explore on their own. Of course life started moving at its usual quick pace, and I didn't give the incident any more thought until I read an article in the local paper about how disaster may have been averted that day...
It turns out that a bunch of teenagers had attempted to organize a flash mob at the mall (at the exact time the fateful announcement had been made) "to fight, to loot, and to run the place". Some local urban leaders had gotten wind of what was showing up on the social media, and had alerted not only the mall security, but the local law enforcement, as well. These individuals probably saved a lot of people from being injured, and quite a few businesses from being destroyed that day. Just another day with kids with too much time on their hands, and not enough parental involvement to lead them down the right road...
When I first read the article, I was glad that all five of us were able to have had the good time that we did, without incident. After reflecting a bit more, however, I started to get really (pardon me...) pissed-off. I raised my child to be...well...human! I am happy to say that she has impulse control, and the ability to think/feel from the perspective of others. Because she's mastered these skills, I feel that it should be part of her social/independent-survival learning to be able to go out into the "global classroom", and learn to conduct her own affairs. That's what Friend's Mom and I were trying to do that day; be present in the mall, yet let them have a bit "more slack in the leash". They kept in contact with us by phone, and they respected both the property, and the people, that they encountered in the various retail establishments.
This, my friends, is what really disturbs me to my core: what if things would not have turned out the way that they did? What if my daughter, while innocently spending time with an equally-mature friend, would have been physically harmed by the "savage" teens? Why should I have to feel that I need to take away my daughter's freedom, which she has earned through responsible living, because I cannot guarantee what the actions of the more "savage" teens will be? I'm telling you, this certainly is not the world that I grew up in...
I really believe that the whole root of this problem comes down to parents that just don't give a damn. Kids who act like "savages" don't just end up like that overnight; it is the sad result of ineffectual and absentee parenting. Society should not have to suffer diminshed security, and enjoyment, due to these kids. I honestly believe that these parents should be punished right along with their children. If the parents are unable, or unwilling, to provide the structure and the training within their own homes to produce children who will comply to the laws of the society in which we live, the children should be taken from them, and they (the parents) should be forced to pay restitution for the destructive acts. I believe that it shouldn't be an excuse that these "savages" are just "kids"; if a person sets out to be violent and disruptive, he/she doesn't deserve the right to move freely "about the cabin" anymore. Maybe instead of using all of those federal stimulus dollars to fund the repair of our Country's roads, we should expand the number of residential juvie facilities to allow the rest of us to live our lives in peace! It doesn't take a certain annual income , or a certain zip code to be a good parent; what it takes is expecting your child to conduct him/herself in a "human" manner, and not being afraid to set him/her straight when she/he strays from it. I've already told Child that if she chooses to drink or drug, I will turn her over to the local authorities; those activities are illegal- period. She is also aware that our home is not set up to be an alcohol/drug rehab, and if she chooses to partake in those activities, she'll need to find a new place to live.
Husband and I were out for a rare dinner alone the other night. We were seated near a party with two young children, and (in theory) two supervising adults. The youngest boy, probably just shy of 3, was excessively loud, and rude to both adults; both of them (probably under the influence of a couple of margaritas) just "laughed it off", and called him a "terror". Their dinner came to a head when the little $hit decided to escape his table. The (clueless) adult chased this kid from table-to-table, and almost knocked over an extra chair at our table (no apology...of course!). When the kid was finally found hiding under yet *another* table, the woman just got this goofy/helpless look on her face, which basically said, "Oh well, I can't control him. He's just little. We deserve a night out, and dealing with him kind of puts a crimp in ours. Oh, well- kids will be kids!"
Yep...kids will be kids. We adults, however, need to take a stand to do whatever it takes to raise our children to be able to exist in society without (at the very least) being a thorn in the a$$ of it.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Saturday, April 30, 2011
The Dance and the Dive...
Unless one has been living under some sort of rock, it was pretty much common knowledge that the Royal Wedding of the century took place yesterday. In Thomasville, we certainly don't live underneath a rock, but that event was not nearly as important as the "local Ball" scheduled for last night; the Middle School (MS) Spring Dance.
Yep, let the Royals have their tradition and pageantry; for the MS-set, it's all about dressing nice and not being viewed as a social leper... Because Child normally goes to gymnastics on Friday nights, a proclamation was made in the kingdom of Thomasville that she would be given the night off from her 'acrobatic duties'. I mean, come on now, what 13 year-old girl wants to go to a dance smelling of her three hour workout, and wearing bits of foam from the resi pit in her hair? I rest my case... Not to mention the fact that simply getting ready for the MS Ball would probably take just as long as that three-hour practice anyway.
Because I'm an organization freak, I had Child choose her outfit the night before. There was much indecision as to whether go the dress route, or the pants route. After much consideration the pants won, and they were set aside with a coordinating shirt. Feeling pretty on top of things, I waited for Child to come to my car after school yesterday so we could return to the kingdom, and commence the process of getting ready. After saying goodbye for the next three hours to her BFFs, Child hurled her backpack, then herself, into my car:
Child : "Mommy, I changed my mind...I want to wear that dress now!"
Me: "Ummm...you are wearing the cami right now that is supposed to go underneath it. you and the cami just ran the mile... pppppuuuuuu.....How about the pants???"
Child: "______ is wearing a skirt, and I really want to. Pllleeeeasse????"
(After careful considertation and calculations of the evening's timetable, I determined that it would be possible if, and only if, Child turned it over immediately upon reaching the laundry room. While this would seem pretty easy, Child l-o-v-e-s to flit around quite a bit upon arrival in Thomasville. Time to see if we had a bargain..)
Me: "You have to give it to me right away!"
Child: "Okay!!! Thanks Mommy!!!"
Anyone remember that book, If You Give A Moose a Muffin? Well, now that the dress was going to be worn, sandals would need to be worn, as well. If sandals were to be worn, then some attention needed to be given to the unpolished toe nails. If the toe nails were going to look spiffy, then the finger nails (chipped from gymnastics grips) would also need touching-up... So much for my anal-retentive schedule:
Me: "Ooookay, the minute we walk in the door, after giving me that cami, you need to sit down for polish!"
Child: "Okay"
Anyone who knows me pretty well knows that I'm not into the whole makeup thing. I am so happy to report that I applied two coats of a most psychedlic purple polish to both finger, and toenails. For good measure, I even set the polish with a hair dryer on low heat. Just the act of this probably earned me boku "Mother's Day points."
So... after a nice shower, blowdry, hairstyling, it was time to put on the dress. Like her 'ol Mother, Child is pretty much a jeans-and-T kind of gal. Moving around in a dress adds, shall we say, a few challenges:
Child: (approaches ottoman to sit down and throws self down- per usual routine) "How do I look?"
Me: (not sure whether to laugh or cry, as time to learn dress decorum was of the essence) "Ummm... when you sit in a skirt, you need to gather it under your bottom, then sit slowly down. Also, you need to keep your knees together, or cross your legs."
Child: (a bit puzzled by that...) "Why?"
Father: (usually pretty quiet, but always ready to deliver a good gem when necessary) "You don't want the kids at the Dance to be getting a good view of your underwear, and then laughing about it at school on Monday."
Child: (ever the sassy and precocious) "Well, I'm not sitting....It's called a DANCE!"
(Husband and I just shook our heads and hoped for the best. I am happy to report that after a few dry runs in our driveway before leaving for the Ball, Child learned how to daintly get in and out of a vehicle)
Anywhoo.... we left the lovely kingdom of Thomasville, and picked up one of Child's Besties. "Bestie" was dressed a lot more casually than Child, but definitely appropriate. None of us were prepared for what the scene would be when we pulled up in front of the MS...
Apparently, there must have been some kind of meeting-of-the-minds that Bestie and Child were not privy to; every. darn. 7th. grade. girl. seemed. to. be. sporting. short. shorts. When I say short shorts, people, I am talking about ones that have an inseam of about -1 (if you want to read more of my rantings about this, check out previous blogs...). Niiiiiiiiiice... Oh well, at least our girls looked dance-appropriate. After making sure that the two teen-brain possessing girls safely crossed the street, Husband and I headed out for a quick dinner before we returned to pick up the girls. This would be where the "dive" comes in....
Because of the 90 minute window to arrive/sit/order/wait/eat/pay/leave/drive to MS, we decided that we would be best served staying close by. After mulling over some options, neither one of us was too enthusiastic. Husband then had a great brain fart- why didn't we go try Mama Mia's again?
Having grown up in the area, Mama Mia's was a local institution (you'll see the humor in this little bit of word play in a bit..stay with me...). They served "I"talian food that any corn-fed midwesterner would die for: salad drowning in dressing, garlic bread drowning in butter, and your average no-frills pizza. I had many family dinners there, starting at about the age of 5. Our little family hadn't been there in awhile, so Husband and I thought that it was worth another try.
Being the pessimist that I am, I told Husband tales of yore about how the restaurant would open at 5, and the parking lot would already be full. I warned him that if the wait was bad, we'd have to just pick up and go, as the teenage carriage turned into a pumpkin at sharply 8:30. As we pulled into the parking lot, there were a-l-o-t of empty parking spaces- on a rockin' Saturday night (sign #1). We took our pick of spots in the crumbling asphalt lot, and headed in.
When I say that a restaurant is "I"talian, what smell do you think should hit you as you enter? Red sauce? Pizza? Seafood, perhaps? Well, the first aroma that husband and I smelled was undiluted clorox bleach (sign #2). Being hungry, and short on time, we decided to overlook that little issue, and be seated. After a brief look at the menu, we decided on a salad to share, and a pizza. Now that the "hard work" of selecting the grub was completed, I was looking forward to sitting back and chatting for a bit with my man. Strangely enough, I could see my husband's mouth forming words, but the sound seemed to escape me. Was it simply that I am Middle-aged? Did I need a belltone hearing aid? Nope, not the case at all; turned out that all of my hearing problems could be attributed to "Thing 1" and "Thing 2".
Sitting immediately south of Husband and I was a booth filled with four chicks. They were pretty darn loud, at best. One of them, whom I shall affectionately refer to as "Thing 1" was quite obviously leashed to a cellphone. that. rang. constantly. Nevermind, her dining partners (or poor Husband and me), she proceeded to answer each and every call. Did I mention that the decibel level of Thing 1 on her cell phone was about equivalent to my Kitchen Aid Mixer on level 8???? This was not, however, the best part. Ever heard of a "drunk dial" (for you innocents out there, that is when an inebriated person gets on their cell and says a whole buch of dumb stuff he/she will never remember/admit to when sober)? Well, not only did Thing 1's caller appear to be drunk-dialing, she was also quite toasted, herself. So, basically, you've got a drunk moron on one end of the line who can't find his car keys(and is having a fit), and a drunk moronette on the other end of the line who is so plowed herself that she can't intellectually/emotionally deal with the situation- niiiiiiiiice, huh? I shot my best "death glare" in Thing 1's general direction; to no avail. Fun....
If Thing 1 wasn't disruptive enough, there was Thing 2 to deal with. Thing 2 was sitting at a booth with several dining partners about two booths south of Thing 1. I cannot give you any juicy details about what Thing 2 looked like as I never actually *saw* him....
Periodically, Thing 1 would stop yammering into her cell phone, and there would be a rare period of silence. As soon as Husband and I let out a collective sigh, there would be a loud, tourettish sounds coming from beyond Thing 1's booth. The first time it was audible, not only did Husband and I look around in abject horror, but a table full of senior citizens (on an evening trip out of the local assisted living) also stopped eating and looked around for the source of the disturbance. Like deer, Husband and I and the old folks sensed the danger had passed, and returned to eating the sub-par food; that is, until it happened again, and again, and again. Having not the greatest patience with fools, I was beginning to get a bit perturbed:
Me: (rolling eyes)"Is that Dude having a break with reality? Is he crazy?"
Husband: (being patient, and most perceptive) "________, he's just drunk!"
I've been in many situations over the years where people have had a bit too much, but this was just about as weird as it could possibly get. Fearing for our safety, I told Husband that we should probably get the check "pronto", in order to not be sharing the roads with Things 1 and 2. So, we paid our overpriced food bill, and hightailed it back to the MS.
When Child and Bestie emerged, they had happy tales to tell about their evening; I shared with them the "horror" story of our dinner. Bestie found it kind of funny, but not quite as funny as an expletive I shouted at a Ball particiapnt who jumped into the road in front of my vehicle...sigh...
All's well that ends well in Thomasville and beyond: Child and Bestie had a blast at their Ball, Prince William and Catherine( of whatever???) have been wed and me, well, I got more material for my blog. The End.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Oh So Lucky 13....
It's been an exciting week in Thomasville, as Child has become a teen. Such a momentous ocassion cannot possibly be celebrated once....or twice..... more like three times. So.. here is a recounting of her multiple initations to teen-hood:
ACT 1: Screamy Girl Party!!!!!
If one girl turning 13 isn't err....exciting.... enough, what about two of them???? Child's on-again-off-again bestie, by sheer dumb luck, shares the exact same B-Day. Both girls thought it would be a cool idea to have a joint party. Hmmm...all of their communal friends in one spot, at one time- check! All expenses being shared by two families,rather than just one- check! Yep, this was definitely the way to go, and a "meeting" to plan the event was set...
At the local cool coffee place, Child, Bestie, Bestie's parents, and I met to plan the details for the little soiree. We touched on the basics like food, decor, etc. When it was time to discuss entertainment, however, things got a bit weird. In addition to suggesting a rousing game of "Pin the Tail on the Donkey" (turning 13, not 3, people!!!!), Bestie's Medical degree-holding 'rents also suggested such timeless amusements as (indoor) blindman's bluff (ummmm....smashing into walls= not fun, luckily the 'rents are anesthesiologists..), and Scrabble (exercising one's brains at a party is just sooooo not cool, folks!?!) Trying to avoid having the girls being viewed as social misfits, I coyly suggested that they, instead, just bring their Wii; Mother saves the day, yet again!
One of the highlights of the Screamy Girl Party was to be a three-tiered B-Day cake, made entirely from scratch by Bestie, her Mom, and Child. Two days before the party, Child had plans to go over to Bestie's house to help decorate... Well, she did, until IT happened....
