DH, Mo, and Co have had “two buckets disease” all day today. Thankfully, I’ve been immune, but I think my sense of humor is at the bottom of one of those buckets.
One thing that I have come to appreciate at Mo’s school is the ease of drop off and pick up. You just roll up to the front door and lovely teacher comes out, opens your door, unbuckles your kid and plucks them out. At the end of the day, you roll up, another teacher comes out with your child in hand, opens the door, and deposits them in the car. It’s a great system, but like most systems, there is a flaw.
By the time I pick Mo up from school, the pick-up line is pretty short, no more than two or three cars deep. On some days, and you never know which ones that will be, the cars snake out of driveway and into the street requiring some degree of careful maneuvering on the part of others trying to navigate the roads. On days like that, parents are instructed to form a second line to the left of the original line. The original line, upon seeing the formation of the second line, is to allow the cars of the second line to merge in as space becomes available.
The school was kind enough to even include a diagram of this process in the student handbook.
Of course, if parents actually read the student handbook, we wouldn’t have kerfuffles like we had on Friday.
It turned out Friday was one of those days when everyone arrived at pick-up at the same time. A second line had already formed and all cars were jockeying for position. There was enough space for me to be the tail of the far right line, so that’s where I hung out waiting, waiting, waiting for some progress. Another car pulled up behind me and we continued to wait. Co was in the backseat, being placated with some Nilla Wafers, but they were dwindling with an alarming rapidity and believe me, Co can go from pleasant to down right medieval when there is a lack of snacks. We needed to get Mo and get gone.
Things started moving up ahead on the left hand side, but not the right. I know I hate having the tail of my car protrude into the street, so I did what I thought was a neighborly thing to do, and merged to the left to allow the car behind me to pull fully into the school driveway. There was an Outback ahead of me and a Taurus to my right. The Outback was trying — unsuccessfully — to merge in front of the Lexus that was just ahead of the Taurus.
The Outback had been thwarted not only by the Lexus, but by an Odyssey just ahead of that. Clearly frustrated, the Outback stayed in the left lane, but shot ahead so that it was parallel to the first car in the pick up line. The driver got out and began waving her arms at the teacher who was bringing the children out to the cars. Some kind of exchange occurred with lots of gesturing and finger pointing at the various cars in the right hand line. When it was all said and done, the driver threw her hands in the air and leaned back against her car waiting for her child.
Now, I’m still in the left hand lane, waiting for a break in the right lane so that I could merge in to pick up Mo. But, every time I let my foot off of the brake to ease ahead, the Taurus to my right gunned their engine and pulled even with me. On the third time I eased forward and slightly turned the car towards the right, the Taurus gunned their engine and leaned on their horn as if I’m careening wildly into their path.
Um, don’t you read the handbook? I’m trying to follow the diagram and merge here! I tried one more time and again, the Taurus shot ahead, barely missing the bumper of the Lexus. That just tore it for me. It’s not like this is my first experience with parents refusing reluctant to let me or another driver move ahead of them in line. But Friday, I wasn’t having it. So, I pulled ahead, just behind the Outback, got out and waited. The driver of the Outback was still waiting for her child. She turned to me and started talking as though we’d been having a conversation from the minute we’d pulled into the driveway.
“And another thing I don’t understand is why zey can let only zome people go ahead and not others, you know what I’m zaying? I was here first and zis car (pointing to the Lexus), she will not allow me to move into ze line!” (her accent was Belgian or French or some derivative that made even this diatribe pleasing to the ear). We spied the teacher bringing out the little girl belonging to the Outback driver, who then begins to repeat VERBATIM the exact same speech she just gave me. And she kept repeating herself. Twice at least, steadily raising her voice over the protestations and explanations of the teacher. When she started in a third go round, the teacher said, “That Lexus let in two cars before you! You were not here first! Listen to what I’m trying to tell you!”
I’m pretty sure I heard the French equivalent of “Kiss my grits” as the driver turned to deposit her daughter into the Outback, while the teacher simply said, “Well, you have a nice day,” and turned around to ferry out the next child.
