Rose and I have been fighting a battle over exactly how clean her hair should be. I vote for squeaky, shiny clean. She votes for shiny, but it certainly ain't squeaky. And since I refuse to bodily pick her up and dump her in the shower, she wins the battle slightly more frequently than I do. I don't care what you think. I figure eventually peer pressure will get to her, and this is just not the ditch I choose to die in.
Monday I sent her off to school with greasy, stringy hair having lost the Sunday evening battle. And right after she left the house I got an email from the school reminding me that it was spring picture day. Whoops. Guess I won't be purchasing those. I shrugged my shoulders and went on with my day.
Later, I picked Rose up from school. She said, "Mom, guess what? It was picture day today. I totally forgot." I said, "Yeah, I know," getting ready to commiserate with her, when she cheerfully added, "Good thing I wore a totally cute outfit!"
I may need to purchase one after all, if for no other reason than potential future mortification.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Oh, Look. Scissors
You remember how Rose wanted to bring scissors in her carryon so she could perform yarn magic on the plane? And I told her she couldn't? Here's round two.
We're at the beach, which I have a love/hate relationship with. I love sitting, watching the waves, drinking a rum and coke. I hate sand. I really hate it. But my kids can't get enough of it. Rose's idea of a good time can be summed up by her ecstatic statement, "Look! The sand sticks better when you're wet!" This means sand gets everywhere. Even the lining of swimsuits get sand, and for the life of me I can't figure out how it gets there. There's no opening whatsoever, and yet sand accumulates to the point where the swimsuits are sagging and threatening to drop off bodies. And while most people on vacation are looking for entertainment, I'm pretty sure wardrobe malfunctions are not what they had in mind.
To prevent my kids from being arrested for indecent exposure, I knew I had to get rid of that sand in their swimsuits. And the only way I could think of was to cut a hole in the lining. I asked if anybody had seen a pair of scissors in the condo, and Sabrina handed me a pair. I cut holes like crazy, emptied the sand, and thought nothing more of it.
Until the next day on the beach, while sipping a rum and coke, the thought occurred to me that the scissors Sabrina handed to me looked awfully familiar. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure that those red-handled scissors were mine. How in the world did they get here?
I asked Sabrina where she got those scissors. She said, "I brought them."
"How?"
"In my backpack, of course," she replied, in that particular tone of voice preteens reserve for their very stupid parents.
Yep, the carryon backpack. The one that was diligently examined by two TSA experts by X-ray as we were taking off shoes and belts and emptying loose change into small buckets to prevent any of our young potential security threats from bringing any sharp or dangerous objects onto the plane. But they missed a pair of scissors with 8-inch blades. Huh. What do you know? Don't you feel safer?
Maybe I shouldn't post this, because the terrorists might just read it and realize they should be using purple backpacks to smuggle sharp objects.
We're at the beach, which I have a love/hate relationship with. I love sitting, watching the waves, drinking a rum and coke. I hate sand. I really hate it. But my kids can't get enough of it. Rose's idea of a good time can be summed up by her ecstatic statement, "Look! The sand sticks better when you're wet!" This means sand gets everywhere. Even the lining of swimsuits get sand, and for the life of me I can't figure out how it gets there. There's no opening whatsoever, and yet sand accumulates to the point where the swimsuits are sagging and threatening to drop off bodies. And while most people on vacation are looking for entertainment, I'm pretty sure wardrobe malfunctions are not what they had in mind.
To prevent my kids from being arrested for indecent exposure, I knew I had to get rid of that sand in their swimsuits. And the only way I could think of was to cut a hole in the lining. I asked if anybody had seen a pair of scissors in the condo, and Sabrina handed me a pair. I cut holes like crazy, emptied the sand, and thought nothing more of it.
Until the next day on the beach, while sipping a rum and coke, the thought occurred to me that the scissors Sabrina handed to me looked awfully familiar. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure that those red-handled scissors were mine. How in the world did they get here?
I asked Sabrina where she got those scissors. She said, "I brought them."