About two weeks before child turned 13, I was saying out loud (big mistake) that she was being so reasonable about everything as of late. Within days of this great proclamation, little lies about schoolwork started popping up here-and-there. The most treasured iTouch was taken away for a few days, and all was well again in the kingdom (or so I believed...). Turned out that the lesson was not learned, and like weeds in a fertile spring garden, new lies began popping-up everywhere. Child, although not quite 13 yet, had her first serious grounding. Unfortunately, one of the privileges lost was going to Bestie's house to decorate that cake...ouch!
Being the cunning one, Bestie actually approached me, and tried to get me to change my mind on that one- yeah...r-i-g-h-t!!!
Anywhoooo... by the time the eight teens arrived in Thomasville to celebrate with Child and Bestie, all of the stress of the 1st teenage grounding was only a bad memory. As loud and screamy as the girls were that evening, there was a wonderful abscence of 'teen-girl drama', and a great time was had by all- Hurrah!
Act 2: Actual B-Day
There is no greater buzz-kill in the life of a new teen than having to go to school on her actual birthday. Fortunately, a plate of choc. chip pancakes, lovingly made by Mother, can help to soften the blow a bit...
Another awesome way to make the situation better is with some. pretty. darn. good. gifts. When you're 13, darn good gifts are generally clothes....Which involves shopping for Mother, at the local teen store, no less...aaaahhhhh..
With my daughter's happiness in the forefront of my mind, I hit dEliA's. As most of you dear readers know, I can't stand shopping. So, I decided to make the process simpler by soliciting whatever help I could get from the employees there:
dEliA's Dude (DD): "Hi-yeee, how can I help you today?"
Me: (trying to find the right words to describe desired teenage look of the moment) "My daughter wants these shirts that are supposed to be see-through, and that you wear camis underneath?"
DD: "Ooohhhh... you want burnout shirts!" ( obviously more hip than a clueless middle-aged woman, DD smuggly starts moving through the store, eloquently pointing out the many, many options)
Me: (starting to sweat, looking at all of the possible options) "Thanks!"
After finding quite a few burnouts, it was off to find the elusive boatneck shirt. After hunting for awhile, I found a great one- on the mannequin. Yoo hoo, dEliA's dude.... help is needed!
Me: "I really like this shirt on the mannequin. What size is it? There are none left on the floor."
DD: (begins to look nervously at the floor) "I am not allowed to sell clothing off of the mannequin."
Me: "(Look of W-T-F????? We are in a recession, and I am standing here with $$$, that I am actually willing to spend, and you won't sell me a darn shirt??? Hell-OOOOOOO??????)"
DD: (accurately interpreting my cold stare...) "Ok, I guess I can do this. Ummm...it's an XS."
Me: "Cool!!! Strip down the mannequin, I'll take it!"
Now if dealing with me wasn't stressful enough, another Mother and her teen daughter walked in as DD was disrobing the mannequin. They looked over at the shirt, and also began lusting after it...
Other Mother: "Where do you have more of those shirts that you're taking off of the mannequin?"
DD: (looking pretty scared, as there were now two salivating Mothers within grabbing distance of both him AND the most-desired frock..) "Umm... this is the last one." (preparing to run for his life, if necessary...)
Other Mother was not too thrilled to hear this, and watched intently as the boatneck shirt was stripped from the mannequin, and placed in my hot little hand. Fearing for his safety, poor DD tried to ameliorate the "situation":
DD: "Maybe we could call another store for you?"
Other Mother: (looking at me with great annoyance) "We are from out of town, and don't have time to drive to another store"
No dice, Lady! I got there first, and. the. darn. boatneck. shirt. ripped. from. the. mannequin. was mine, mine,... MINE! I hadn't had that much fun shopping (err... messing with another person...)in..well... EVER!
So, on her B-Day morning, not only did Child l-o-v-e her most awesome shirt, she was also amused by the story that went along with it, as to how it had been 'scored' by Mother....
Act 3: Friend!
Because Child's party was of the "Screamy Girl" variety, it wasn't really a scene that Friend (refer to past blogs) would be comfortable in. So, bring on celebration #3!
Child decided that with Friend, the celebration would be bowling and Rocky's for pizza with Husband and I. Not one to be able to keep a secret, Friend texted Child that he had gotten her a gift card to one of her favorite stores for her B-Day. P-e-r-f-e-c-t..... Rocky's is located in the Mall, which also houses the clothing store.... The two of them could go to the store and cash-in the card, without ME! Woo hoo!!!!
So, after bowling a couple of games, we all headed over to the Mall. Because we arrived at 5, it was maximum-security lockdown time; aka parent supervision required... After passing through not one, but two security checkpoints with stern-faced Mall Cops, we arrived at Aeropostale:
Me: "Alright you two, have fun cashing in the gift card. Husband and I will be waiting at Barnes and Noble. Call us before you head over, and we'll meet you down stairs"
Friend: (A bit nervous. Was it because he had an inkling of how s-l-o-w-l-y Child shops, or was he afraid of being snatched-up by Mall Cops?) "Is doing this okay?"
Me: (smirking) "It'll be fine. Just don't run screaming through the store, overturning displays, and dissing the employees. Just call us if you need anything."
Friend and Child: "(Is Mother Kidding? Wait... WHAT?!?!)"
So, Husband and I headed off for some good browsing, and Child and Friend headed off to redeem the gift card. Inside, I was laughing, wondering how Friend would survive the adventure waiting for him....
About twenty minutes later, my cell phone rang, with Child having a question about her size. Five minutes later, my cell phone rang again with Child announcing that they were on their way. Holy Crumb! Whenever *I* shop with Child, *I* never get out of a store in twenty minutes... Oh well, I was happy for Friend...
When the two of them arrived, I asked to see what they got. Child had selected a style of dress that she liked, and Friend had picked the color. I was floored; they had done great, and they both were still smiling... Perhaps I can retire now from shopping in teen stores????
After enjoying pizza at two different tables (but close enough for Child and Friend to signal us in case of encroaching Mall Cops), it was back to Thomasville for B-Day cake #2, and video games. When Friend's Stepdad came to pick him up, he brought a great surprise: a B-day card for Child that was about as loud as an overtired toddler (oh, and he also brought along a realtoddler, too :) ). Yep, it was a great third 13th B-day Celebration!
Rumor has it that next year, Child's 14th B-day will be on an actual Friday the 13th!!! Hmmm...better start planning that now if it's going to outshine turning 13!
ACT 1: Screamy Girl Party!!!!!
If one girl turning 13 isn't err....exciting.... enough, what about two of them???? Child's on-again-off-again bestie, by sheer dumb luck, shares the exact same B-Day. Both girls thought it would be a cool idea to have a joint party. Hmmm...all of their communal friends in one spot, at one time- check! All expenses being shared by two families,rather than just one- check! Yep, this was definitely the way to go, and a "meeting" to plan the event was set...
At the local cool coffee place, Child, Bestie, Bestie's parents, and I met to plan the details for the little soiree. We touched on the basics like food, decor, etc. When it was time to discuss entertainment, however, things got a bit weird. In addition to suggesting a rousing game of "Pin the Tail on the Donkey" (turning 13, not 3, people!!!!), Bestie's Medical degree-holding 'rents also suggested such timeless amusements as (indoor) blindman's bluff (ummmm....smashing into walls= not fun, luckily the 'rents are anesthesiologists..), and Scrabble (exercising one's brains at a party is just sooooo not cool, folks!?!) Trying to avoid having the girls being viewed as social misfits, I coyly suggested that they, instead, just bring their Wii; Mother saves the day, yet again!
One of the highlights of the Screamy Girl Party was to be a three-tiered B-Day cake, made entirely from scratch by Bestie, her Mom, and Child. Two days before the party, Child had plans to go over to Bestie's house to help decorate... Well, she did, until IT happened....
About two weeks before child turned 13, I was saying out loud (big mistake) that she was being so reasonable about everything as of late. Within days of this great proclamation, little lies about schoolwork started popping up here-and-there. The most treasured iTouch was taken away for a few days, and all was well again in the kingdom (or so I believed...). Turned out that the lesson was not learned, and like weeds in a fertile spring garden, new lies began popping-up everywhere. Child, although not quite 13 yet, had her first serious grounding. Unfortunately, one of the privileges lost was going to Bestie's house to decorate that cake...ouch!
Being the cunning one, Bestie actually approached me, and tried to get me to change my mind on that one- yeah...r-i-g-h-t!!!
Anywhoooo... by the time the eight teens arrived in Thomasville to celebrate with Child and Bestie, all of the stress of the 1st teenage grounding was only a bad memory. As loud and screamy as the girls were that evening, there was a wonderful abscence of 'teen-girl drama', and a great time was had by all- Hurrah!
Act 2: Actual B-Day
There is no greater buzz-kill in the life of a new teen than having to go to school on her actual birthday. Fortunately, a plate of choc. chip pancakes, lovingly made by Mother, can help to soften the blow a bit...
Another awesome way to make the situation better is with some. pretty. darn. good. gifts. When you're 13, darn good gifts are generally clothes....Which involves shopping for Mother, at the local teen store, no less...aaaahhhhh..
With my daughter's happiness in the forefront of my mind, I hit dEliA's. As most of you dear readers know, I can't stand shopping. So, I decided to make the process simpler by soliciting whatever help I could get from the employees there:
dEliA's Dude (DD): "Hi-yeee, how can I help you today?"
Me: (trying to find the right words to describe desired teenage look of the moment) "My daughter wants these shirts that are supposed to be see-through, and that you wear camis underneath?"
DD: "Ooohhhh... you want burnout shirts!" ( obviously more hip than a clueless middle-aged woman, DD smuggly starts moving through the store, eloquently pointing out the many, many options)
Me: (starting to sweat, looking at all of the possible options) "Thanks!"
After finding quite a few burnouts, it was off to find the elusive boatneck shirt. After hunting for awhile, I found a great one- on the mannequin. Yoo hoo, dEliA's dude.... help is needed!
Me: "I really like this shirt on the mannequin. What size is it? There are none left on the floor."
DD: (begins to look nervously at the floor) "I am not allowed to sell clothing off of the mannequin."
Me: "(Look of W-T-F????? We are in a recession, and I am standing here with $$$, that I am actually willing to spend, and you won't sell me a darn shirt??? Hell-OOOOOOO??????)"
DD: (accurately interpreting my cold stare...) "Ok, I guess I can do this. Ummm...it's an XS."
Me: "Cool!!! Strip down the mannequin, I'll take it!"
Now if dealing with me wasn't stressful enough, another Mother and her teen daughter walked in as DD was disrobing the mannequin. They looked over at the shirt, and also began lusting after it...
Other Mother: "Where do you have more of those shirts that you're taking off of the mannequin?"
DD: (looking pretty scared, as there were now two salivating Mothers within grabbing distance of both him AND the most-desired frock..) "Umm... this is the last one." (preparing to run for his life, if necessary...)
Other Mother was not too thrilled to hear this, and watched intently as the boatneck shirt was stripped from the mannequin, and placed in my hot little hand. Fearing for his safety, poor DD tried to ameliorate the "situation":
DD: "Maybe we could call another store for you?"
Other Mother: (looking at me with great annoyance) "We are from out of town, and don't have time to drive to another store"
No dice, Lady! I got there first, and. the. darn. boatneck. shirt. ripped. from. the. mannequin. was mine, mine,... MINE! I hadn't had that much fun shopping (err... messing with another person...)in..well... EVER!
So, on her B-Day morning, not only did Child l-o-v-e her most awesome shirt, she was also amused by the story that went along with it, as to how it had been 'scored' by Mother....
Act 3: Friend!
Because Child's party was of the "Screamy Girl" variety, it wasn't really a scene that Friend (refer to past blogs) would be comfortable in. So, bring on celebration #3!
Child decided that with Friend, the celebration would be bowling and Rocky's for pizza with Husband and I. Not one to be able to keep a secret, Friend texted Child that he had gotten her a gift card to one of her favorite stores for her B-Day. P-e-r-f-e-c-t..... Rocky's is located in the Mall, which also houses the clothing store.... The two of them could go to the store and cash-in the card, without ME! Woo hoo!!!!
So, after bowling a couple of games, we all headed over to the Mall. Because we arrived at 5, it was maximum-security lockdown time; aka parent supervision required... After passing through not one, but two security checkpoints with stern-faced Mall Cops, we arrived at Aeropostale:
Me: "Alright you two, have fun cashing in the gift card. Husband and I will be waiting at Barnes and Noble. Call us before you head over, and we'll meet you down stairs"
Friend: (A bit nervous. Was it because he had an inkling of how s-l-o-w-l-y Child shops, or was he afraid of being snatched-up by Mall Cops?) "Is doing this okay?"
Me: (smirking) "It'll be fine. Just don't run screaming through the store, overturning displays, and dissing the employees. Just call us if you need anything."
Friend and Child: "(Is Mother Kidding? Wait... WHAT?!?!)"
So, Husband and I headed off for some good browsing, and Child and Friend headed off to redeem the gift card. Inside, I was laughing, wondering how Friend would survive the adventure waiting for him....
About twenty minutes later, my cell phone rang, with Child having a question about her size. Five minutes later, my cell phone rang again with Child announcing that they were on their way. Holy Crumb! Whenever *I* shop with Child, *I* never get out of a store in twenty minutes... Oh well, I was happy for Friend...
When the two of them arrived, I asked to see what they got. Child had selected a style of dress that she liked, and Friend had picked the color. I was floored; they had done great, and they both were still smiling... Perhaps I can retire now from shopping in teen stores????
After enjoying pizza at two different tables (but close enough for Child and Friend to signal us in case of encroaching Mall Cops), it was back to Thomasville for B-Day cake #2, and video games. When Friend's Stepdad came to pick him up, he brought a great surprise: a B-day card for Child that was about as loud as an overtired toddler (oh, and he also brought along a real
Rumor has it that next year, Child's 14th B-day will be on an actual Friday the 13th!!! Hmmm...better start planning that now if it's going to outshine turning 13!
Monday, March 14, 2011
Shake, Rattle, and.... BOWL!
Ahhhh.... Winter! Ahhhhh.... Wisconsin! When you put the two of those guys together, you don't always get the most hospitable situation in the out-of-doors. Hunkering down in the 'ol homestead is cool for awhile, but eventually it gets a bit old. Whatever to do for fun in the lovely Midwest? Why bowling, of course!
