Where are my pants?

Sabrina: What are you wearing???

Rose: Pajama pants.

S: Those are MY pajama pants.

R: No, they're not.

S: Yes, they are.

R: No, they're not. They've been in my drawer for more than a year.

S: That doesn't matter. They're mine.

R: No, they're not.

S: I've been wondering where they were.

R: They've been in my drawer, because they're mine.

S: No, I remember distinctly what happened. Mom bought me some pajama pants at Old Navy. They were slightly too big, so she went back and got me the next size down. I've always had two pairs of pants that look exactly the same.

R: Well, they are mine. But even so, you shouldn't miss these because you already have a pair that is EXACTLY THE SAME.

S: Give them back. They're mine.

R: No, they are not. Why do you need two of the same thing anyway?

S: Because I like them, AND THEY ARE MINE!

R: No.

S: GIVE THEM BACK!!!

R: No. I am not taking these pants off and giving them to you.

S: Take them off, wash them, and give them back.

R: No.

Me: Can we please talk about something else? I am really tired of hearing about the pants.

Grandma: I heard you girls saw a movie yesterday. Did you like it?

S: Mom and I did. Rose didn't watch it, because she doesn't like any of the same things that I do.

Calvin: She likes the same pants.

Honesty

Me: How was your voice lesson today?

Rose: Great. Although my voice teacher said I really need to work on lowering my larynx.

Me: Yes, you certainly do.

R: Wait! You knew about this?

Me: Yes, dear.

R: Why didn't you tell me???

Me: Because you don't listen to me or my advice.

R: True.

Helpful

Sabrina: Guess what? I asked that boy out and he said --

Rose: No?

S: As a matter of fact he said yes.

R: Really? I guess he must like snacks or romantic play dates.

S: Shut up. I didn't use either of those terms. But I forgot to ask him for his cell phone. What should I say?

R: Here's an idea. How about, "Hey, what's your phone number?"

S: I can't do that!

R: Why on earth not?

S: Well, for one thing, that sounds too simple. Besides, what if he forgot I asked him out? Then he'd think I was weird for asking for his number, and I'd be really embarrassed.

R: That's not going to happen.

S: But what if it does?

R: Okay, how about this? Excuse me, could we possibly exchange numbers for our cellular devices so that we may communicate about coordinating any future romantic get-togethers?

S: Seriously?

R: You said my first suggestion was too simple, so I was just trying to sound like you.

That was easy.

Sabrina: I think I want to ask this boy out. Is that okay?

Me: I guess. What were you thinking of?

S: Maybe asking him to go out for a snack or something.

Rose: A snack? What are you, a preschooler?

S: How about a romantic play date? Would that make you feel any better, Rose?

R: Oh, my gosh, you are killing me. I won't ever be able to show my face around school again.

S: That was just too easy.

Target Terror

One morning we had some time to kill before our fun for the day started. We looked around and thought, "What can we possibly do to entertain five kids?" (Both girls had friends along for the ride.) Seeing that entertainment was scarce at that hour, David decided to while away the minutes at Target. He reasoned he could sit at the Starbucks conveniently located at the front of the store while he set our kids loose in the main store. I later asked how it went.

Me: So, what did you guys do while you were at Target?

Rose: We had lots of fun. My friend and I played Target Terror.

Me: Target Terror?

R: No, mom, you misheard. It was Target Dare.

Me: How do you play that?

R: You come up with funny activities and then your friend has to do them.

Me: For example?

R: I put a lampshade on my head and went up to a Target employee and said, "I have a party to go to this afternoon. Do you think this is too mainstream?"

Me: You actually did that?

R: Of course.

Me: How did the person react?

R: They looked sort of confused/scared and told  me that no, the lampshade was not too mainstream. I thanked them politely and walked away.

Me: I think Target Terror might be the more appropriate name after all.

Biscuits

Rose was upset the other day. Who knows why. Some days I believe it is because I exist and deign to talk to her. Often, we all feel better if we practice what I like to call "the joys of being alone." In this case, it was not possible. Family was visiting, and we were all going out to breakfast. This did not please Rose who insisted she was not hungry and would rather just stay home. I told her she did not have to eat, she only had to grace us with her smiling countenance and cheerful presence. She did not appreciate my humor.