"How?"
"In my backpack, of course," she replied, in that particular tone of voice preteens reserve for their very stupid parents.
Yep, the carryon backpack. The one that was diligently examined by two TSA experts by X-ray as we were taking off shoes and belts and emptying loose change into small buckets to prevent any of our young potential security threats from bringing any sharp or dangerous objects onto the plane. But they missed a pair of scissors with 8-inch blades. Huh. What do you know? Don't you feel safer?
Maybe I shouldn't post this, because the terrorists might just read it and realize they should be using purple backpacks to smuggle sharp objects.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
In Which Yarn Gets Left Behind
Me: Rose, have you packed your carryon bag for the airplane?
R: Yes.
Me: What did you pack?
R: I have a couple of books, a pencil box with pens and pencils, a clipboard so I have something hard to draw on, some paper, and my journal. I also packed some yarn and a pair of scissors in case I wanted to make anything yarn-y.
Me: Um, sweetie, you can't pack scissors in your carryon bag.
R: Oh, is it considered a weapon?
Me: Yes, it is.
R: All right. Well, then, I may as well take the yarn out, too. If I don't have the scissors, I can't use the yarn. I can't just chew the ends.
Me: Probably not.
R: No, I really can't. I've tried it before.
R: Yes.
Me: What did you pack?
R: I have a couple of books, a pencil box with pens and pencils, a clipboard so I have something hard to draw on, some paper, and my journal. I also packed some yarn and a pair of scissors in case I wanted to make anything yarn-y.
Me: Um, sweetie, you can't pack scissors in your carryon bag.
R: Oh, is it considered a weapon?
Me: Yes, it is.
R: All right. Well, then, I may as well take the yarn out, too. If I don't have the scissors, I can't use the yarn. I can't just chew the ends.
Me: Probably not.
R: No, I really can't. I've tried it before.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Boobies are Better
A recent conversation our family had while we were driving around town:
Rose: Mom, guess what?
Me: What?
Rose: I'm finally growing boobies! Isn't that awesome?
Me: Yes, honey, it sure is.
Sabrina: Rose, I can't believe you just said that!
Rose: What?
Sabrina: You shouldn't talk about your boobies.
Rose: Why not? It's taken forever. And besides, boobies are better.
Calvin: No, they're not.
Rose: They are, too.
Calvin: No, they're not!
Rose: Boobies are better. Wieners are worse.
Sabrina: Ewww!
Calvin: Boobies are not better. Wieners are.
Rose: Boobies are better. Wieners are worse. Notice the alliteration? I'm obviously right.
Calvin: Okay, then . . . Boobies boo. Wieners win.
Sabrina: Guys, stop it! Mom, make them stop!
Rose: Boobies are better! Wieners are worse!
Calvin: Boobies boo! Wieners win!
Sabrina: (hands over ears) I'm not listening.
I'm lucky I didn't drive off the side of the road I was laughing so hard.
Rose: Mom, guess what?
Me: What?
Rose: I'm finally growing boobies! Isn't that awesome?
Me: Yes, honey, it sure is.
Sabrina: Rose, I can't believe you just said that!
Rose: What?
Sabrina: You shouldn't talk about your boobies.
Rose: Why not? It's taken forever. And besides, boobies are better.
Calvin: No, they're not.
Rose: They are, too.
Calvin: No, they're not!
Rose: Boobies are better. Wieners are worse.
Sabrina: Ewww!
Calvin: Boobies are not better. Wieners are.
Rose: Boobies are better. Wieners are worse. Notice the alliteration? I'm obviously right.
Calvin: Okay, then . . . Boobies boo. Wieners win.
Sabrina: Guys, stop it! Mom, make them stop!
Rose: Boobies are better! Wieners are worse!
Calvin: Boobies boo! Wieners win!
Sabrina: (hands over ears) I'm not listening.