The Taurus had pulled up to the front of the door, all but certain that they’d saved themselves an extra minute or two off of their pick up time by boxing me out. Too bad for them that the teacher brought Mo out before their little person. The teacher handed Mo over to me with an apologetic smile and said, “That Lexus had let several other cars in before she got here. I’m not a traffic cop, you know.”
I wish I had told her I’m not someone who gives a rat’s patoot, but Co was out of Nilla Wafers and we had to boogie.
As I’ve talked about again and again, I’ve got this thing with my hair. Well, here we go one more time.
This was me in 1999. . . .pretty cute at 21, right?
Bright eyes, big smile, average hair.
My hair was just that — hair, not something I worried about much until I needed to get it touched up or trimmed. DH and I were dating — I was a junior in college, he was in law school — and he invited me to a formal. Being the broke college student that I was, I was in a pinch on getting my hair done. Somehow I had finagled a dress, but hadn’t budgeted for a trip to the salon. At least, I couldn’t afford to get the full on relaxer that I so desperately needed. And somehow, I had gone 20 years not knowing that I could have picked up a $5 box kit of Dark and Lovely at K-Mart off of Bypass Rd. So, I decided to just cut it.
As in cut it all off.
And from then on, my hair became an entity unto itself. Once it was cut, I just let it do it’s own thing which I quickly found out was to just spiral around and around.
10 plus years is a long time with one hair-do. I mix it up now and then by pulling it back, blowing it out, wearing pig-tails and whatnot, but for the most part, it’s out, large and in charge. I’ve become known for my hair, often joking that I could never rob a bank because. . .well duh, look at the hair! There are drawbacks of course — strangers wanting to touch it- often times uninvited – combing out the tangles, blowing through conditioner like whoa! And even though I torture it by pressing it out, not moisturizing it enough, and who knows what else, (since my hair care skills are pretty non-existent) it’s very resilient.
Aside from the year DH and I got married, it’s been natural a full 10 years. Within the last few years, though I have been toying with the idea of cutting it off and starting over. My chronology may be off, but when Poshdebuted her bob, I was like, “That’s it! I’m doing it! I’m cutting it off!” and DH was there to talk me down from the ledge with what has become his standard response: “Why don’t you get some braids?” Ugh, how I loathe getting my hair braided. I love how it looks, but I can’t sit that long anymore! If I have 8 hours to give up, is the braid shop really where I want to be? C’mon, now!
Usually after this convo, the moment I set foot out the house I, at least half a dozen people would compliment me on my hair. So I would relent and leave my hair alone.
Then Michelle Williams showed up with her pixie, I said, “That’s it! I’m doing it!” and DH pulled me back in. Then Rhianna caused a style frenzy and I said, “I’m all over that!” And even Margene (a.k.aGinnifer Goodwin) got in on the act. It was a vicious cycle until about two days ago. I saw an old picture of Kiera Knightley and dragged DH into that familiar dance of “That’s it! I’m doing it!”
And, then I did.
Much like Christy, I really don’t put much stock into the whole “New-Year-New-Me” mentality. I’ve tried it. I told myself that I would floss more, eat more fish, eat less dessert, work out more, goof off less, blah, blah, blah. I mean, seeing as I am the quintessential Virgo personality, New Year’s like a fresh start bonanza, but this year, I’m done with self-improvement. It’s all about maintaining the status quo.
I’ve often been told that my expectations of other people, of things, of life in general, are too high. The way I see it, if I keep the bar where it was last year, I won’t be disappointed if I don’t honor my resolutions (Forgot to floss? No problem! Had seconds thirds on dessert? Don’t sweat it!). That way, I can only be pleasantly surprised when things take a turn for the better (Did a load of laundry AND emptied the dishwasher? High five!).
Looks like a win, win to me. So, here’s to keeping the expectations around knee level. Happy New Year!