Originally, we planned to venture out for some bowling fun about three weeks ago; Mother Nature, however, had other plans for us. With near blizzard conditions, we thought it more clever to stay hunkered-down with a Scrabble board instead. Yesterday, however, things looked a bit more promising...
Because Child is an "only" (well, if you don't count her Siamese sibling who gets carsick..), we thought she might enjoy bringing along one of her contemporaries to join us. So, Husband, Child, Gal Pal, and I set out for a fun afternoon at the "lanes".
If you have any experience with bowling alleys, you probably have (not so fond) memories of wafting food, smoke, and foot odors. Shockingly enough, we discovered a local bowling alley that actually has (gasp) none of the aforementioned. Moreover, unlike most other alleys, there are actual windows, and the place is flooded with natural light. The establishment is most definitely not a place where the cast (read:vampires) of "Twilight" would congregate...
Because of the popularity of this particular establishment, they have limited "Open Bowling" times. After allowing Child and Gal Pal to scream/chortle loudly around the 'ol homestead, the four of us headed out to the alley. Apparently, a lot of other people had the same idea. "Holy no room at the Inn, Batman"! Well, when the Lord closes one door, he always opens another (this did happen on a Sunday, after all ); halleluyah, they had pool tables! Gal Pal and Child grabbed a couple of cues, and went about getting their game on. Not much to report on that front, except for the fact that almost everytime that it was Child's turn, I happened to be behind her and almost got taken out by the backwards motion of her cue. Each. And. Every. Time. After about 10 minutes of pool sharking, one of the owners approached our table:
Bowling Dude: "Hi, we've got Lane 3 set to go for you."
Me: "Cool, thanks!"
BD: (assessing the four of us) " What size shoes does everyone need?"
Husband: "10 and 1/2"
Child: "6"
Gal Pal: "6"
Me: "6"
(the wheels in my head started to turn.... I found a b-i-g funny!)
Me: (smirking) "Hey, Dude, looks like we have a 6-6-6...oh, and also a 10 and 1/2" (smiling widely, showing both upper and lower braces shamelessly)
BD: (while facial expression started out in 'neutral', the proverbial light did, indeed, come on) "Ohh, like in the Devil. That's kind of funny!"
After the girls and Husband sunk the rest of the pool balls, we donned our bowling couture (much-loved shoes), and headed over to Lane 3. Having just completing their turns, the previous bowlers were behind us, at the "breakfast bar" area, finishing up their libations. Apparently, one of them had consumed a bit too much of said refreshment, and knocked the glass off of the bar, and onto our couch below. Let's all say it together now: "A-W-K-W-A-R-D"!!!!! Heck, at least he was 'with it' enough to pick up a rag and clean up after himself.... After that *pre-show*, we all set about picking the perfect balls, and away we rolled!
In my opinion, you can learn a lot about a person while bowling with them. People really let their true colors show in both the comments that they make about themselves, and their non-verbal bowling language. Here is my rundown of our 'cast of characters':
Husband: Pretty level headed- gives himself constructive feedback about what to improve for the next go-around. After release of ball, stays in one spot and watches to see what happens, for better or worse.
Gal Pal: Initially when asked if she would prefer bumpers or not, Gal Pal told us that she was pretty good, and could go either way; not in a conceited way by any means, but very matter of fact. She ended up getting more strikes than the rest of us and a tricky split spare. Translation: she kicked all of our butts. When she released the ball, it was always with a perky little hop-step (GP used to Irish Dance...).
Child: Very deliberate in wanting to get her turn over with as quickly as possible. So quickly, matter of fact, that she consistently released the ball way in advance of the line at the beginning of the alley. Very conspicuous scowl on face. As soon as the ball was released, she pretty much 'turned tail and ran' (no backwards 'looksies').
Me: Hyperconscious (read: neurotic) about placement of wrist, as to direct the ball in just the 'perfect' direction. Soothing self talk administered after each turn. After release of ball, watched the action, craning neck, and subtly moving body, in the desired direction of travel for the ball.
In addition, to the personalities of the people who share your lane, you also have the personalities (read: quirks) of the people who border you. Because the alley was so busy, we were lucky enough (*sarcasm*) to have co-bowlers on both sides.
To our left, we had a motley crew consisting of what looked like...well.... members of Motley Crue! Despite the fact that they were rocking their hard rock Ts, and ponytails, these guys were pretty 'hard core'. Their most prominent member, who could have been AJ Hawk's twin brother, ever so c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y wiped off his ball. before. each. and. every. turn. More interesting, though, was the common "Team Crue" element of lofting the ball about 6 inches into the air after releasing it. As bizarre as it looked, however, AJ was scoring stikes on almost every turn. After the first couple of minutes, all of us became accustomed to their loud, "Thunks!", and we no longer jumped out of our skins. Yep, "Team Crue" really rocked it!
On our right,... well,... let's refer to them as "Team Vodka" (Help me out here; read between the lines so I don't have to get too politically incorrect ). There were about eight of them, spilling out everywhere. While we were waiting for our turns, they were in our faces. When we were actually in the act of bowling...oh, mama! It is pretty well known in "bowling ettiquette" that, like crossing the street, one should glance to the left and right, and not go at the same time as one of your neighbors; aiming a ball takes strict concentration after all, and shouldn't be messed with. Apparently, that memo never reached Planet Vodka (Motherland). Everytime one of us approached the lane, one of them would literally come flying down the lane, ball in hand, out of seemingly nowhere. Apparently, they also never learned not to touch what wasn't theirs, and kept bogarting Husband's ball. The final guffaw was when they (f-i-n-a-l-l-y) finished bowling (or so we thought), only to have one of the dudes return in his street shoes (kiss of death in bowling etiquette) to bowl a few more frames for 'free'. Yep, quite an experience in US/ Planet Vodka diplomatic relations...
Deciding that since Gal Pal, Child, and I all had stuck three of our 'favoritest' fingers inside of the same hot pink ball, we chicas headed off to the restroom to scrub up. When we returned, I asked Husband how much our two games set us back. Shockingly, it was about 50% less than the *other* bowling alley located in Forks (shameless Twilight reference..)! That type of news was cause for celebration, so Child, Husband, and I headed out not only for a rare restaurant dinner, but a 31 flavors "chaser", as well. Suffice to say, the good times did, truly, roll!
Originally, we planned to venture out for some bowling fun about three weeks ago; Mother Nature, however, had other plans for us. With near blizzard conditions, we thought it more clever to stay hunkered-down with a Scrabble board instead. Yesterday, however, things looked a bit more promising...
Because Child is an "only" (well, if you don't count her Siamese sibling who gets carsick..), we thought she might enjoy bringing along one of her contemporaries to join us. So, Husband, Child, Gal Pal, and I set out for a fun afternoon at the "lanes".
If you have any experience with bowling alleys, you probably have (not so fond) memories of wafting food, smoke, and foot odors. Shockingly enough, we discovered a local bowling alley that actually has (gasp) none of the aforementioned. Moreover, unlike most other alleys, there are actual windows, and the place is flooded with natural light. The establishment is most definitely not a place where the cast (read:vampires) of "Twilight" would congregate...
Because of the popularity of this particular establishment, they have limited "Open Bowling" times. After allowing Child and Gal Pal to scream/chortle loudly around the 'ol homestead, the four of us headed out to the alley. Apparently, a lot of other people had the same idea. "Holy no room at the Inn, Batman"! Well, when the Lord closes one door, he always opens another (this did happen on a Sunday, after all ); halleluyah, they had pool tables! Gal Pal and Child grabbed a couple of cues, and went about getting their game on. Not much to report on that front, except for the fact that almost everytime that it was Child's turn, I happened to be behind her and almost got taken out by the backwards motion of her cue. Each. And. Every. Time. After about 10 minutes of pool sharking, one of the owners approached our table:
Bowling Dude: "Hi, we've got Lane 3 set to go for you."
Me: "Cool, thanks!"
BD: (assessing the four of us) " What size shoes does everyone need?"
Husband: "10 and 1/2"
Child: "6"
Gal Pal: "6"
Me: "6"
(the wheels in my head started to turn.... I found a b-i-g funny!)
Me: (smirking) "Hey, Dude, looks like we have a 6-6-6...oh, and also a 10 and 1/2" (smiling widely, showing both upper and lower braces shamelessly)
BD: (while facial expression started out in 'neutral', the proverbial light did, indeed, come on) "Ohh, like in the Devil. That's kind of funny!"
After the girls and Husband sunk the rest of the pool balls, we donned our bowling couture (much-loved shoes), and headed over to Lane 3. Having just completing their turns, the previous bowlers were behind us, at the "breakfast bar" area, finishing up their libations. Apparently, one of them had consumed a bit too much of said refreshment, and knocked the glass off of the bar, and onto our couch below. Let's all say it together now: "A-W-K-W-A-R-D"!!!!! Heck, at least he was 'with it' enough to pick up a rag and clean up after himself.... After that *pre-show*, we all set about picking the perfect balls, and away we rolled!
In my opinion, you can learn a lot about a person while bowling with them. People really let their true colors show in both the comments that they make about themselves, and their non-verbal bowling language. Here is my rundown of our 'cast of characters':
Husband: Pretty level headed- gives himself constructive feedback about what to improve for the next go-around. After release of ball, stays in one spot and watches to see what happens, for better or worse.
Gal Pal: Initially when asked if she would prefer bumpers or not, Gal Pal told us that she was pretty good, and could go either way; not in a conceited way by any means, but very matter of fact. She ended up getting more strikes than the rest of us and a tricky split spare. Translation: she kicked all of our butts. When she released the ball, it was always with a perky little hop-step (GP used to Irish Dance...).
Child: Very deliberate in wanting to get her turn over with as quickly as possible. So quickly, matter of fact, that she consistently released the ball way in advance of the line at the beginning of the alley. Very conspicuous scowl on face. As soon as the ball was released, she pretty much 'turned tail and ran' (no backwards 'looksies').
Me: Hyperconscious (read: neurotic) about placement of wrist, as to direct the ball in just the 'perfect' direction. Soothing self talk administered after each turn. After release of ball, watched the action, craning neck, and subtly moving body, in the desired direction of travel for the ball.
In addition, to the personalities of the people who share your lane, you also have the personalities (read: quirks) of the people who border you. Because the alley was so busy, we were lucky enough (*sarcasm*) to have co-bowlers on both sides.
To our left, we had a motley crew consisting of what looked like...well.... members of Motley Crue! Despite the fact that they were rocking their hard rock Ts, and ponytails, these guys were pretty 'hard core'. Their most prominent member, who could have been AJ Hawk's twin brother, ever so c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y wiped off his ball. before. each. and. every. turn. More interesting, though, was the common "Team Crue" element of lofting the ball about 6 inches into the air after releasing it. As bizarre as it looked, however, AJ was scoring stikes on almost every turn. After the first couple of minutes, all of us became accustomed to their loud, "Thunks!", and we no longer jumped out of our skins. Yep, "Team Crue" really rocked it!
On our right,... well,... let's refer to them as "Team Vodka" (Help me out here; read between the lines so I don't have to get too politically incorrect ). There were about eight of them, spilling out everywhere. While we were waiting for our turns, they were in our faces. When we were actually in the act of bowling...oh, mama! It is pretty well known in "bowling ettiquette" that, like crossing the street, one should glance to the left and right, and not go at the same time as one of your neighbors; aiming a ball takes strict concentration after all, and shouldn't be messed with. Apparently, that memo never reached Planet Vodka (Motherland). Everytime one of us approached the lane, one of them would literally come flying down the lane, ball in hand, out of seemingly nowhere. Apparently, they also never learned not to touch what wasn't theirs, and kept bogarting Husband's ball. The final guffaw was when they (f-i-n-a-l-l-y) finished bowling (or so we thought), only to have one of the dudes return in his street shoes (kiss of death in bowling etiquette) to bowl a few more frames for 'free'. Yep, quite an experience in US/ Planet Vodka diplomatic relations...
Deciding that since Gal Pal, Child, and I all had stuck three of our 'favoritest' fingers inside of the same hot pink ball, we chicas headed off to the restroom to scrub up. When we returned, I asked Husband how much our two games set us back. Shockingly, it was about 50% less than the *other* bowling alley located in Forks (shameless Twilight reference..)! That type of news was cause for celebration, so Child, Husband, and I headed out not only for a rare restaurant dinner, but a 31 flavors "chaser", as well. Suffice to say, the good times did, truly, roll!
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
"Mini- Shorts, You Com-plete Me!"
The calendar says "March"; time for the Spring/Summer shopping season to begin! Yes, good 'ol Spring...The numbers on the thermometer are starting to go up, as are the number of hours of daylight. Inseams on most-desired-teen fashions, however, not so much...
From the time Child was an infant through about 5th Grade, clothing shopping was quite easy. Due to the fact that it was 'easy', it also went by another nickname- f-u-n! There were the lovely resale stores near our house which were lovingly filled to the brim by the many local shopaholics. Visiting those places was like a major treasure hunt, with Gymboree and Gap Kids clothes as the prize. When the resale stores didn't have what I needed, there was always Ebay. Oh...lovely Ebay; again, a 'virtual' treasure hunt with bargain haute couture for the 'wee set'. When treasure hunting didn't suffice, there was always Target. Target could always be counted on for having stock-up prices on jeans/shorts/skorts/yoga pants. The one thing that Target did lack, however, was 'cool' T-Shirts; thank goodness Old Navy filled that void. Yep, the clothing hunting grounds of yore were pretty well deliniated. Oh, and the other bonus? Child didn't feel the need to come along and voice any opinions on the threads- she just happily wore whatever I provided.
Well, kids, and their tastes, grow up. By 6th Grade, the Target jeans were no longer cool, and were replaced by Old Navy Ones. I could live with that. The cute, and cheap, Old Navy T's were still palatable, so I was quite content. All good things eventually come to an end, and that "end" in my household was the Spring/Summer shopping season of '10. There was a new coveted item seen on the frames of her peers; and its name was mini-shorts!
Having eschewed my old stand-bys of Target/Old Navy (forget the virtual shopping for a newly fashion conscious kid :C ), the two of us headed to a new pasture- Justice. It is my belief that any parent walking into Justice should be offered his/her choice of a tranquilizer, or a hard beverage. Between the blaring music, the over-abundance of technicolor frocks, and assorted toy/candy junk tossed randomly throughout the space, it's basically "Overstimulation, USA". Looking 'good' definitely has its price. For everyone.
