Have you got all your gear together yet?
Archives for November 2007
A mother is someone whose phone call you can answer unembarrassed even though Vanilla Ice is blasting on your stereo while your kids dance around like maniacs in the background.
For 7 hours we drove around getting further and further from home. If we’re already in Redmond, we might as well go to the mall in Bellevue. If we’re already in Bellevue, we might as well drive 15 more miles to IKEA. While we’re so close to the airport, I might as well take the kids to Hawaii. [read more at Parenting.com]
I had no idea things were deteriorating this quickly. She’s always shown a preference for soft fabrics but I thought it would take her more than 4 years of life to spiral downward into a world clothed exclusively by stretch pants. Her future now seems certain. She’ll be shuffling around in a floral house dress by age 12.
Yesterday when I was getting her dressed for school, she complained that her jeans were uncomfortable. “When I wear them I feel like my legs are bleeding,” she whined dramatically, tugging at the legs of her pants. “I want to wear soft pants only.”
“But these are warmer and the fabric is stronger. They look really nice.”
“But they hurt so-ho-ho ba-ha-had! If I need warm pants, I can wear the ones that are made out of fleece.”
Her useable wardrobe is now limited to sweats, stretch pants, leggings, pajamas and princess gowns and I’m a little worried. Don’t get me wrong. I love me a comfy pair of “yoga pants.” The new title “yoga pants” sounds so much more chic and active than “stretch pants” or “spandex”. I’m well pleased with it. However, I don’t wear them out in public, except to the gym and it’s taken me years as a stay at home mom to love them as much as I do right now. I’m guessing I’ll need to give birth to at least 2 more kids before I degenerate to the point where I wear them at all times and in all places.
Laylee on the other hand has already given in. She has no desire to rage against the dying of the light. She cares only for comfort.
I think my only option is to get her hooked on yoga or some other brand of near-eastern fitness craze. Then we can always tell people that she’s on her way to work out.
Now when the stretch pants get too scratchy and she’s ready to move on to muumuus, I’m not sure what I’ll tell people. Maybe, “Her grandkids are coming over and she’s got a whole bushel of beets to pickle.”
Procrastinator seems like a made up word, like slang for someone who procrastins. It makes me think of the rodenator or a guy who would give me the wink and the gun and call me Kate-inator.
Well I’ve been procrastinatorating filling out my absentee ballot, or to be more exact, I’ve been putting off researching candidates and initiatives so that I’d have a clue how to fill out my absentee ballot for today’s election.
I’m coming to believe it’s impossible to be completely informed about who I’m voting for. I can read the voter information pamphlet, stare into the candidates’ black and newsprint-colored eyes and try to gauge the temperature of their souls. I can get out a magnifying glass and try to determine whether or not they floss their giant banana shaped tooth. It’s also useful to count up the total minutes of conflicting and deceptive TV ads for both sides of each issue, multiply them by 8 and vote for the one with the smallest amount of small print. Sometimes I find useful information online or on local newsgroups or in email forwards Dan gets at work listing the candidates’ bizarre habits and favorite flavors of lip gloss.
There’s really no way to know absolutely what the best choice will be in every single race. For initiatives I usually vote for the side that’s supported by the groups I trust most on that particular issue. It’s not foolproof but it’s worked for me so far.
Well I completely forgot about the ballot as it was sitting on top of the fridge in my basket of things that are so important for me to do that I hide them in a basket on top of the fridge where I will never think of them or ever do them. As I was leaving a friend’s house this evening, she reminded me to vote. For what? So You Think You Can Dance doesn’t start again till the summer. Oh, that one democratic election thingy.
“Well,” I told her, “I haven’t missed voting in an election since I turned 18. I guess I missed this one.”
But on the way home, I was overcome with guilt. If I didn’t vote and the public school initiative didn’t pass, what would I tell Nancy my PTA-volunteering, public school-lubbin’ friend? I must vote in every election. What if the lady who loves mint-apple lip gloss got to be on my city council? I could not abide it. So I pulled out my information packet, did some speedy research and voted to the best of my abilities.
Laylee was concerned.
“Why are you boating?”
“I’m VOTing to help decide who gets to be in charge of our country.”
With wide-eyed concern she protested, “But I don’t want ANYONE to be in charge of our country. I just want it to be America so we can have our America flag.”
I tried to explain that America is still American, even if someone is the boss of it.
I don’t think she bought it.
I’m not really sure what I say when I’m mad. I’m mad, you see, at the time.
Magoo squishes his eyes really close together, squinches his brows into a tight little mountain of peach-fuzzy flesh, flattens his lips out into a thin line grimace and repeats with venomous rage, “EVER. EVER. EVER. EVER. EEEVVVVVER!!!”
I’m really not sure where he gets that from. I may NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER figure it out.
The Halloween Witch – Thaaat’s what they call me, folks.
I am oh-so-done with my children running around at warp speed with their volume turned up to “shatter”. The candy was fun. The candy was beloved. The candy is now gone. And my kids are grateful. The entire neighborhood and my fellow Target shoppers are probably grateful too.
Firstly, I will say that I refuse to ration candy or fight with my kids for weeks on end after the tricking and the treating are over. If I’ve dragged them from house to house in the cold begging for sugar, I refuse to then take all the sugar away on the grounds that it’s not good for them.
For the two days following Halloween, I let the sugar flow free throughout the house. Food was substituted by refined enamel-dissolving carbs and the children alternately rejoiced and melted down. It was too much for their little brains to handle.
Magoo woke the second morning calling for me in sadness. I entered his room to find him sitting up looking half asleep and mumbling to himself.
Me: Good morning!
Me: You wanna get up?
Me: You wanna come to mommy?
Me: You wanna stay in bed?
Me: What do you want?
Magoo: Uh…my canny.
Me: You want your candy?
With that he jumped into my arms.
And so I told my children the legend of the Halloween Witch. She comes in the night 48 hours after spook day, searching for candy. If you leave what’s left of your stash on the front porch by the rotting pumpkins, she will whisk it away to
dad’s office her Witch’s palace and leave a present in its place.
My kids gleefully binged for 2 days and then decided to take their chances with door number 3. Behind door number 3 they found a mechanical snorting baby pig and a BIG TRUCK!!!!! Their joy was full and those little stinkers were able to eat candy all day today too because they had tricked the witch by deviously squirreling chocolate away in their carseats, bits of bit-o-honey under their beds and half-licked linty lollipops in purses and bags.
They look forward to gathering candy for the witch next year and I look forward to them slowing down tomorrow and detoxing enough to feel the pain when they slam their heads into the walls.
*** It’s 2012 and The Halloween Witch has visited every year since the writing of this post in 2007. It’s always voluntary but the kids see it as a no-brainer. This year I gave them the option of donating their candy directly to the troops in exchange for cash and bypassing the witch. They would have none of it. So I guess the witch will have to donate in their honor. I love the witch as much today as I did when we first met her and I hope you enjoy her as well! ***
In my heart I know I’m not as perfect as I sometimes like to think I am. At times I annoy myself with my little habits and quirks. However, I have a few fine qualities and traits I wish desperately to pass on to my children. Sadly I’m finding that certain things cannot be taught or forced. [read more at parenting.com]