It's the old small talk!
Last night Harper asked why Meredith’s video is on the computer but hers isn’t.
Me: Because you’re simply not cute enough.
Harper: But I’ve got that whole doe-eyed thing going on! I’m like the love child of freaking Bambi and Boo!
Me: Okay. Uncle.
So, anyway. Oh! And don’t say anything about the wires. I already know what you’re thinking, and I agree.
You Have Never Seen Me (the Angels We Have Heard on High remix) from Angela D. on Vimeo. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
I tell you the following story with a great deal of hesitance, because it touches on Female Stuff and Whatnot. (Please know that I still have a hard time saying the word Bra out loud, so speaking of The Monthly Event is not something I do lightly. (No pun intended, if there’s one hiding out somewhere in there.))
Anyway.
When it’s That Time Of The Month, I tend to keep a tampon (unused) in the front pocket of my jeans when I’m at home. We don’t have cabinets in our bathrooms, so I find that the pocket method is the safest way to go if I’m in need of a gear switch.
I didn’t realize that Meredith was completely aware of my pocket protection. I also didn’t realize that a five year old could be so in tune with my monthly mood changes. (There are so many things in life for which I was (or am) unaware. For instance, I just learned that orange juice tastes crappy after you brush your teeth because of the sodium lauryl sulfate contained in most toothpastes. Boring, but there you have it.)
Last night I was a bit stressed out about laundry and back to school and freelance projects and Christmas trees and just about anything else you can imagine. During one of my Puking o’ the Uglies, Meredith walked out of the room and returned with a tampon (unused). She reluctantly held it out to me and whispered, “Mommy, I think it’s time for you to eat your medicine.”
A few hours later, Meredith wrote a song. Sort of. And because I love it so much (you know, because I’m her mother or something), I think she should come out with a series of life lessons put to music that the five year olds would dig.
An Apple A Day from Angela D. on Vimeo.
And now I jump onto a completely different horse. I’m doing another giveaway thinger dinger in a few days, and it’s food! And it’s good! So keep in touch! (And eat your medicine.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Two years ago today, we were getting our Christmas cards together.
Today Meredith told Harper that you really shouldn’t share underpants with your kindergarten friends.
Harper answered, “Yes. And if you pee in your underpants, it’s okay. You just have to clean it up. It is NOT a big deal.” ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
1. Coming soon to a public place near you? Harper and The Tantrums!
2. Meredith’s eyes were dilated today. She’s been crying about The Potential for Dilation (my next book title) for nearly a week now. And when I say “crying” I mean that Meredith may or may not be performing with Harper and The Tantrums in a public place near you.
3. I have started 483 more knitting projects, including a mystery shawl (the first clue comes out next week!) named Mystic Ice. Starting Projects coupled with Never Finishing Projects seems to be a seasonal trend for me. I swore I wouldn’t do it this year. But there I went. Oh, 2009. I am sorry.
4. Someone just told me that Christmas is less than six weeks away. And six weeks is too soon! With six weeks to go until Christmas, it almost feels like Christmas is over. Oh, Steve Miller.
5. I’ve eaten too much cheese. It’s just that simple. Specifically, Swiss cheese and mustard sandwiches, often followed by a snack of more Swiss cheese.
I have an appointment at the headache clinic on Monday morning, where the following conversation will surely take place.
Headache Doctor: Have you been doing your exercises?
Me: No.
Headache Doctor: Did you sign up for the yoga class I was telling you about?
Me: No.
Headache Doctor: I hate you for never listening to me. Is this how you treat everyone?!
Me: Wow. I think it is. Will you drill a tiny hole into my head?
Wait. Estonian Lace! Also, Tyrolean Stockings!! Sei Shonagon Pillow!!! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
I almost forgot to post something! Hey there!
HERE IS THE BREAKDOWN OF MY DAY:
(This is the perfect time for you to go somewhere else. May I suggest a trip over here?)
My mom came over, we went to Starbucks, and then we cleaned the girls’ room and decorated it for the holidays. Winter comforters, flannel sheets, snowman rugs, spotless floor… It looked really nice.
We picked Harper up from school and when she saw her room, she lost her mind in a really crappy way. The tantrum that was kicked off at the sight of a blue snowman rug lasted nearly two hours and included kicking, screaming, and (my personal favorite) spitting. Tiresome. Disappointing.
Meredith came home from school and ate soup. I found this to be completely delightful. (Especially after spending two hours with a Tasmanian devil.)
I put together a pesto pizza.
We headed to school for Harper’s parent/teacher conference. And because of her tantrums (I’ll spare you the details.), we are going to be teaming up with a developmental pediatrician and a social worker. This, aside from the soup thing, was The Greatest Thing to Come Out of This Day. (Wait. Coffee with my mom was good, too. Nonfat chai!)
We returned home where Harper played soccer in the kitchen and Meredith wrote the following:
“I pledge my honor to serve God and help people get their Kleenex if they don’t have any. 24 times to 24 sneezes to 24 Kleenex. And if you don’t mind, we will help you. We will serve your students to live by the friendly scouting wishes and to live. To live by the live.”
As you read this (if you read it immediately after I hit the Publish button), I’m either washing my face, jumping into pajamas, or sitting in bed reading until I drift.
May you all have 24 Kleenex for your next 24 sneezes. To live by the live. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Harper: Does Ella have a sister?
Meredith: No. But she has a brother. A mean brother.
Me: She does? How old is her brother?
Meredith: He’s 68. Namasté.
(It’s Cultural Awareness Week at Meredith’s school. She’s particularly fond of India.)