Reacting to the ADHDness of her current surroundings, Child flitted around the store like the silver ball in a pinball machine. Eventually, her perpetual motion stopped, and she glanced over her shoulder to locate me:
Child: "Mommy! Look at these! They're mini-shorts! That's what I want!"
Me: (fingering the fabric, doing the mental math to figure out what percentage of derriere will be covered by garment) "Ummm...no. Too short."
Child: "All of the other girls are wearing these!"
Me: "Guess what? You're not!"
So after much collective bargaining (extra credit tie-in to the current political climate in my home state- yay me!), some better options were located. While the sherbet-colored cotton mini skirts were a bit shorter than I liked, they did come with a pretty cool standard feature; lycra spandex built-in (modesty) shorts! So, we grabbed enough of these wonders to get through a weekly laundry cycle, and went on our way.
Later in the Spring, a generous friend offered some shorts to Child. Having received them at the Gym, she got to lay her eyes on them before I did. She was very excited at pick-up that day:
Child: "Guess what! "_____" gave me her old shorts that don't fit anymore! They're mini-shorts!!!"
Me: (driving the car, focusing on the road, poising myself for the battle ahead) "Oh"
When Child got home, she tried them on. They were a lot shorter than anything I have seen her in since those cute little diaper covers that came with her baby dresses. Both Husband and I made sure that any sudden movement wouldn't reveal more than intended, ate some crow, and said "Ok". To say that she lived in those shorts last Summer would be an understatement. Not forgetting about her "old friends", she found them in a drawer and came downstairs sporting them the other day. Growing about 3 inches can change a lot of things...
Child: (smiling from ear-to-ear, strinking a pose) "I found my old shorts, don't I look good?"
Me: (studying the situation, trying to find the most tactful way to say what must be said) "Ummm... not so much. Your posterior is kind of hanging out. You are going to need all new shorts this year. You can send the Puberty Fairy a thank-you note."
Child: (not missing a beat) "Cool! I want mini-shorts!"
Like any attorney preparing for a trial, Child got on the internet to see what her options would be. Deciding that Justice was now a bit too babyish for her, she decided on dELiA's. Jumping from Justice land to dELiA's can be best described as going from swimming with the dolphins, to swimming with the sharks (while still being protected by a metal cage, or, in this case, an overprotective Mother..)
Child: "I found a bunch of shorts that I like in dELiA's!!! I really want some that have rips in them. Can we go to the mall this weekend?"
Me: (hearing the word 'mall', and suddenly feeling the need for a Tums) "We can look, but you know how I feel about too-short shorts. I also don't like the whole "hole thing"; doesn't that look a bit trashy?"
Child: (studying her fashion dinosaur of a Mother) "That's what's in."
Mother: "I'm not making any promises, but I will commit to looking."
Child: (knowing she is one step closer...) "Thanks, Mommy!"
Like Child, I also decided to do a little research before the outing. Turns out that the mini-shorts were twice as much at dELiA's. Gotta love those constant 40% off sales at 'babyish' Justice. It also occurred to me that the styles that Child wanted so badly would be a bit more, ummm....appropriate..... at Justice vs vampy dELiA's. A compromise was made:
Me: "I looked at prices on the internet. We cannot afford a full wardrobe of dELiA's shorts. Justice, on the other hand, has what you're looking for at half of the price."
Child: (looking distraught) "But I really want *something* from dELiA's!"
(Husband, yet again, just happened to wander through the wrong place at the right time. Time to once again prove that he can be the voice of reason in a household of all women)
Husband: "How about if she pays the difference for one of those pairs of shorts?"
Child: (face beams) "Yeah!:
Me: "As long as they meet my modesty guidelines..."
Husband: "Sounds good to me. (Looking at Child) Agreed?"
Child: (gleefully) "YES!"
Having kept the peace for yet another day, Husband's reward was to not have to come along to the (gulp) mall for the big hunting expedition. After stopping at Lens Crafters to undo the damage from Child's attempt to independently adjust her specs (read: bending unheated metal), the first stop was dELiA's. Even though dELiA's lacked the general carnival atmosphere of Justice, Child proceeded to dart from display of ever-so-short shorts to ever-so-short shorts. When she looked over her shoulder, I took my cue to enter stage left:
Child: "These are cool!"
Me: (caluculating inseam to be about 1 and 1/2 inches) "Too short"
Child: (sighing loudly, moving towards next candidate) "I like these"
Me: (eyeing rips on leg..) "Let me give it the finger test!"
Child: (rolling eyes in utter disgust, about to die from humiliation) "Oh. My. Gosh- Seriously?!?!"
Desperate times call for desperate measures. In my opinion, if the clothing companies create tears on their clothing, and I can stick one of my digits through it and make a 'puppet show', we've got a problem, houston. Sadly, those dELiA's shorts had enough rips for me to create quite the 'puppet show'. With my whole hand of fingers. FAIL!
After what seemed like an eternity, Child and I found one pair of shorts in the whole store that were a compromise of her inner fashionista, and my desire for her not to look like a trollop. That one pair of shorts, however, would not be enough for an entire Spring/Summer; time for 'Plan B', aka Justice.
Justice is located about four stores away from dELiA's. The entire time we were walking there, Child anxiously looked around to make sure that none of her 7th Grade peers would witness her going into that store. Luckily, not only was the coast clear, but I stood in front of her (a la Secret Service style) to further aid her goal of invisibility.
Me: (surveying the bountiful tables) "Wow! Look at all these shorts!"
Child: (walking sheepishly behind me, praying not to be seen) "Hmmmppp."
Me: (starting to see options, loading up my arms) "How about these two?"
Child: (still skiddish, but starting to see the light) "Ok."
After collecting an armful of options, Child retreated to the dressing room to try on the duds. Much to her shock, they not only fit, but looked good.
Child: (nervously) "I really like this pair..... but it has a rip."
Me: "Pass it over. Me and "Mr. Finger" will see if it's 'puppet show' worthy..."
Well..... whatdya know???? Justice actually thought to put in some 'modesty fabric' underneath the rip to prevent not only young flesh from showing through, but also obnoxious Mothers from making (embarrasing and obnoxious) 'puppet shows'. SUCCESS!
So after strolling by the rest of the Justice clientele (median age of about 8), we paid for Child's new shorts. She was happy that I finally conceeded to buying "mini-shorts", and I was happy that certain things were still undercover (well... and also that I could get out of the puppet show business... for this year, that is). Peace is good...
Ironically, we arrived home to a phone message from the same friend who provided last year's most loved mini-shorts. Turns out that they had a new batch of shorts to offer Child. From Justice. Size 12. And did I mention that they just happened to be "mini-shorts"? Yep... when it rains, it most certainly pours!
From the time Child was an infant through about 5th Grade, clothing shopping was quite easy. Due to the fact that it was 'easy', it also went by another nickname- f-u-n! There were the lovely resale stores near our house which were lovingly filled to the brim by the many local shopaholics. Visiting those places was like a major treasure hunt, with Gymboree and Gap Kids clothes as the prize. When the resale stores didn't have what I needed, there was always Ebay. Oh...lovely Ebay; again, a 'virtual' treasure hunt with bargain haute couture for the 'wee set'. When treasure hunting didn't suffice, there was always Target. Target could always be counted on for having stock-up prices on jeans/shorts/skorts/yoga pants. The one thing that Target did lack, however, was 'cool' T-Shirts; thank goodness Old Navy filled that void. Yep, the clothing hunting grounds of yore were pretty well deliniated. Oh, and the other bonus? Child didn't feel the need to come along and voice any opinions on the threads- she just happily wore whatever I provided.
Well, kids, and their tastes, grow up. By 6th Grade, the Target jeans were no longer cool, and were replaced by Old Navy Ones. I could live with that. The cute, and cheap, Old Navy T's were still palatable, so I was quite content. All good things eventually come to an end, and that "end" in my household was the Spring/Summer shopping season of '10. There was a new coveted item seen on the frames of her peers; and its name was mini-shorts!
Having eschewed my old stand-bys of Target/Old Navy (forget the virtual shopping for a newly fashion conscious kid :C ), the two of us headed to a new pasture- Justice. It is my belief that any parent walking into Justice should be offered his/her choice of a tranquilizer, or a hard beverage. Between the blaring music, the over-abundance of technicolor frocks, and assorted toy/candy junk tossed randomly throughout the space, it's basically "Overstimulation, USA". Looking 'good' definitely has its price. For everyone.
Reacting to the ADHDness of her current surroundings, Child flitted around the store like the silver ball in a pinball machine. Eventually, her perpetual motion stopped, and she glanced over her shoulder to locate me:
Child: "Mommy! Look at these! They're mini-shorts! That's what I want!"
Me: (fingering the fabric, doing the mental math to figure out what percentage of derriere will be covered by garment) "Ummm...no. Too short."
Child: "All of the other girls are wearing these!"
Me: "Guess what? You're not!"
So after much collective bargaining (extra credit tie-in to the current political climate in my home state- yay me!), some better options were located. While the sherbet-colored cotton mini skirts were a bit shorter than I liked, they did come with a pretty cool standard feature; lycra spandex built-in (modesty) shorts! So, we grabbed enough of these wonders to get through a weekly laundry cycle, and went on our way.
Later in the Spring, a generous friend offered some shorts to Child. Having received them at the Gym, she got to lay her eyes on them before I did. She was very excited at pick-up that day:
Child: "Guess what! "_____" gave me her old shorts that don't fit anymore! They're mini-shorts!!!"
Me: (driving the car, focusing on the road, poising myself for the battle ahead) "Oh"
When Child got home, she tried them on. They were a lot shorter than anything I have seen her in since those cute little diaper covers that came with her baby dresses. Both Husband and I made sure that any sudden movement wouldn't reveal more than intended, ate some crow, and said "Ok". To say that she lived in those shorts last Summer would be an understatement. Not forgetting about her "old friends", she found them in a drawer and came downstairs sporting them the other day. Growing about 3 inches can change a lot of things...
Child: (smiling from ear-to-ear, strinking a pose) "I found my old shorts, don't I look good?"
Me: (studying the situation, trying to find the most tactful way to say what must be said) "Ummm... not so much. Your posterior is kind of hanging out. You are going to need all new shorts this year. You can send the Puberty Fairy a thank-you note."
Child: (not missing a beat) "Cool! I want mini-shorts!"
Like any attorney preparing for a trial, Child got on the internet to see what her options would be. Deciding that Justice was now a bit too babyish for her, she decided on dELiA's. Jumping from Justice land to dELiA's can be best described as going from swimming with the dolphins, to swimming with the sharks (while still being protected by a metal cage, or, in this case, an overprotective Mother..)
Child: "I found a bunch of shorts that I like in dELiA's!!! I really want some that have rips in them. Can we go to the mall this weekend?"
Me: (hearing the word 'mall', and suddenly feeling the need for a Tums) "We can look, but you know how I feel about too-short shorts. I also don't like the whole "hole thing"; doesn't that look a bit trashy?"
Child: (studying her fashion dinosaur of a Mother) "That's what's in."
Mother: "I'm not making any promises, but I will commit to looking."
Child: (knowing she is one step closer...) "Thanks, Mommy!"
Like Child, I also decided to do a little research before the outing. Turns out that the mini-shorts were twice as much at dELiA's. Gotta love those constant 40% off sales at 'babyish' Justice. It also occurred to me that the styles that Child wanted so badly would be a bit more, ummm....appropriate..... at Justice vs vampy dELiA's. A compromise was made:
Me: "I looked at prices on the internet. We cannot afford a full wardrobe of dELiA's shorts. Justice, on the other hand, has what you're looking for at half of the price."
Child: (looking distraught) "But I really want *something* from dELiA's!"
(Husband, yet again, just happened to wander through the wrong place at the right time. Time to once again prove that he can be the voice of reason in a household of all women)
Husband: "How about if she pays the difference for one of those pairs of shorts?"
Child: (face beams) "Yeah!:
Me: "As long as they meet my modesty guidelines..."
Husband: "Sounds good to me. (Looking at Child) Agreed?"
Child: (gleefully) "YES!"
Having kept the peace for yet another day, Husband's reward was to not have to come along to the (gulp) mall for the big hunting expedition. After stopping at Lens Crafters to undo the damage from Child's attempt to independently adjust her specs (read: bending unheated metal), the first stop was dELiA's. Even though dELiA's lacked the general carnival atmosphere of Justice, Child proceeded to dart from display of ever-so-short shorts to ever-so-short shorts. When she looked over her shoulder, I took my cue to enter stage left:
Child: "These are cool!"
Me: (caluculating inseam to be about 1 and 1/2 inches) "Too short"
Child: (sighing loudly, moving towards next candidate) "I like these"
Me: (eyeing rips on leg..) "Let me give it the finger test!"
Child: (rolling eyes in utter disgust, about to die from humiliation) "Oh. My. Gosh- Seriously?!?!"
Desperate times call for desperate measures. In my opinion, if the clothing companies create tears on their clothing, and I can stick one of my digits through it and make a 'puppet show', we've got a problem, houston. Sadly, those dELiA's shorts had enough rips for me to create quite the 'puppet show'. With my whole hand of fingers. FAIL!
After what seemed like an eternity, Child and I found one pair of shorts in the whole store that were a compromise of her inner fashionista, and my desire for her not to look like a trollop. That one pair of shorts, however, would not be enough for an entire Spring/Summer; time for 'Plan B', aka Justice.
Justice is located about four stores away from dELiA's. The entire time we were walking there, Child anxiously looked around to make sure that none of her 7th Grade peers would witness her going into that store. Luckily, not only was the coast clear, but I stood in front of her (a la Secret Service style) to further aid her goal of invisibility.
Me: (surveying the bountiful tables) "Wow! Look at all these shorts!"
Child: (walking sheepishly behind me, praying not to be seen) "Hmmmppp."
Me: (starting to see options, loading up my arms) "How about these two?"
Child: (still skiddish, but starting to see the light) "Ok."
After collecting an armful of options, Child retreated to the dressing room to try on the duds. Much to her shock, they not only fit, but looked good.
Child: (nervously) "I really like this pair..... but it has a rip."
Me: "Pass it over. Me and "Mr. Finger" will see if it's 'puppet show' worthy..."