Although, she insisted she was not hungry, people kept asking her if she would like something to eat. After the fourth time someone asked her if she would at least like a biscuit, Rose turned back from the window she was staring out of and snapped, "I am NOT hungry! I do not want ANY biscuits!!!" Being the peace-seeking family that we are, we needed a way to avoid antagonizing her further. Her grandfather came up with a brilliant idea and made a sign to encourage people to leave her alone.

You can see this made her feel quite a bit better.

Not long after, apparently deciding her point had been made, or perhaps deciding the hunger pangs were too strong to ignore, she turned away from the window and pulled a plate toward herself.

Because I always aim to be helpful, I pointed out that our signage was no longer correct. Appropriate changes were made.

Do not discount the power of a well-made sign. Rose was able to snag a third biscuit.

Oh, my gosh, Mom, will you stop taking pictures of me???

Who's the smart one now?

Shortly after we moved to Half Moon Bay, I went with the girls to enroll them in the local high school. We met with their counselor. She looked at their transcripts and the classes they were enrolled in at their previous school and started to put together schedules for them. One obstacle appeared when we asked  for advanced English and advanced math for both the girls, and AP World History for Sabrina. The counselor was extremely reluctant to enroll them in these classes. Her reasoning was that we were coming in after the start of the year, these advanced classes had required a fairly heavy summer workload, and therefore they would be behind.

Sabrina started to get quite upset and insisted that she needed to be in those classes. The counselor hesitated and then said, "Well, if you agree to do all the summer work to get caught up, I will enroll you in your requested classes." Sabrina immediately said yes, of course she would do that. Sign her up now, please. Rose, on the other hand, was silent. When the counselor turned to her and inquired, "Will you agree to do the summer work also?" Rose replied, "No, I will not. Enroll me in regular classes, please." The counselor looked at me, and I shrugged and told her to do as Rose asked. If Rose did not want to do the extra work, I was not going to fight her.

The girls started on a Thursday. Sabrina had a horrific first weekend. Despite her new school starting a week later than her old school, she was astonished to find that her new AP World History class was moving much faster. She was already three chapters behind. In addition, her English teacher told her she needed to read a 300-page book from the summer assignments. Sabrina spent every waking hour trying to catch up. She got very little sleep and became slightly hysterical. Meanwhile, Rose played games with Calvin, slept in, and watched TV.

On Monday, Rose's counselor called her into her office. After administering a couple of tests, Rose's English teacher had called the counselor and said, "Don't be ridiculous. Move this girl up. She belongs in Advanced English." So the counselor looked at Rose and said, "If you do not have to do any of the summer or catch-up work, would you consider moving to Advanced English?" Rose replied, "Of course."

At dinner, in an off-hand manner, Rose mentioned they switched her classes that day. I asked why, and she told me what had happened. I looked over at Sabrina, whose eyes were still bloodshot from reading a 300-page book and doing six history assignments in 48 hours, and hoped the mess to clean up wouldn't be too extensive after her head exploded.

She's charming and she knows it.

Me: How is school going? Are you getting settled in? Do you like your teachers?

Sabrina: I like most of my classes. The class I like least is Art.

Me: Really? That surprises me.

Sabrina: Yeah. I don't think the teacher likes me much.

Me: I'd be shocked if that were actually true.

Sabrina: There have been some teachers over the years that haven't liked me, Mom.

Rose: Here's a list of teachers over the years that haven't liked me. (brief silence) I'm done.

A tree hijacked my day.

I had a great day planned -- bike ride, trip to the mall with my girls, reading a book,  and generally enjoying a relaxing vacation day. I got up and asked the girls to go on a bike ride with me. They both said no, but were persuaded when I threw in a stop at Starbucks. Things were going swimmingly (or bikingly).

See how much fun we're having?

Things fell apart on the way home. The girls were zooming ahead. I was trying to keep up, but failing miserably. I had my head down, huffing and puffing, and the next time I looked up, I saw this:

Well, I saw this plus Rose in a heap.

By the time I got there, Rose was back up on her feet and saying, "I'm okay. I'm okay." She showed me her scrapes. Then, she said, "I think I will lay down now." And she went to the grass next to the sidewalk and proceeded to just lie there looking up at the sky. We were still a good three-quarters of a mile from our house. Not knowing what else to do, I made her get up and ride home.

After we got home, I called David to walk me through cleaning her up since I am incompetent in this area. (I'm positive it was in our wedding vows that David was to take care of all scrapes, accidents, and blood.)

First, I cleaned up this.

And then this.

And finally this.