So, we have one television. We’ve had only one television for a number of years, actually, and it works for us. We try not to let the girls watch to much TV, but it’s not because we think it rots their brains. It’s more of the house could be falling down around their ears and they would turn up the volume on the set because they couldn’t hear Olivia’s dialogue over the crashing of support beams.
Example A: Morgan is first introduced to TV as something we turn on while I braid her hair. I need for her to sit still, and the glow of the screen entrances her. That makes me a little nervous, but for the 25 minutes her show is on, she no longer looks like zippity-do-dah about the head. She’s not quite 2 yet, but she’s stringing a few words together to make herself understood. She starts asking to watch “a show” and DH and I gently remind her that it’s only for when we do her hair. She asks, “Watch news?”
Did I mention she’s not quite two yet? When did she learn the difference between CNN and Playhouse Disney? When we gently explain to her that isn’t going to happen, she simply turns to DH and preys on his weakness. “Watch Cow-ba-boys?” she asks? Oh, are we in for it.
Example B: Morgan turns 3 years old and as a birthday treat, I let her watch The Little Mermaid. She was still mastering potty training and realized, at a crucial scene in the movie, she had to go to the bathroom. She calls for me, letting me know, “Mommy, I have to go potty”, to which I reply, “Okay, go to the bathroom.” To her credit, she did make it to the actual bathroom. I’m pretty sure she kept one eye on the TV as she walked over there. After a few minutes, when I didn’t hear the toilet flush, I found her standing in the bathroom, door wide open and her soggy pants down around her ankles. She wasn’t the least bit perturbed. She was looking at something over my shoulder as I peeled off those pee-pee pants. Oh yes, the TV.
In an event, we try to keep the TV to a minimum because the girls have lots of toys, we do arts & craps (when I feel strong enough), we do playdates and basically because I know the TV is my ace-in-the-hole when I need 30 uninterrupted minutes of my own to make a phone call/make dinner/make a mad grab for a cup of coffe with me, myself and I.
Most days, I am the first one up, usually a good hour or so before everyone else. I pull out the laundry and flip on the TV to get caught up on whatever’s in the DVR. Yesterday, was no exception. The day after Christmas means people are going to sleep in, which means, I can still get up early to do some things for me for a little bit. I got up, pounded out 3 miles outside, came in and pulled out the ol‘ laundry buckets. And let me just say for two adults and two children, we produce dirty laundry at an astonishing rate — I’m doing at least 3 loads every other day.
At any rate, the girls come downstairs with their grandma, who sets about getting their breakfast. Santa brought Mo and Co a dollhouse this year, which they busy themselves with in the other room while breakfast is being made. I power on the TV and even over the sound of pots, pans, their Uncle “breathing deeply” on the sofa, Mo is at my side faster than you can say “DVR“.
“Kai washa show? (translation: Can I watch a show?)” she breathes, her eyes affixing themselves to the screen.
“It’s Mommy’s turn to watch a show, and unless you are going to fold some laundry,” I gesture to the two buckets at my feet, “you should go play.”
“Ohhhhhkayyyyy,” she sighs and literally, drops her head to her chest as she trudges out to the room. Walking the green mile back to her toys!
Not even five minutes later, she dashes back into the room, shouting “I have to go potty!” Now the way our family room is set up, the TV is on one wall and the sofa faces the TV set. There is plenty of walking room between the TV and the sofa, as well as behind the sofa. The wall behind the sofa has the door to the laundry room and to the half bath which is where we now find Mo, as she has left the door wide open – again – so that she can keep an eye on the TV.
I am hip to this trick and I turn the TV off, to which her disembodied voice says, “Why did you turn off the TV?”
“So you can use the potty.”
“Mom, I have to tell you something!” Oh boy, this is classic Mo-dizzle stall tactic/pre-face to any defense argument she has ever concocted. “Mom! Mom! Michelle and Karen (her teachers) taught me how to fold laundry in practical life*, so now I can watch TV!”