Well..... whatdya know???? Justice actually thought to put in some 'modesty fabric' underneath the rip to prevent not only young flesh from showing through, but also obnoxious Mothers from making (embarrasing and obnoxious) 'puppet shows'. SUCCESS!
So after strolling by the rest of the Justice clientele (median age of about 8), we paid for Child's new shorts. She was happy that I finally conceeded to buying "mini-shorts", and I was happy that certain things were still undercover (well... and also that I could get out of the puppet show business... for this year, that is). Peace is good...
Ironically, we arrived home to a phone message from the same friend who provided last year's most loved mini-shorts. Turns out that they had a new batch of shorts to offer Child. From Justice. Size 12. And did I mention that they just happened to be "mini-shorts"? Yep... when it rains, it most certainly pours!
Thursday, March 3, 2011
"Tee(th) For Two"
If you are familiar with this blog, then you are aware of the fact that I'm sporting some pretty 'spanky' ceramic (read: adult-style) braces. Ever since it was hinted by our family dentist ("Tooth Fairy") that I might need those lovely corrective devices, Child has been jealous. Of me... Yesterday, Child finally got to have the 'peak experience' that she had been craving for oh so long; a chance to relax in the Ortholounger o'pain....
Now, let me backtrack a bit. About a month ago, Child went for her twice annual check-up/cleaning with "Debbie Does Teeth" (aka DDT, hygienist) and Tooth Fairy. Being that Child is the sophisticated age of 12, she likes to have some quality one-on-one time with DDT, before her latex gloves end up in her mouth. This whole system works well by me, as the Tooth Fairy has some of the most diverse periodicals in the area to peruse while waiting...score! So, while Child and DDT disappeared back into the dental dominion, I hunkered down for some quality reading time. About 15 minutes later, my attention was diverted from the glossy pages of my mag:
DDT: "Ummm.... Catherine.... Tooth Fairy would like you to come back to the exam room."
(I neatly placed my mag back into the neat row on the table from which I had taken it, and followed DDT to see Child and Tooth Fairy...)
Tooth Fairy: (spoken very demurely and delicately)" We have a little situation I want to make you aware of, Catherine. Here, Child, ooo-pen!"
(Before Tooth Fairy could say anything, I glanced in Child's mouth and noted teeth. Lots of them. All in their own space. None of them invading each other's turf. And, oh yeah, I noticed that none of them were clamped down on Tooth Fairy's finger, like in that unfortunate incident when she was in 4th Grade (yeah, she hit the bitting stage a bit late...))
Tooth Fairy: "Her top molars aren't meeting properly with her lower molars! Open Bite!(delighting in the fact that this would be a referral to his bestie, Ortho). This tooth is also rotated the wrong way! (fighting to contain his glee...) You should probably bring her in for a consult with Ortho! You do know one, don't you??? (smiles at his own cleverness)"
Me: "We've been coming here since she was 3, and no problem has ever been mentioned before. She can chew food and speak just fine, dude!"
Tooth Fairy: "Sometimes these things just develop later. DDT, go ahead and get a referral form set up for Child now, pleeease (again, spoken so smoothly, you could have sworn his voice was channeled through a smoooooth jazz radio station)."
(DDT scurried from the exam room to the front office, where two previously bored and gossipy staff members now singularily focused on said referral)
So, Child and I took her new toothbrush, floss, and the letter and headed to the car. I could see the wheels turning..
Child: "Oh. My. Gosh. I'm going to get braces! I am so excited! I can't wait to tell my friends at school tomorrow."
Me: "S-l-o-w down there. We are only going for a free consult, you are not definitely getting braces."
Child: "This is so cool! Are you going to tell Daddy?????"
Me: "Yeah, I'll mention something to him (smirking). I always believe in keeping the old guy in the loop (snorting)."
So, as Child sat down to tackle her nightly homework bomb, I ventured upstairs to where Husband was to share this most 'exciting' information:
Me: "Hi"
Husband: (staring at computer screen) "Hi"
Me: "Well, no cavities, new toothbrush, and new floss."
Husband: (staring at computer screen) "mmhmmmm"
Me: "We also got a complimentary referral to my Ortho for Child. Tooth Fairy found a bit of a "situation" in her mouth."
Husband: (looking up from computer screen, no words spoken, but his expression said it all...) "colordrainingfromfaceandlookofsheerdisbelief/horror"
Like many other Americans, our family does not have dental/ortho coverage. Dealing with one mouthful of braces is difficult, but two?!?! Compound that with the realization that a lot of the success of orthodontic treatment is contingent on the patient following directions to a "t"; failure to do so resulting in more time in braces and more money from the "Bank of Mom and Dad"- yikes! Well, at least the consult would be free...
So, yesterday, I took Child with me to meet with Ortho after he tortured...errr....adjusted my braces, and added medieval accoutrements such as powerchains and springs:
Ortho: "I heard that you brought Child with you today. We'll get to her after I mess around in your mouth adequately enough for you to resort to self-starvation for the next two days."
Me: "Sounds great, Doc. Just so you know, we're basically here because she is all about that (pointing to Ortho's 'color wheel' of elastic choices for his patients HS age and under)"
Ever since Child's friends have shown up at school sporting train tracks, I have not heard the end of how one can choose colors! Every time you go in! For the upcoming holidays! For your moods! For making the 5K being spent by the "Bank of Mom and Dad" more fun! Heck, she even tried to goad me into getting those things (ummm... no thanks... trying to keep this necessary evil on the 'down low'). Have you heard the new Black-Eyed Peas song called, "Time of My Life"? Randomly throughout the song, one of the guys repeats the random phrase "dirty bit"; if you just changed that phrase to "colored bands", you'd have a good illustration of life in Thomasville of late...
Anywhooo.... Ortho finished up on my end (miraculously, w/o stabbing me in the lip 3X, as he had done in the previous month. Perk for him? I didn't start a late "bitting phase" at age 41..), and I went to the waiting room to fetch Child. After being ushered into the "ortholounger", it was time for Child to show the guy what she had:
Ortho: "Wow, nice, straight teeth on top. Lots of room, and no crowding. That's actually unusual in a good way."
Me: (thinking...)"Okaygoodnewsmyrestingpulsecannowcomedownoutofthestratosphere"
Ortho: "Hmmm. There is a bit of jaw issue between upper and lower, but we should wait until more teeth erupt. It would be a bad idea to jump into anything right away."
Me: (thinking...)"YESYESYESYYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYES!!"
Ortho: "Let's just have you come back in about 6 months, and we'll reassess then."
Child: (thinking..."DarnitcoloredbandsIwashopingtohavesomegoodgossipcoloredbandswhydoes
Mommyalwaysseemtogetherwaycoloredbands?") "Ok"
So, Child and I bid adieu to Ortho and Co., and walked out to my car. As per usual, Child assumed her stuffed-shirt pose (stiff torso, raised shoulders, glance averted always to the right) in her co-pilot seat.
Me: "Are you disappointed?"
Child: (trying to keep her cool) "I don't know"
Me: "You should be grateful. Braces suck. You hear me moaning and groaning about them all the time."
Child: "Hmmmppp"
The rest of the way to school was pretty quiet. I was relieved to have (at least temporarily) dodged a 4-figure financial bullet. Child, well, she was mourning the fact that she would not be able to color-coordinate her boca in the near future. Wait a minute! If the 4-figures didn't have to be spent making her mouth a more colorful place for her teeth to exist in, there was another way in which she could channel her need to be colorful:
Child: "Guess what, Mommy! I've been looking at Delia*s website, and I've found lots of clothes I want for Spring!!"
Too short of shorts, over-priced shirts, and a 'gulp' trip to the mall?!?! Good thing that the ibuprofen one takes before an ortho adjustment also cover headaches caused by shopping....
Now, let me backtrack a bit. About a month ago, Child went for her twice annual check-up/cleaning with "Debbie Does Teeth" (aka DDT, hygienist) and Tooth Fairy. Being that Child is the sophisticated age of 12, she likes to have some quality one-on-one time with DDT, before her latex gloves end up in her mouth. This whole system works well by me, as the Tooth Fairy has some of the most diverse periodicals in the area to peruse while waiting...score! So, while Child and DDT disappeared back into the dental dominion, I hunkered down for some quality reading time. About 15 minutes later, my attention was diverted from the glossy pages of my mag:
DDT: "Ummm.... Catherine.... Tooth Fairy would like you to come back to the exam room."
(I neatly placed my mag back into the neat row on the table from which I had taken it, and followed DDT to see Child and Tooth Fairy...)
Tooth Fairy: (spoken very demurely and delicately)" We have a little situation I want to make you aware of, Catherine. Here, Child, ooo-pen!"
(Before Tooth Fairy could say anything, I glanced in Child's mouth and noted teeth. Lots of them. All in their own space. None of them invading each other's turf. And, oh yeah, I noticed that none of them were clamped down on Tooth Fairy's finger, like in that unfortunate incident when she was in 4th Grade (yeah, she hit the bitting stage a bit late...))
Tooth Fairy: "Her top molars aren't meeting properly with her lower molars! Open Bite!(delighting in the fact that this would be a referral to his bestie, Ortho). This tooth is also rotated the wrong way! (fighting to contain his glee...) You should probably bring her in for a consult with Ortho! You do know one, don't you??? (smiles at his own cleverness)"
Me: "We've been coming here since she was 3, and no problem has ever been mentioned before. She can chew food and speak just fine, dude!"
Tooth Fairy: "Sometimes these things just develop later. DDT, go ahead and get a referral form set up for Child now, pleeease (again, spoken so smoothly, you could have sworn his voice was channeled through a smoooooth jazz radio station)."
(DDT scurried from the exam room to the front office, where two previously bored and gossipy staff members now singularily focused on said referral)
So, Child and I took her new toothbrush, floss, and the letter and headed to the car. I could see the wheels turning..
Child: "Oh. My. Gosh. I'm going to get braces! I am so excited! I can't wait to tell my friends at school tomorrow."
Me: "S-l-o-w down there. We are only going for a free consult, you are not definitely getting braces."
Child: "This is so cool! Are you going to tell Daddy?????"
Me: "Yeah, I'll mention something to him (smirking). I always believe in keeping the old guy in the loop (snorting)."
So, as Child sat down to tackle her nightly homework bomb, I ventured upstairs to where Husband was to share this most 'exciting' information:
Me: "Hi"
Husband: (staring at computer screen) "Hi"
Me: "Well, no cavities, new toothbrush, and new floss."
Husband: (staring at computer screen) "mmhmmmm"
Me: "We also got a complimentary referral to my Ortho for Child. Tooth Fairy found a bit of a "situation" in her mouth."
Husband: (looking up from computer screen, no words spoken, but his expression said it all...) "colordrainingfromfaceandlookofsheerdisbelief/horror"
Like many other Americans, our family does not have dental/ortho coverage. Dealing with one mouthful of braces is difficult, but two?!?! Compound that with the realization that a lot of the success of orthodontic treatment is contingent on the patient following directions to a "t"; failure to do so resulting in more time in braces and more money from the "Bank of Mom and Dad"- yikes! Well, at least the consult would be free...
So, yesterday, I took Child with me to meet with Ortho after he tortured...errr....adjusted my braces, and added medieval accoutrements such as powerchains and springs:
Ortho: "I heard that you brought Child with you today. We'll get to her after I mess around in your mouth adequately enough for you to resort to self-starvation for the next two days."
Me: "Sounds great, Doc. Just so you know, we're basically here because she is all about that (pointing to Ortho's 'color wheel' of elastic choices for his patients HS age and under)"
Ever since Child's friends have shown up at school sporting train tracks, I have not heard the end of how one can choose colors! Every time you go in! For the upcoming holidays! For your moods! For making the 5K being spent by the "Bank of Mom and Dad" more fun! Heck, she even tried to goad me into getting those things (ummm... no thanks... trying to keep this necessary evil on the 'down low'). Have you heard the new Black-Eyed Peas song called, "Time of My Life"? Randomly throughout the song, one of the guys repeats the random phrase "dirty bit"; if you just changed that phrase to "colored bands", you'd have a good illustration of life in Thomasville of late...
Anywhooo.... Ortho finished up on my end (miraculously, w/o stabbing me in the lip 3X, as he had done in the previous month. Perk for him? I didn't start a late "bitting phase" at age 41..), and I went to the waiting room to fetch Child. After being ushered into the "ortholounger", it was time for Child to show the guy what she had:
Ortho: "Wow, nice, straight teeth on top. Lots of room, and no crowding. That's actually unusual in a good way."
Me: (thinking...)"Okaygoodnewsmyrestingpulsecannowcomedownoutofthestratosphere"
Ortho: "Hmmm. There is a bit of jaw issue between upper and lower, but we should wait until more teeth erupt. It would be a bad idea to jump into anything right away."
Me: (thinking...)"YESYESYESYYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYES!!"
Ortho: "Let's just have you come back in about 6 months, and we'll reassess then."
Child: (thinking..."DarnitcoloredbandsIwashopingtohavesomegoodgossipcoloredbandswhydoes
Mommyalwaysseemtogetherwaycoloredbands?") "Ok"
So, Child and I bid adieu to Ortho and Co., and walked out to my car. As per usual, Child assumed her stuffed-shirt pose (stiff torso, raised shoulders, glance averted always to the right) in her co-pilot seat.
Me: "Are you disappointed?"
Child: (trying to keep her cool) "I don't know"
Me: "You should be grateful. Braces suck. You hear me moaning and groaning about them all the time."
Child: "Hmmmppp"
The rest of the way to school was pretty quiet. I was relieved to have (at least temporarily) dodged a 4-figure financial bullet. Child, well, she was mourning the fact that she would not be able to color-coordinate her boca in the near future. Wait a minute! If the 4-figures didn't have to be spent making her mouth a more colorful place for her teeth to exist in, there was another way in which she could channel her need to be colorful:
Child: "Guess what, Mommy! I've been looking at Delia*s website, and I've found lots of clothes I want for Spring!!"
Too short of shorts, over-priced shirts, and a 'gulp' trip to the mall?!?! Good thing that the ibuprofen one takes before an ortho adjustment also cover headaches caused by shopping....
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
My (not so) Little Pretty One....
Things have gotten quite exciting in my neck of the woods, as of late (refer to the 'Sisterhood' episode for clarification, if necessary...). One week ago, nature sent a little 'wake-up' call that girlhood was on its way out. I anticipated *that* happening, and dealt with it quite nicely- thank you very much. Getting the second 'memo' about the imminent transformation to teenhood, however, was a bit harder for me to deal with.