To keep her distracted while I was cleaning, I asked her how the accident happened. Rose said she zoned out for a second, and the next thing she knew her handlebars hit the tree, which knocked her front wheel 90 degrees, and she fell. Honestly, my first thought was, "This girl should never be allowed to drive a car."

After she had bandages on all her booboos, I noticed that she was holding her arm funny. She couldn't bend it or straighten it very far. Getting her shirt back on was a challenge. And the girl who never cries was close to tears when we were done. I canceled all our plans and called the doctor, who got us in immediately.

Waiting.

The doctor examined her arm and said he thought it was badly bruised, but he was concerned that she had limited range of motion. He sent us to get x-rays.

And he gave her a sling.

More waiting. Thank goodness I remembered to bring my iPad.

Getting the x-rays.

The x-ray technician asked Rose how she hurt her arm. Rose said, "Well, my bike and I had some hand-to-hand combat with a tree. The tree won."

Results: Looks like a fracture and we are set to see the orthopedist tomorrow.

I thought this was a family show.

We were watching the finale of The Amazing Race, and having a discussion about the teams that were still in the race.

Rose: I like all the teams that are left. But if I have to choose, I think I would have to say I am rooting for the two Chippendale guys.

Me: They certainly turned out to be really nice, didn't they?

Rose: Yeah, they're really . . .

Me: Charming?

Rose: Muscular.

Signage

Rose posted a sign on her door a few months ago

A new sign appeared today.

It says:

NEED TIME ALONE.

Please read the following:

Listen, peeps, I need time alone to be calm and and be me. If you wish to speak with me, please come back in an hour, then re-read this message and do as instructed. This is not one of those stupid "Keep Out but I'm ignoring it" signs. If you enter now, it will be not be pretty. Face the wrath of my stupid attitude, blah, blah, blah.

Merry Xmas,

Rose George

I grudgingly accept your right to exist

Rosie's first boyfriend broke up with her a couple of weeks ago. Since then we've all suffered: Rose because her heart was broken; the rest of the family because we have been subjected to Justin Bieber's "Baby" over and over and over again. But there have been signs she might be coming out of her funk. Instead of silent tears pouring down her face, she's been really angry and snapping and snarling at everyone in the family. This evening she had the following conversation with her father:

Rose: Dad, it doesn't bother me as much to be around "Brick" anymore. My friend said I should talk to him and tell him that so it won't be as awkward when we have to do stuff at school together.

David: So you are ready to tell him that you are done wishing him a horrible death in a pit of fire, and you acknowledge that he has a right to exist on the planet?

Rose: Yes! Can I actually tell him that?

David: It's not my business.

Rose: (smiles)

"Why me?" mother asks.

Rose: Rose is wondering what her family is doing today.

Me: Why?

Rose: Because Rose is hungry, and Rose would like to get something to eat soon.

Me: Why are you talking in the third person?

Rose: Rose is practicing for the Third Person Event.

Me: What's that?

Rose: The Third Person Event is where every member participating talks in the third person for a whole week, unless they are talking to a teacher or an adult who doesn't enjoy the wonders of third person.

Me: You do realize that Elmo is also a creature who speaks in the third person, and it makes me want to punch him in the face?

Rose: Rose will take under consideration the fact that her mother is one of the adults who has a problem with this event.

David: Rose is wise in that assessment.

Who says schooling stops during the summer?

Sabrina: What should I do, Rose?

Rose: This, this, or this.

S: No, no, and no. I don't like those options.

R: (very calmly) Fine, I'm leaving.

S: But I need your opinions and help.

R: (also calmly) No, you don't. And I'm not happy. (leaves the room)

(a short while later)

S: Rose! Come help me mash the cookie dough. I don't like getting my hands dirty.

R: Awesome! Kill the butter! Kill the butter!

S: You're not doing it right.

R: Yes, I am.

S: No, you're not. Do it this way.

R: Trust me. I've mashed many, many doughs in my life. I'm an expert.

S: No, you're doing it wrong.

R: Do it yourself then. (and walks away)

S: Come back! I don't want to do it! I hate how messy it is!

R: Guess you should have thought of that before you started criticizing me.

Dinner at the George household

Sabrina: One of my life goals was to be six feet tall, but it looks like I am never going to achieve that. I am devastated, but I believe I am going to have to resign myself to being a high-heel-wearing short girl.

Rose: I like my height right now. I'm taller than most of the boys in my class.