I'm lucky I didn't drive off the side of the road I was laughing so hard.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Birthday Plans
We do birthday parties for the kids every other year. This preserves my pocketbook as well as my sanity. This year is a party year, Rose's birthday is fast approaching, and I have no idea what to do. I was starting to stress. And then I found this little sheet of paper laying around.
Birthday Party Plan
1. Meet at my house and play games.
2. Goof off, hang out.
3. Drive to Sky Zone.
4. Jump for as long as possible at Sky Zone.
5. Back to my house.
6. Open present, eat cake/ice cream.
7. Have accessorize time
- paint nails
-hair dos
8. Fashion/show off time
- dress up
- walk runway
9. Pajamas, brush teeth, etc.
10. Sing off.
11. Get in bed.
12. Stay up until late talking about girly stuff and boys.
Guess I don't need to worry. Rose has got it all covered.
Birthday Party Plan
1. Meet at my house and play games.
2. Goof off, hang out.
3. Drive to Sky Zone.
4. Jump for as long as possible at Sky Zone.
5. Back to my house.
6. Open present, eat cake/ice cream.
7. Have accessorize time
- paint nails
-hair dos
8. Fashion/show off time
- dress up
- walk runway
9. Pajamas, brush teeth, etc.
10. Sing off.
11. Get in bed.
12. Stay up until late talking about girly stuff and boys.
Guess I don't need to worry. Rose has got it all covered.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Doing it Right
S: Mom, can I ask you a question?
Me: Sure. What's up?
S: Did you and dad . . . do it . . . to get me?
Me: Do it?
S: You know.
Me: You mean sex?
S: MOM!
Me: Well, yes, of course we did.
S: . . . really?
Me: News flash, honey. Everyone in this world got here because people had sex.
S: MOM!
Me: What?
S: Don't say that word!
Me: Sex?
S: MOM!
Me: Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex.
S: (hands over ears) Stop it!
Me: Sweetie, you just learned one of life's little lessons.
S: What's that?
Me: You don't ever want to think about your parents having sex --
S: Ewww!
Me: -- and you don't want to think about your children having sex.
S: Mom, please say "doing it."
Me: That's why daddies often have trouble when their daughters come home after they've been married a while and announce they're pregnant. They can no longer ignore the fact that their daughter has, in fact, been having sex.
S: Well, my dad won't have that problem.
Me: Oh, really? Why not?
S: Because I'm adopting.
Me: But don't you plan on getting married someday?
S: Yes. But I'm sure we'll wait three or four years before we think about . . . you know.
Me: Sure. What's up?
S: Did you and dad . . . do it . . . to get me?
Me: Do it?
S: You know.
Me: You mean sex?
S: MOM!
Me: Well, yes, of course we did.
S: . . . really?
Me: News flash, honey. Everyone in this world got here because people had sex.
S: MOM!
Me: What?
S: Don't say that word!
Me: Sex?
S: MOM!
Me: Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex.
S: (hands over ears) Stop it!
Me: Sweetie, you just learned one of life's little lessons.
S: What's that?
Me: You don't ever want to think about your parents having sex --
S: Ewww!
Me: -- and you don't want to think about your children having sex.
S: Mom, please say "doing it."
Me: That's why daddies often have trouble when their daughters come home after they've been married a while and announce they're pregnant. They can no longer ignore the fact that their daughter has, in fact, been having sex.
S: Well, my dad won't have that problem.
Me: Oh, really? Why not?
S: Because I'm adopting.
Me: But don't you plan on getting married someday?
S: Yes. But I'm sure we'll wait three or four years before we think about . . . you know.
Side Effects May Include an Increased Tendency to be a Smart-Ass
David: Calvin, what happened to your face? You've got a really bad rash.
C: I don't know. The doctor said it was an allergic reaction to something.
Me: He's also been really lethargic all day. And he missed playing with his friends at school, so he seems a little depressed.
C: Cymbalta can help.
C: I don't know. The doctor said it was an allergic reaction to something.
Me: He's also been really lethargic all day. And he missed playing with his friends at school, so he seems a little depressed.
C: Cymbalta can help.
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