It is pretty much known that I'm not a big participant in the whole 'beauty thing'. I believe in the concept of daily showering/hair-washing/deodorant applying. I prefer my soap to be Crabtree and Evelyn, but good 'ol Pantene from Costco will do for hair. I like to finish up my little "beauty routine" with a light coat of Clinique lipstick (Black honey- most popular sheer they sell), and my ubiquitous ponytail. Oh... and did I mention that I am on the yearly haircut plan (My Stylist reams me every year for waiting too long to come in)??? Very fuss-free, and quick!
Because Child has been raised by me, this 'hair simplicity' is what she has known her whole life. She was born with a platinum blonde mohawk, which required absolutely no help from me to stand erect (that's my girl, low maintenance from day 1!). Over the course of two years, the mohawk filled out to cover her whole head; time for the first haircut! Because she had thin, blonde hair, the solution was obvious to me; she would wear the "blonde kid haircut"!!!! The "blonde kid haircut" was a lovely chin-length bob, with a nice fringe of bangs across the forehead. If I was feeling really adventurous, the 'do could even support a little fabric bow barrette. Simple, easy,...done!
Around the age of K-5, child decided to grow-out the bangs. This was uber-cool with moi, because then she could go on my annual haircutting plan with me (woo hoo!)... By the time 2nd Grade rolled around, the bangs had caught up to the rest of the hair, and everything was 'even-steven' (agian, simple and easy). There were a few trims here and there over the next couple of years; in 4th Grade, however, she got a taste from her peers about how the other girls "rolled":
Child: "Mommy, I want side bangs."
Me: "We spent two years growing out your bangs years ago. You need to pull your hair back for Ballet/Gymnastics."
Child: (only in 4th, not quite having the 'negotiating skills' she would soon acquire)"Here, I'll draw them for you. This is what I want. All the girls have them!!!!"
(Being the artist in the family, Child sat down and drew a picture of said bangs, and passed it to me)
Me: (looking at picture, the shock of which caused me to choke on my own spit) "These will make you look like some chick that rolled out of bed (after a sleepless night), threw on a robe, and then indulged in a cup of coffee and a cig... No thanks!"
Child: "Hmmmppp" (Because back then, *I* still had the last word)
So, we coasted through 5th with the long, simple hair. In 6th Grade, however, there was a new discovery to be made- layers!
Child: "Mommy, all of the girls have layers. I want some, too!"
Mom: (refering back to previous arguments about 'keeping it simple')"You need to tie your hair back for gymnastics. Also, it's competition season, and I need to have enough length for the required bun."
Child: (slowly moving towards the realization that maybe Mommy might not be having the last word for too much longer) "HMMMPPP!"
Well, fast forward to the present- 7th Grade. It was about time for my annual haircut, and I decided to bring Child along for her, errrr... trim, as well:
Hairdresser Jackie (HJ): "What are we going to be doing today, Child?"
Child: (looking sideways at Mommy, realizing that the sneak attack would be the way to go)" I think I would like some layers"
Me: (looking over at Child, feeling a bit duped; this was not in the plan) "HJ, can you make some v-e-r-y subtle ones?"
HJ: (wanting to keep receiving the *very* generous annual tips, read my not-so-amused expression perfectly) "Sure, we can do that!"
So, Child left HJ's chair with a good amount of (mother-approved) length removed and a *few* layers. Unfortunately, no one noticed the layers, or the shorter length, and Child was not very happy.
Two weeks ago, the battle drum started up again:
Child: "Mommy, I want to get my hair A LOT shorter, and I want to get A LOT of layers."
Me: "( stony-cold stare which could be best translated as 'been there, discussed that, enough!)"
(Husband, the unfortunate victim of circumstance, happened to wander through the battlefield)
Husband: (noticing sneering Child and annoyed Wife)"What are you guys talking about?"
Child: (eager for a fresh ear, and being a 'Daddy's Girl', became re-energized) "I want to get my hair cut shorter, and get lots of layers!"
Husband: (looking at me)"So are you going to call and make her an appointment?"
Child: (Eyes popping out of skull. YESSSS... after all these years, the final word appears to be finally *hers*) "So I can, Daddy?"
Husband: "Yeah, sure"
Poor Husband glanced over in my direction, thinking that he had solved the problem (but still confused as to why my icy-glare was boring through the back of his skull...). He had only wanted to help, but had forgotten to consult with me about the 'hair master plan'. After sulking for about two days, I did the only reasonable, and right, thing; I made the appointment.
Soooo.... yesterday after school was the big day. Knowing that Child still has a tendency to want to test me when people outside of the family are present, I reviewed the game-plan with her; hair falling below the shoulders, and, yes (begrudgingly, though), some layers:
HJ: "Hi guys, you're back. Has it been a year?"
Me: (nudging Child) "Well, not for Child. Don't worry, though, I'll be sticking to my timetable (smirk) "
HJ: (looking over at Child) "What are we doing today?"
Child: (smile slowly crept across her face. eyes are darting from HJ to me)"I'd like to have my hair above my shoulders, with lots of layers."
Me: (not missing a beat, and not afraid of being 'bad mom') "The layers are fine, but we talked about the length staying below the shoulders."
Child conceeded, and the two of them went off to shampoo her luxurious, long locks for the last time. They soon returned, and HJ placed a cape around Child so they could get down to business. HJ then showed me on Child's back where the hair would fall- it looked OK. Having a bit of "over-controlling Mommy remorse", I let something slip out of my mouth that I never should have:
Me: (to a happily-cutting HJ) "Child was wanting for the layers to be noticeable. She said that last time no one could tell that they were there- including Husband."
HJ: (after dealing with boring 'ol "just a trim" me, and hearing the words noticeable and layers, a mysterious twinkle was visible in HJ's eyes) "Sure, we can do that!"
I got a bit mesmerized (read: spacey) watching the haircut. All of a sudden, I looked up, and saw HJ taking big sections of hair and cutting additional inches off the original decided upon 5 (look of surprise)! Next, I witnessed sections of hair surrounding the face being trimmed to almost chin level (blank look of horror)!! What happened next gave yield to the proverbial 'silent scream':
HJ: (appraising Child's hair from behind, thoughtfully pausing, then grabbing a big pair of hair sheers) "Because of the way her hair is, I'm going to need to take off a bit more in back to really make it noticeable."
With that, she took multiple sections of hair from the back of Child's head, and sheared another 2-3 inches off of those. Trying not to get my lip tangled in my upper braces, and grasping the arms of the styling chair (as not to spring at HJ like a caged zoo animal), I just smiled. I just smiled.
When Child realized that her hair was above her shoulders, she was thrilled. When she saw that her layers were pretty much everywhere, she was even more thrilled. While I was thrilled to know that she was thrilled, I knew that it was going to take me awhile to get used to the new young woman looking back at me.
When we arrived home, Child sprinted upstairs to show Husband her new 'do. I used that time to sort of settle my feelings on what had just transpired; I had picked up a girl from school, and had come home with a sophisticated almost-teen (I've got about three months till it's *official*, and I'm not wanting to rush that eventuality). Yep... I am (still) mourning the 'ol long-haired (unlayered) days of yore... I will be the first to admit it. I never would have guessed that the process of "letting go" of my daughter would be started by the snipets of blonde hair left behind on the salon floor.
It is pretty much known that I'm not a big participant in the whole 'beauty thing'. I believe in the concept of daily showering/hair-washing/deodorant applying. I prefer my soap to be Crabtree and Evelyn, but good 'ol Pantene from Costco will do for hair. I like to finish up my little "beauty routine" with a light coat of Clinique lipstick (Black honey- most popular sheer they sell), and my ubiquitous ponytail. Oh... and did I mention that I am on the yearly haircut plan (My Stylist reams me every year for waiting too long to come in)??? Very fuss-free, and quick!
Because Child has been raised by me, this 'hair simplicity' is what she has known her whole life. She was born with a platinum blonde mohawk, which required absolutely no help from me to stand erect (that's my girl, low maintenance from day 1!). Over the course of two years, the mohawk filled out to cover her whole head; time for the first haircut! Because she had thin, blonde hair, the solution was obvious to me; she would wear the "blonde kid haircut"!!!! The "blonde kid haircut" was a lovely chin-length bob, with a nice fringe of bangs across the forehead. If I was feeling really adventurous, the 'do could even support a little fabric bow barrette. Simple, easy,...done!
Around the age of K-5, child decided to grow-out the bangs. This was uber-cool with moi, because then she could go on my annual haircutting plan with me (woo hoo!)... By the time 2nd Grade rolled around, the bangs had caught up to the rest of the hair, and everything was 'even-steven' (agian, simple and easy). There were a few trims here and there over the next couple of years; in 4th Grade, however, she got a taste from her peers about how the other girls "rolled":
Child: "Mommy, I want side bangs."
Me: "We spent two years growing out your bangs years ago. You need to pull your hair back for Ballet/Gymnastics."
Child: (only in 4th, not quite having the 'negotiating skills' she would soon acquire)"Here, I'll draw them for you. This is what I want. All the girls have them!!!!"
(Being the artist in the family, Child sat down and drew a picture of said bangs, and passed it to me)
Me: (looking at picture, the shock of which caused me to choke on my own spit) "These will make you look like some chick that rolled out of bed (after a sleepless night), threw on a robe, and then indulged in a cup of coffee and a cig... No thanks!"
Child: "Hmmmppp" (Because back then, *I* still had the last word)
So, we coasted through 5th with the long, simple hair. In 6th Grade, however, there was a new discovery to be made- layers!
Child: "Mommy, all of the girls have layers. I want some, too!"
Mom: (refering back to previous arguments about 'keeping it simple')"You need to tie your hair back for gymnastics. Also, it's competition season, and I need to have enough length for the required bun."
Child: (slowly moving towards the realization that maybe Mommy might not be having the last word for too much longer) "HMMMPPP!"
Well, fast forward to the present- 7th Grade. It was about time for my annual haircut, and I decided to bring Child along for her, errrr... trim, as well:
Hairdresser Jackie (HJ): "What are we going to be doing today, Child?"
Child: (looking sideways at Mommy, realizing that the sneak attack would be the way to go)" I think I would like some layers"
Me: (looking over at Child, feeling a bit duped; this was not in the plan) "HJ, can you make some v-e-r-y subtle ones?"
HJ: (wanting to keep receiving the *very* generous annual tips, read my not-so-amused expression perfectly) "Sure, we can do that!"
So, Child left HJ's chair with a good amount of (mother-approved) length removed and a *few* layers. Unfortunately, no one noticed the layers, or the shorter length, and Child was not very happy.
Two weeks ago, the battle drum started up again:
Child: "Mommy, I want to get my hair A LOT shorter, and I want to get A LOT of layers."
Me: "( stony-cold stare which could be best translated as 'been there, discussed that, enough!)"
(Husband, the unfortunate victim of circumstance, happened to wander through the battlefield)
Husband: (noticing sneering Child and annoyed Wife)"What are you guys talking about?"
Child: (eager for a fresh ear, and being a 'Daddy's Girl', became re-energized) "I want to get my hair cut shorter, and get lots of layers!"
Husband: (looking at me)"So are you going to call and make her an appointment?"
Child: (Eyes popping out of skull. YESSSS... after all these years, the final word appears to be finally *hers*) "So I can, Daddy?"
Husband: "Yeah, sure"
Poor Husband glanced over in my direction, thinking that he had solved the problem (but still confused as to why my icy-glare was boring through the back of his skull...). He had only wanted to help, but had forgotten to consult with me about the 'hair master plan'. After sulking for about two days, I did the only reasonable, and right, thing; I made the appointment.
Soooo.... yesterday after school was the big day. Knowing that Child still has a tendency to want to test me when people outside of the family are present, I reviewed the game-plan with her; hair falling below the shoulders, and, yes (begrudgingly, though), some layers:
HJ: "Hi guys, you're back. Has it been a year?"
Me: (nudging Child) "Well, not for Child. Don't worry, though, I'll be sticking to my timetable (smirk) "
HJ: (looking over at Child) "What are we doing today?"
Child: (smile slowly crept across her face. eyes are darting from HJ to me)"I'd like to have my hair above my shoulders, with lots of layers."
Me: (not missing a beat, and not afraid of being 'bad mom') "The layers are fine, but we talked about the length staying below the shoulders."
Child conceeded, and the two of them went off to shampoo her luxurious, long locks for the last time. They soon returned, and HJ placed a cape around Child so they could get down to business. HJ then showed me on Child's back where the hair would fall- it looked OK. Having a bit of "over-controlling Mommy remorse", I let something slip out of my mouth that I never should have:
Me: (to a happily-cutting HJ) "Child was wanting for the layers to be noticeable. She said that last time no one could tell that they were there- including Husband."
HJ: (after dealing with boring 'ol "just a trim" me, and hearing the words noticeable and layers, a mysterious twinkle was visible in HJ's eyes) "Sure, we can do that!"
I got a bit mesmerized (read: spacey) watching the haircut. All of a sudden, I looked up, and saw HJ taking big sections of hair and cutting additional inches off the original decided upon 5 (look of surprise)! Next, I witnessed sections of hair surrounding the face being trimmed to almost chin level (blank look of horror)!! What happened next gave yield to the proverbial 'silent scream':
HJ: (appraising Child's hair from behind, thoughtfully pausing, then grabbing a big pair of hair sheers) "Because of the way her hair is, I'm going to need to take off a bit more in back to really make it noticeable."
With that, she took multiple sections of hair from the back of Child's head, and sheared another 2-3 inches off of those. Trying not to get my lip tangled in my upper braces, and grasping the arms of the styling chair (as not to spring at HJ like a caged zoo animal), I just smiled. I just smiled.
When Child realized that her hair was above her shoulders, she was thrilled. When she saw that her layers were pretty much everywhere, she was even more thrilled. While I was thrilled to know that she was thrilled, I knew that it was going to take me awhile to get used to the new young woman looking back at me.