Calvin: As long as I'm not freakishly small or really, really, really, really, really, really tall, I don't care what my height will be. I can still have pie.

It's all in your perspective

While at the bookstore yesterday, I got the kids a treat to eat while they were reading their new books. Calvin chose an apple tart. After making a valiant effort at eating it with a fork, he finally gave up and ate it with his hands. This was, predictably, extremely messy.

Rose: Calvin, oh my gosh, look at your hands! They're all covered in --

Calvin: Heaven.

It's so hard to be 12 years old.

It was really hot, and Rose had a couple of gift cards to spend, so we went to the book store yesterday afternoon. She spent some time in the kids'section, picked up a couple of books, put them down, and generally looked sort of uncomfortable.

R: Um, Mom.

Me: Yes, sweetie?

R: I'm not really sure I belong in this section anymore.

Me: Oh, really? Why not?

R: I'm thinking I'm just too old for it now.

So I told her there was a teen section, and she asked where it was. I took her there, being very familiar with its location due to her older sister practically living there. She browsed for a while and then turned to me and said, in a very disgusted voice:

R: Are ALL these books about love?

Me: Pretty much.

R: Then I'm going back to the kids' section.

Tooth Loss Revisited

While we like to be ahead of the game in many things here at the George household, we are ever behind the eight ball in tooth loss. None of my children got their first tooth as babies until they were over a year old. This has translated into late tooth loss. Unfortunately for them, this is hereditary. I also lost my teeth very late. I remember watching every kid in my first grade class get to put up sticker after sticker on the tooth-loss chart, while the column after my name stayed pristine and unsullied. I hated that teacher. I never got anything. By the time I started losing my teeth, nobody was doing charts anymore. Therapy is helping me to deal with this loss.

The delay in tooth loss means that we are still getting visits from the tooth fairy at the George household. Sabrina just lost her last baby tooth last month, and she is well on her way to 14. I cannot tell you how tired I am of reminding that fairy to exchange teeth for money; so tired that often it is forgotten until weeks later when one of my children hands me a letter asking me to deliver it to the tooth fairy, and if I happen to see him, would it be at all possible to let him know that he is obviously showing his age since no money has been delivered on time for quite a while now. There is a general air of weariness around everyone involved in these transactions, a little bit of cynicism, and a wish for it to all be over. Here is the latest note from Rose.

Dear tooth fairy, Here's my stupid, gross tooth that made my mouth look awful. I hope you're happy. Rose :(

Mum's the Word

Rose used to be a chatterbox. She would speak for long periods of time on any subject that was on her mind, and she would speak so quickly that it was very tough to get a word in edgewise. Basically, your job was to just nod and interject an, "Oh, really?" from time to time. But as she has approached the teenage years, that communication flow has slowed from a roaring rapid to a slow trickle. Most days she won't speak to me at all. I just get a head nod or eye roll. And if talking is absolutely unavoidable, she'll throw an unintelligible grunt in my general direction. I've become an expert in interpreting grunts. If there was an exam to test fluency in grunting, I would knock it out of the park. I've seen her talking animatedly to friends, so obviously it's not that she doesn't want to talk; she just doesn't want to talk to mom. I won't deny that it's worried me a little. I used to think quiet would be a blessed relief after Sabrina's constant histrionics, but I was wrong. At least with Sabrina I know everything since her life motto is, "No thought left unsaid!" It can be wearying, but I know exactly where I stand and what's going on. Rose is a mystery.

Then, the other night I was curled up in a chair in the corner of our family room reading a book. David and Rose came and sat down at the dining room table while David helped her with her math homework. They worked on algebra for 30 minutes or so, and then the conversation opened up. Rose started asking David questions. They talked about school, grades, when to starting thinking about college, boys, soccer, and the best way to write the letter "G". I stayed absolutely still, trying to make myself invisible. It was such a wonder to hear her open up and talk, I didn't want to ruin it. I just sat there and listened with a smile in my heart, thanking God for my husband.

Into the Wild

Rose: We're going whitewater rafting this summer, right?

David: Yes.

Rose: What class of rapids will there be?

David: I think it's class 2 and 3, honey.

Rose: Well, that's a little disappointing. I was hoping for 4.

David: I think you'll have fun anyway.

Rose: I don't know, Dad. You know I'm an adventure-in-the-wild type of gal.

This from the girl who refused to ride her bike without training wheels until she was nine.