((I love the thought of Ella, who is five, having a 68-year-old brother who is still sponging off of their parents. In my mind, he looks a bit like David Crosby. And he spends a lot of time sitting around in his underpants. Eating applesauce straight from the jar.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
I don’t have anything against Miley Cyrus. Anything she does, naked or not naked, is none of my business. (Although the media is dying for me to know that Miley took a 20-year-old tank top sporting boy to church last weekend, I really couldn’t care less. However, for some unknown reason, I’m retaining that information.)
A few weeks back I received an e-mail from the kind folks at Build-A-Bear asking if they could send a Hannah Montana bear to the girls, along with a $25 gift card to be given away at Fluid Pudding. Knowing that my kids would either fight over or just not get into the Hannah Montana bear, I went ahead and took it (with the card) and set the plan to give it all away.
Less than 24 hours after signing on to take the bear, the biggest Hannah Montana fan I know fell and broke her arm at a friend’s house. And what sucks is that this girl loves gymnastics, but can no longer participate with a huge cast on her arm. And when kids get their feelings hurt along with their bones, my heart bleeds. Immediately, I knew who would get the bear. (Closed door! Open window! Not really. But sort of!)
Look at this bear:
Adorable. Fuzzy. Soft. Wearing a glittery shirt that says Ready to Rock. And although it lacks the ability to mend bones, it did bring a smile to the recipient’s face. And that’s never a bad thing.
All of this to say: If you’re interested in the $25 gift card to Build-a-Bear, I can hook you up. $25 would get you a naked Hannah Montana Bear (you can stage your own Vanity Fair photo shoot!), or just about any other Build-A-Bear friend. Best of all, Build-A-Bear sells donation animals. When you purchase a donation animal, a percentage of the proceeds is donated to charity. I hereby encourage you to use the card toward the purchase of a donation animal.
Anyway, leave a comment below and I’ll enter you in the drawing. On Friday at noon (CST), I’ll draw a name and notify the winner! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Last week Meredith came home from school with a note that said something like “Scouting Registration Night! Wednesday! 6:00!”
I talked to Meredith for a bit, and she expressed an interest in scouting. So, I called the school.
Apparently, Scouting Registration Night is for Boy Scouts only. The administrative assistant at the school told me that registration night doesn’t exist for the Girl Scouts and that she doesn’t have any additional information about Girl Scouts.
I should have let it die right there. BUT, because I’m nothing if not tenacious, I called the Girl Scouts of America to try to track down a local leader.
The Girl Scouts of America told me to call the Girl Scouts of Greater St. Louis (GS-GSL) for leader contact information. Okay! Now we’re sort of getting somewhere maybe.
I eventually reached Cindy from GS-GSL. After babbling on about how old Meredith is and what school she attends, Cindy said the following.
Cindy: Okay. Your troop coordinator is Bonnie. I will call her and give her your information. If she doesn’t call you within two days, call her and leave a message. If she doesn’t return your call, call me back.
Me: Well, that’s sort of weird, but okay.
I waited two days. No call from Bonnie. I then called Bonnie, left a message, and waited two days. She never called back.
Cindy: Okay. Since Bonnie didn’t call you, I’d like you to call Victoria. If she doesn’t call you back, I’ll ask you to call Sheila, who is here at the GS-GSL.
I called Victoria. She didn’t answer the phone. Within two minutes of me hanging up, my phone rang.
Victoria: This is Victoria. You called me?
I told her the whole story, and she told me that she would call me back. And she did. Five minutes later.
Victoria: I’m going to ask you to call Bonnie.
Me: I called Bonnie. Cindy at the GS-GSL called Bonnie. Bonnie doesn’t return calls.
Victoria: Well, Bonnie is definitely the person you need to contact. Do me a favor and leave Bonnie another message. Dawn and I will see Bonnie on Thursday, and I’ll let her know that she should return your call. Then, Dawn will call you on Friday.
(I have no idea who Dawn is.)
Hhhhhhh. Onmyhonor,IwilltrytoserveGod,mycountry,andmankindandtolivebytheGirlScoutLaw.
I *do* know that I’m no longer excited about Meredith being a Girl Scout.
And I’m wondering why everyone seems to walk on eggshells around Bonnie.
Why should Victoria have to tell Bonnie that it’s okay to return my call about Girl Scouts when Bonnie’s job is to return calls about Girl Scouts?!
I know you hate me for saying this: I’m done with these women. And if they were men, I would say that I’m done with these men.
Do you want to know who else I’m done with? (I recently read that it’s okay to end a sentence with a preposition, especially if moving the preposition would introduce awkwardness.) I’m done with the Tuesday night ballet/tap moms. (I’ll talk about them some other time. Or maybe I won’t. Are you bored by stories of moms who sit around bashing other moms because of their socioeconomic status? Yeah, me too. And although life is too short to sit in a room full o’ ugly, Meredith really loves to dance. So, tonight I shall wear my Don’t Talk to Me clothes and try to look as invisible as possible while the Mean Moms torch another friend who lives on the outskirts of Easy Street.)
And this is what I really wanted to tell you: Harper’s been throwing really amazing tantrums lately. They’re completely unpredictable, and they involve kicking, hitting, throwing things, and screaming. Oh! The screaming! This morning’s tantrum hit right after I turned off the shower water. Apparently, she wanted to watch me take a shower and “I WANTED TO WATCH YOU TAKE A SHOWER!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!” And she threw her cereal and Jeff carried her (kicking and screaming) to sit in The Thinking Chair, which is sort of our clever version of Time Out, and gheez. The tantrum never ended. They never end! They’ve been going on for over six months and are getting worse instead of better and the doctor thought it was reflux, but it ended up not being reflux, and gheez.
I’m tired.
‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>