When we arrived home, Child sprinted upstairs to show Husband her new 'do. I used that time to sort of settle my feelings on what had just transpired; I had picked up a girl from school, and had come home with a sophisticated almost-teen (I've got about three months till it's *official*, and I'm not wanting to rush that eventuality). Yep... I am (still) mourning the 'ol long-haired (unlayered) days of yore... I will be the first to admit it. I never would have guessed that the process of "letting go" of my daughter would be started by the snipets of blonde hair left behind on the salon floor.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Sisterhood of the Traveling Pads
( Note: If you are not a female, or the father of one, this installment of the blog may not be for you. You are welcomed to read on, but at your own risk of needing to put your hands over your eyes, and say "blah blah blah)
Life is pretty darn funny sometimes. Three days ago, it was pretty *funny* that I posted on FB about my daughter's interests having switched from making displays of Barbies, to creating shrines consisting of Bath and Body Works products. It was *funny* four days ago when Child's Coach and I were talking about dealing with periods as a gymnast. It was also kind of *funny* two nights ago, as I looked over at my daughter, who was sitting next to me at the dinner table (inhaling her Kraft-in-a-box), and wondered when she had 'developed' so much w/o my noticing. About thirty minutes after consumption of the mac, life took an interesting turn:
Child: "Ummm... Mommy.... can you come up here?!?!?!"
(Child and I conferred. Instructions were given, and I retreated back to 'downstairs world'. I headed into the Family Room to find Husband, who was in his usual nightly spot on the sectional)
Me: (wearing a facial expression, which could be best described as half-laughing/half-crying) "Umm.. Child just got her period...."
As Child is 12 and 3/4 years-old, I knew that this day would eventually come. Being the "Queen of Early", Child and I had started talking about this eventuality years ago. She knew the 'how', and she knew the 'why'; the only uncertain element was the 'when'.
It was nice to see that Child was pretty calm about the whole thing; *I* was the one who was an emotional wreck. My mind started processing the idea that when you're a kid who's just getting the hang of daily toothbrushing, bathing, and deodorant-wearing, *this* would add a whole new dimension to the daily routine. Not to mention nature's sick joke in giving a twelve year-old the body of a woman, but the reasoning ability/emotions of a kid ranging anywhere from 2-12, depending on the phases of the moon.
So, yesterday afternoon, I did what any Mom in my position would have done-I hit the local Walgreens. Just my luck, it was 'all hands on deck in the feminine hygiene aisle' hour. After navigating around piles of said goods on the floor, I stood there reading all of the different product descriptions, finally deciding on a good sampling to bring home. Taking my lead from Child's new interest in artistically displaying her myriad of bath products, I put a little bit of each in the prettiest basket I could find, and left it for her to discover.
I was not prepared for how the memories of my own "first time" would come flooding back. Like Child, I was also 12 and 3/4 years-old. After having been sent with an arsenal of 'products' wherever I had gone for the past couple of years, I was traveling (alone) with my Dad, empty handed when it happened. I begrudgingly confided in my Dad about what had transpired; he sent me off with enough cash to buy a box of pads and a *bonus* pack of gum. When we arrived back home, my Mom met us at the airport and was "just so excited" to hear about what had happened. For the life of me, I could not figure out the enthusiasm for something that had my guts in knots, and had me walking like a bowlegged cowboy. I found out recently from my Aunt that my Dad had been excited, too, as he had missed out on most of my "milestones", but was there for that one(Ugh- slightly awkward; Middle School and High School graduation would have been better...).
I am glad that for Child's sake, she was able to be in her own home, and to have her Mom nearby when it happened. After buying-out the hygiene display at Walgreens, I decided that I would put my own spin on a 'gift' for her. I chose a 'demented-humor' card (as that is her preference :) ), and two rockin' bottles of nail polish.
No "Red Party", or Red Velvet Cake to welcome Child into the female 'Sisterhood'; that just wouldn't be her style. Time to say goodbye to the little girl, and to watch as a new, young woman emerges on the scene... The one thing that I am sure of is that there'll *never* be a dull moment...
Life is pretty darn funny sometimes. Three days ago, it was pretty *funny* that I posted on FB about my daughter's interests having switched from making displays of Barbies, to creating shrines consisting of Bath and Body Works products. It was *funny* four days ago when Child's Coach and I were talking about dealing with periods as a gymnast. It was also kind of *funny* two nights ago, as I looked over at my daughter, who was sitting next to me at the dinner table (inhaling her Kraft-in-a-box), and wondered when she had 'developed' so much w/o my noticing. About thirty minutes after consumption of the mac, life took an interesting turn:
Child: "Ummm... Mommy.... can you come up here?!?!?!"
(Child and I conferred. Instructions were given, and I retreated back to 'downstairs world'. I headed into the Family Room to find Husband, who was in his usual nightly spot on the sectional)
Me: (wearing a facial expression, which could be best described as half-laughing/half-crying) "Umm.. Child just got her period...."
As Child is 12 and 3/4 years-old, I knew that this day would eventually come. Being the "Queen of Early", Child and I had started talking about this eventuality years ago. She knew the 'how', and she knew the 'why'; the only uncertain element was the 'when'.
It was nice to see that Child was pretty calm about the whole thing; *I* was the one who was an emotional wreck. My mind started processing the idea that when you're a kid who's just getting the hang of daily toothbrushing, bathing, and deodorant-wearing, *this* would add a whole new dimension to the daily routine. Not to mention nature's sick joke in giving a twelve year-old the body of a woman, but the reasoning ability/emotions of a kid ranging anywhere from 2-12, depending on the phases of the moon.
So, yesterday afternoon, I did what any Mom in my position would have done-I hit the local Walgreens. Just my luck, it was 'all hands on deck in the feminine hygiene aisle' hour. After navigating around piles of said goods on the floor, I stood there reading all of the different product descriptions, finally deciding on a good sampling to bring home. Taking my lead from Child's new interest in artistically displaying her myriad of bath products, I put a little bit of each in the prettiest basket I could find, and left it for her to discover.
I was not prepared for how the memories of my own "first time" would come flooding back. Like Child, I was also 12 and 3/4 years-old. After having been sent with an arsenal of 'products' wherever I had gone for the past couple of years, I was traveling (alone) with my Dad, empty handed when it happened. I begrudgingly confided in my Dad about what had transpired; he sent me off with enough cash to buy a box of pads and a *bonus* pack of gum. When we arrived back home, my Mom met us at the airport and was "just so excited" to hear about what had happened. For the life of me, I could not figure out the enthusiasm for something that had my guts in knots, and had me walking like a bowlegged cowboy. I found out recently from my Aunt that my Dad had been excited, too, as he had missed out on most of my "milestones", but was there for that one(Ugh- slightly awkward; Middle School and High School graduation would have been better...).
I am glad that for Child's sake, she was able to be in her own home, and to have her Mom nearby when it happened. After buying-out the hygiene display at Walgreens, I decided that I would put my own spin on a 'gift' for her. I chose a 'demented-humor' card (as that is her preference :) ), and two rockin' bottles of nail polish.
No "Red Party", or Red Velvet Cake to welcome Child into the female 'Sisterhood'; that just wouldn't be her style. Time to say goodbye to the little girl, and to watch as a new, young woman emerges on the scene... The one thing that I am sure of is that there'll *never* be a dull moment...
Saturday, January 8, 2011
NOT *Your* Seventeen Magazine....
As anyone who is a regular reader of the blog knows, Child is 12 going on 13; not quite a teenager *yet*, but also not a little kid. In many different areas, I have noted that the age range of about 10-12 is a sort of island unto itself.
When Child was about 7, she was fascinated by the American Girl Dolls. Except for the high price tags on their nicely-coiffed heads, they were a pretty wholesome, and acceptable, choice. Heck, the American Girl company even put out a magazine to sort of compliment the dolls, and the idea of celebrating "girls just being girls". I previewed one of the mags, and thought it would be a lot of fun for Child to get in the mail (yes, the thrill of getting mail). So, for about three years, our mailbox was graced with this periodical on a bimonthly basis.
Two years ago, at age 10, Child sold-down her entire American Girl Doll collection at rummage. I guess that was the first clue that mags with cutesy art projects, juvenile fictional articles, and pollyannaish posters were probably on their way out. What did she do with her sizable proceeds, you ask? She ordered a bunch of stuff from PB TEEN... Yep, this was definitely the memo being sent; time to part ways with the girlishness of it all!
When I was child's age, we had two magazines to choose from as 'cool 12 year-olds': YM (Young Miss) and Seventeen. I eagerly devoured both, as a 12 year-old can't have too much information on how *do* puberty succesfully. Lots of info on zits, 80s fashions, 80s hair, and (giggle, giggle) how to get *that* guy to notice you. Pretty harmless, but also pretty brainless; but, heck, that's why girls sit in Middle School for 7 hours/day...
So, while "nerding" (hanging out in the local library with actual books, not DVDs), I decided to check out Seventeen magazine again; this time as a possible "read" for my daughter. I nestled down into my comfy upholstered library chair, and dug in...
Apparently, zits and fashions are still relevant topics for Child's age group- cool, I could dig that. Hmmmm.... table of contents stated that there was some relationship info.... that could be of interest (having read alll of the "Dear Jake" columns conscienciously, myself, once upon a time)! Time to turn to page 76....
After looking at the content on the page, I closed the mag to make sure that I was, indeed, reading Seventeen magazine... When I was 12, the relationship advice *I* read did not involve a multi-step quiz/worksheet to determine how far to go with your boyfriend. I also wasn't made privy to the *grooming habits* of the adolescent male. AND I *never* would have dreamed of sharing my story of how I tried to play footsy under the table with my BF, but instead ran my foot up the pant leg of BFs Father... Gag me with a spoon already!
When I was Child's age, info like that could not be obtained from a *teen* mag; rather, one had to actively seek-out the "good stuff". One Spring, my Mom brought me and my friend, Shari, along on one of her conferences. We were staying in a resort/hotel with a pool, so Shari and I occupied ourselves daily by swimming, and then hanging out in the gift shop. One afternoon, one of us discovered a copy of Playgirl (I will not name the corrupting influence);woo hoo- we weren't in "Teen Kansas" anymore! Having an idea that what we were looking at was a bit wrong, we hid the Playgirl inside of another (read: more appropriate ) mag, and just stared (and stared... and stared). Unfortunately, the Clerk became suspicious of us (could it have been all of the giggling/red faces/locked eyeballs), and came over to see what we were up to. We quickly disposed of the evidence, purchased two mini rubix cube keychains, and high-tailed it back to the kid-friendly pool.
My education continued the next Summer at sleepaway camp at age 13. Most of us girls were concerned about having to deal with our periods (and most of us had forgotten to bring along "stuff"), and also coming up with "code words" for body parts, as to not corrupt the younger campers (we came up with "sboobs"!!!). One girl, however, was quite a bit ahead of the rest of us. At the ripe 'ol age of 13, she had a *boyfriend* and happily shared her advanced knowledge with us. As she elaborated on things that I was in no way ready to be made aware of, I focused really hard on my two Cabbage Patch dolls waiting for me at home and tried to wish myself away from there (there's no place like home, there's no place like home..).
Child has had the benefit of growing up in a home where either Husband or I will answer any of her questions; there are no topics that you only go to Mommy for, or to Daddy for. Much to my chagrin, our local Public School has even stepped-in to make sure that Child has all the pertinent information. Until this year she pronounced the school curriculum to be a bit redundant. Time to hop aboard the HGD superhighway, folks!
This year in Human Growth and Development Class, Child announced that the kids were divided into same-sex groups. Yep, I thought, that sounds about right. Can ya imagine my surprise when Child informed me that the girls got a full play-by-play about the boys' puberty changes, and the boys about the girls' changes? As If this wasn't shocking enough to me, the darn school introduced a concept (in order to keep this blog at the PG level, let's say that it is a subject that Cialis discusses... you with me?...), but then didn't explain it. Driving home after school, Child wanted to know what all of this *stuff* was about. Ummm... ooookaaaay..... I was cool teaching her about her own changes, but I wasn't quite ready to explain the boys, errrr, developments yet (Thanks, WFBMS). Luckily, I had the road to look at (instead of my daughter's grossed-out face), and did my best...
Obviously, our kids are going to be learning quite a bit along theses lines from peers/school. It was nice to be able to escape into one of those mags, and just deal with frivolous things. I guess I am just nostalgic for the glossy, and by today's standards, innocent, teen mags of my youth. As corny as the 80s were, they were definitely not as *fast* of times as today. No temptation for this Mom to grab one of the dozens of subscription cards inside of Seventeen... I'm sure that Child will eventually see Seventeen, but it won't have the "Mommy stamp of approval" that being delivered to our mailbox would suggest. Child's interest in the macabre of Stephen King is starting to look better and better by the day...
Thursday, January 6, 2011
T (family) (is) Minus One.....
Every now and then, it's a good thing when the man of the house can emerge from his "domestic cave", and hang with his fellow dudes, free of biological family members. Being that my husband lives with two human females, and one female feline, this can be a r-e-a-l-l-y nice thing...
Anyhoo.... one of Husband's partners decided to celebrate the Holiday Season by having the guys over to his lodge (named after a statuesque mammal that frequents Sarah Palin's Alaska, no less...)for some good 'ol "male bonding", and steaks (my feeling is that the food probably clinched a good turnout more than the promise of fellowship). Husband mentioned the Event to me, and asked if it was cool, which it was. Little did we know that it would become an issue with both children.
Husband is pretty much the ultimate 'family man'. He is usually "present and accounted for" at all family mealtimes, and never misses Child's Meets/Concerts/etc. Moreover, he works from home most days, so he's just a flight-of-stairs away when Child gets back from wherever. He is pretty much a fixture in the house...
So, here is how both the human child, and the fur one, dealt with the most heinous 'disturbance in the force' (Husband taking a brief leave-of-absence):
Chapter 1: Child
Child came down to breakfast around 6 AM yesterday morning. Despite the early hour, her brain was already processing what would be the deal this day:
Child: "I am not going to see Daddy until tomorrow morning!!" (Child had full day of school, then an evening practice, which would keep her out-and-about till 8:30)
Me: "Yep, that's right."
Child: (looking anxious, yet age -appropriately annoyed by the whole thing) "This sucks."
At that point, it was time to drive to school. Not too much more was said about the subject, and she happily departed my vehicle to walk the rest of the way with her BFF. About seven hours later, though, it was time to return for pick-up. Time for a little bit of 'Groundhog Day':
Me: "How was your day?"
Child: "Pretty good. Did Daddy leave for his party yet?"