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider handing her the bucket and the remote. Now, if I could just get Co to separate the lights from the darks. . .
*At Mo’s school they do what is called Practical Life activities, which are tasks the child can learn on how to do living activities in a purposeful way. Whenever I ask her what she has done at school on a given day, the top three answers are 1) played, 2) colored and 3) played.
Please bring Mo and Co some choreography skills and rhythm for Christmas.
(By the way, I don’t know what big lady dances are, but she didn’t learn it from me!)
Merry Christmas, everyone!
When you wake up to howling winds, rain beating down on your roof like it’s the big, bad, wolf, and temperatures hovering in the low 30s, it’s all to easy to just pull the comforter over your head and chalk the day up as a loss before it even starts. And yet, that’s not what happened today. Today could have sucked, but it didn’t.
It’s really a tie for first place for the first thing that happened that was so awesome. I got to sleep in — hello 7:45am — and DH brought me coffee in bed. When your day starts like that, it can only go up from there. I really don’t think I have to go any further, but I will.
I came downstairs to find breakfast made and waiting for me, the girls fresh-faced and well rested, and the Christmas tree lit, shimmering with holiday goodness. We had a leisurely breakfast while the rain steadily fell down, down, down. The girls dropped their dishes in the sink and their pj’s on the floor in favor of dress-up clothes and arts & crafts. I told Mo that I was going to help DH clean up the kitchen and that I wouldn’t be able to help her with arts & crafts. Guess what? She was totally cool with it and she made paper dolls for herself and her sister — BY HERSELF! Will wonders never cease?!
Mo and Co played so nicely downstairs, constructing a mini puppet theatre out of sofa cushions, their anywhere chairs, and an easel. Somehow, the trail of debris wound it’s way upstairs to their room, but guess what? I didn’t care.
At about 10:30, we decided we should probably motivate and hit the Y. Piling into the car, we wound our way through the rainy Norfolk streets, only to realize we should have used an outboard motor instead of the car to get to there. Norfolk was flooded — again. Detour to the Harris Teeter for some groceries because if you can’t work out at the Y and you certainly can’t work out outside, the only thing to do is bake!
DH and I had the kitchen running like a well oiled machine. He decided he want to make Osso Bucco for dinner tonight — I love it when he watches Food Network — and I decided I wanted to make chocolate chip muffins, chocolate & peanut butter chip cookies with walnuts, and cake balls! I think a big part of the reason today could have sucked but didn’t was because I got to say cake balls at least a dozen times.
We decided to order out for lunch since, despite our trip to the grocery, neither one of us wanted to make anything for lunch. We placed our order and were on our way to pick it up when the rains caused the Lafayette River to swell and flood the streets. Our routes to the restaurant were thwarted, so DH called to cancel the order. The restaurant said, “NO! The food is ready! We’ll bring it to you!” Um, have you seen the streets? You? Bring it to us? Doubtful, but we said alright.
Once at home, we pulled out every pot and pan, every mixing bowl and measuring cup. DH got to chopping, I got to stirring. He was sauteeing, I was mixing. We didn’t have any Christmas carols playing in the background; just the sound of the girls playing upstairs. And then the sound of the doorbell. Holy Cake Balls (hee hee)! The delivery guy made it!
Lunch was served, the children were happy, our bellies were full, and even better, the rain stopped. We put the kids down for some quiet time and then took turns heading outside to do some pre–emptive damage control for all of the junk we plan on eating later on.
It was, to quote my grandma, “colder than a witches tit” outside. 3 miles, an excellent Genius mix, and one frozen nose later, the run was done. Success! That run could have totally sucked, but how can you start to walk when “Fire” comes on.
And now the children are watching “A Charlie Brown Christmas”, the Osso Bucco is simmering nicely in the crockpot, and the cakeballs are resting in the fridge. We’re going to a holiday party tonight and I even know what I’m going to wear and I know that it’s going to fit when I put it on (talk about wonder never ceasing).
Yeah, today could have sucked, but it totally didn’t.