Me: "Yep. He was gone all day."
A few humorous tidbits about the day were shared, and then we arrived home in time for Child to get her hour's worth of homework done before running out the door again for Practice. Child rocked her homework, and decided to spend her extra time adorning her assignment notebook with stickers (which she has not asked/used/given a darn about in the last year):
Child: "Mommy, I used to keep my stickers in this box. They're not there now! When you moved my stuff around, where did you put them??"
Me: (normally having the memory of an elephant, but presently having a pretty serious middle-aged mental block) "I honestly can't remember. Are they on your dresser? Top of the closet?"
(The sound of a chair being dragged into Child's room is audible. Pretty soon sobbing, yelling, and whinning also commences..)
Child: (unintelligible freaking out) ".... my stickers! I wish Daddy was here!!!!!"
Things were going South quickly. Ah Ha! I remembered something that would be able to get the "Mood Swing" to swing 180 degrees in the other direction....
Me: "Hurry and get on your leo and do your hair! Your new dowel grips (which are simply the bestest thing in the world when you're a 12 year-old girl) arrived, let's get to the Gym early so we can have Coach check them! (insert b-i-g smile here)"
Child: (face shows radical 180 degree mood transformation) "Yay! You're the best, Mommy! I'll be ready in 5 minutes!"
As luck would have it, Coach determined that said grips were too small; Child's excitement about having them for practice was now snuffed out. I left the Gym, and hoped everything else would be cool. Three hours later, it was back to the Gym, to gather a hungry, and tired, Child:
Me: "Hi, how was practice?"
Child: "Hmmp. Is Daddy home yet?"
Me: "Nope, it won't be until later"
Child: "When he gets home, tell him to come see me. Also tell him to come down to breakfast in the morning. I can't believe that I'm not going to see him until tomorrow!?!"
Me: "I don't know if I'll be awake when her gets home, but I'll do my best.."
So, like most Wednesdays, we arrived home to yet more homework, and then Child's shower time. After getting all cleaned-up, Child came down to grab some dessert, and veg in front of the tube for a bit. At least one reference was made to the "Missing Husband". At the appointed hour, I called for Child to come up for bed. What happened next was enough to fray the nerves of both of us:
Me: "Oh my Gosh! The back of your head is magenta?!?!? What in the heck happened???"
Child: (casually flipping her blonde hair onto her shoulder, unable to see the back of her head of course) "I don't see anything wrong!"
Me: (having an "Aha! moment" upon seeing magenta scrunchie in Child's freshly-washed, and soaking wet hair) "Your scrunchie bled dye in your hair! We need to get you upstairs and rewash it right away!"
Child: (mustering all of her strength to let out a huge whinning diatribe) "I just tooook a shower and I'm still coooolllld! I dooooon't want to get in the shoooooower again! NOOO!!"
It was now about 10 PM, and I shot Child my best 'death glare'. After a vigorous scrubbing, blowdrying, and (consolation) hair braiding, it was finally time to hit the hay.
Child: "I wish Daddy was here. He always does bedtime."
Me: "( Exhausted stare. Take me away, Calgon, take me AWAY....)"
I cannot remember the last time I was so exhausted from the 'process' of going to bed....
Chapter 2: Kitty
As mentioned earlier, Husband has not only a human child, but a furry one, as well. When she's not filling the role of the family "2nd born", Kitty also moonlights as Husband's sidekick in his home office. Like Child, Kitty is pretty much used to Husband being home all day, and changes to that routine can become a bit upsetting:
(Kitty is sitting in the doorway of Husband's Office)
Me: " 'Dads' went to work today. He's not here, Kitty."
Kitty: "Niiiiccce, what am I supposed to do with myself all day? That guy pets me...COME ON!"
Me: "Wanna come downstairs with 'Moms'?"
Kitty: (starts nervous grooming) "No thanks. I'm holding out for the slim chance he returns early, Woman! Hmmm, maybe I'll see how much hair I can get on his computer- hee, hee"
Kitty somehow managed to make it through what would have been *their* workday. At dinner time, she couldn't be fooled anymore. Patience was running thin...:
Me: (noticing cat looking at Husband's empty chair at the table) "Dads isn't going to be here for dinner tonight, Kitty!"
Kitty: "You've got to be friggin kidding me! It's late, and that means that I eat over there on the floor, and he eats on this high-up thing! This isn't funny anymore.... (starts nervous grooming)"
Late evening time is pretty special for Kitty and Husband. For the first two years of her life, Kitty was pretty much my "lap cat"; the last two years, however, have been all about Dads. Well, tonight there was no Dads; would this be the game-changer that I'd been waiting for????:
Kitty: (looking around for Dads. Scornfully eyeing the only available lap- mine) "OK. It's time for my nightly lap. Dads still isn't here. Hmmm..... Woman, you're just going to have to do for tonight."
With that, Kitty lowered her standards, and sat on my lap. I sat there and realized then and there that I had become "sloppy seconds" to a creature that licks it's own bottom... riiiiight....
Of all of the routines that Kitty and Husband share, their bedtime ritual is Kitty's absolute favorite. Because of Husband's allergy to Kitty, the door to the bedroom is closed all day. When we go up to bed at nightime, however, she is allowed to come in for a bit. Kitty plants herself outside of the bathroom door while Husband gets ready, waiting for her nightly scratching/attention. Time to explain that there would be none of that this evening:
Me: "Dads isn't here tonight, Kitty."
Kitty: (starts nervous grooming) "It's been a rough day around here, Woman! Now this??? Well, I'll just run under your bed, then! How do you like them apples?!?!"
Me: (Slowly approaching Kitty, knowing that any abrupt movement will send her under the bed, to the *exact* center, where she cannot be reached) "Time to go night-night, Kitty. Time to see Child!"
After throwing more objects than I care to name, I finally got Kitty out from under the bed, and out the door. She expressed her disgust by howling, and running manically up and down the staircase. Point noted already, Animal- thanks!
After the "Dog and Pony Show" that was the evening, I was relieved to turn off the lights, and just fall asleep. I never *heard* Husband come in last night, but I was made aware of the fact that he was 'in da house' by the incessant pawing on our bedroom door by Kitty as she tried to get to her Dads....
Even after his late night, Husband unselfishlessly awoke in time to have breakfast this morning with Child, and to 'acknowledge' Kitty. I don't think a guy ever felt so appreciated, or missed, at 6 AM in the morning. I'm glad that Husband had a chance to get out for a bit, but I'm very happy that the T family will not be 'minus one' this evening....
Anyhoo.... one of Husband's partners decided to celebrate the Holiday Season by having the guys over to his lodge (named after a statuesque mammal that frequents Sarah Palin's Alaska, no less...)for some good 'ol "male bonding", and steaks (my feeling is that the food probably clinched a good turnout more than the promise of fellowship). Husband mentioned the Event to me, and asked if it was cool, which it was. Little did we know that it would become an issue with both children.
Husband is pretty much the ultimate 'family man'. He is usually "present and accounted for" at all family mealtimes, and never misses Child's Meets/Concerts/etc. Moreover, he works from home most days, so he's just a flight-of-stairs away when Child gets back from wherever. He is pretty much a fixture in the house...
So, here is how both the human child, and the fur one, dealt with the most heinous 'disturbance in the force' (Husband taking a brief leave-of-absence):
Chapter 1: Child
Child came down to breakfast around 6 AM yesterday morning. Despite the early hour, her brain was already processing what would be the deal this day:
Child: "I am not going to see Daddy until tomorrow morning!!" (Child had full day of school, then an evening practice, which would keep her out-and-about till 8:30)
Me: "Yep, that's right."
Child: (looking anxious, yet age -appropriately annoyed by the whole thing) "This sucks."
At that point, it was time to drive to school. Not too much more was said about the subject, and she happily departed my vehicle to walk the rest of the way with her BFF. About seven hours later, though, it was time to return for pick-up. Time for a little bit of 'Groundhog Day':
Me: "How was your day?"
Child: "Pretty good. Did Daddy leave for his party yet?"
Me: "Yep. He was gone all day."
A few humorous tidbits about the day were shared, and then we arrived home in time for Child to get her hour's worth of homework done before running out the door again for Practice. Child rocked her homework, and decided to spend her extra time adorning her assignment notebook with stickers (which she has not asked/used/given a darn about in the last year):
Child: "Mommy, I used to keep my stickers in this box. They're not there now! When you moved my stuff around, where did you put them??"
Me: (normally having the memory of an elephant, but presently having a pretty serious middle-aged mental block) "I honestly can't remember. Are they on your dresser? Top of the closet?"
(The sound of a chair being dragged into Child's room is audible. Pretty soon sobbing, yelling, and whinning also commences..)
Child: (unintelligible freaking out) ".... my stickers! I wish Daddy was here!!!!!"
Things were going South quickly. Ah Ha! I remembered something that would be able to get the "Mood Swing" to swing 180 degrees in the other direction....
Me: "Hurry and get on your leo and do your hair! Your new dowel grips (which are simply the bestest thing in the world when you're a 12 year-old girl) arrived, let's get to the Gym early so we can have Coach check them! (insert b-i-g smile here)"
Child: (face shows radical 180 degree mood transformation) "Yay! You're the best, Mommy! I'll be ready in 5 minutes!"
As luck would have it, Coach determined that said grips were too small; Child's excitement about having them for practice was now snuffed out. I left the Gym, and hoped everything else would be cool. Three hours later, it was back to the Gym, to gather a hungry, and tired, Child:
Me: "Hi, how was practice?"
Child: "Hmmp. Is Daddy home yet?"
Me: "Nope, it won't be until later"
Child: "When he gets home, tell him to come see me. Also tell him to come down to breakfast in the morning. I can't believe that I'm not going to see him until tomorrow!?!"
Me: "I don't know if I'll be awake when her gets home, but I'll do my best.."
So, like most Wednesdays, we arrived home to yet more homework, and then Child's shower time. After getting all cleaned-up, Child came down to grab some dessert, and veg in front of the tube for a bit. At least one reference was made to the "Missing Husband". At the appointed hour, I called for Child to come up for bed. What happened next was enough to fray the nerves of both of us:
Me: "Oh my Gosh! The back of your head is magenta?!?!? What in the heck happened???"
Child: (casually flipping her blonde hair onto her shoulder, unable to see the back of her head of course) "I don't see anything wrong!"
Me: (having an "Aha! moment" upon seeing magenta scrunchie in Child's freshly-washed, and soaking wet hair) "Your scrunchie bled dye in your hair! We need to get you upstairs and rewash it right away!"
Child: (mustering all of her strength to let out a huge whinning diatribe) "I just tooook a shower and I'm still coooolllld! I dooooon't want to get in the shoooooower again! NOOO!!"
It was now about 10 PM, and I shot Child my best 'death glare'. After a vigorous scrubbing, blowdrying, and (consolation) hair braiding, it was finally time to hit the hay.
Child: "I wish Daddy was here. He always does bedtime."
Me: "( Exhausted stare. Take me away, Calgon, take me AWAY....)"
I cannot remember the last time I was so exhausted from the 'process' of going to bed....
Chapter 2: Kitty
As mentioned earlier, Husband has not only a human child, but a furry one, as well. When she's not filling the role of the family "2nd born", Kitty also moonlights as Husband's sidekick in his home office. Like Child, Kitty is pretty much used to Husband being home all day, and changes to that routine can become a bit upsetting:
(Kitty is sitting in the doorway of Husband's Office)
Me: " 'Dads' went to work today. He's not here, Kitty."
Kitty: "Niiiiccce, what am I supposed to do with myself all day? That guy pets me...COME ON!"
Me: "Wanna come downstairs with 'Moms'?"
Kitty: (starts nervous grooming) "No thanks. I'm holding out for the slim chance he returns early, Woman! Hmmm, maybe I'll see how much hair I can get on his computer- hee, hee"
Kitty somehow managed to make it through what would have been *their* workday. At dinner time, she couldn't be fooled anymore. Patience was running thin...:
Me: (noticing cat looking at Husband's empty chair at the table) "Dads isn't going to be here for dinner tonight, Kitty!"
Kitty: "You've got to be friggin kidding me! It's late, and that means that I eat over there on the floor, and he eats on this high-up thing! This isn't funny anymore.... (starts nervous grooming)"
Late evening time is pretty special for Kitty and Husband. For the first two years of her life, Kitty was pretty much my "lap cat"; the last two years, however, have been all about Dads. Well, tonight there was no Dads; would this be the game-changer that I'd been waiting for????:
Kitty: (looking around for Dads. Scornfully eyeing the only available lap- mine) "OK. It's time for my nightly lap. Dads still isn't here. Hmmm..... Woman, you're just going to have to do for tonight."
With that, Kitty lowered her standards, and sat on my lap. I sat there and realized then and there that I had become "sloppy seconds" to a creature that licks it's own bottom... riiiiight....
Of all of the routines that Kitty and Husband share, their bedtime ritual is Kitty's absolute favorite. Because of Husband's allergy to Kitty, the door to the bedroom is closed all day. When we go up to bed at nightime, however, she is allowed to come in for a bit. Kitty plants herself outside of the bathroom door while Husband gets ready, waiting for her nightly scratching/attention. Time to explain that there would be none of that this evening:
Me: "Dads isn't here tonight, Kitty."
Kitty: (starts nervous grooming) "It's been a rough day around here, Woman! Now this??? Well, I'll just run under your bed, then! How do you like them apples?!?!"
Me: (Slowly approaching Kitty, knowing that any abrupt movement will send her under the bed, to the *exact* center, where she cannot be reached) "Time to go night-night, Kitty. Time to see Child!"
After throwing more objects than I care to name, I finally got Kitty out from under the bed, and out the door. She expressed her disgust by howling, and running manically up and down the staircase. Point noted already, Animal- thanks!
After the "Dog and Pony Show" that was the evening, I was relieved to turn off the lights, and just fall asleep. I never *heard* Husband come in last night, but I was made aware of the fact that he was 'in da house' by the incessant pawing on our bedroom door by Kitty as she tried to get to her Dads....
Even after his late night, Husband unselfishlessly awoke in time to have breakfast this morning with Child, and to 'acknowledge' Kitty. I don't think a guy ever felt so appreciated, or missed, at 6 AM in the morning. I'm glad that Husband had a chance to get out for a bit, but I'm very happy that the T family will not be 'minus one' this evening....
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