Days until the Valentine Party




  • 14Dec

    “What are we doooooing tonight, Mom?” my daughter asked with a big grin when I met her at the bus stop Friday.

    Not one to lie, I said “We’re going to Dr. V’s office to get the Swine shot,” I started, finishing quickly with “Ialreadyhadmyflushotanditdidn’thurtatallthisyear!” (This is true.)

    She instantly got tears in her eyes. A little joking around, and some impromptu revision to the Black Eyed Peas “I Gotta Feeling” (it was on the radio – see our revised lyrics below) and she was surprisingly fine. We were off to pick up her brother.

    When I opened the back door to the car, he hopped in and said hello to his sister. She immediately stated “Boo, we’re going to get the Swine shot.”

    I could see her lips moving, but couldn’t hear “Mom said it didn’t hurt at all…” over Boo’s wails.

    We sang the song. Within minutes, he was chiming in with our moderately disturbed version of the feel-good tune and laughing with us.

    All day long, I’d been thinking of a bribe for this painful fact of life. What could I offer the kids to somehow make the sting of their two shots each (oh yes – Swine AND Seasonal) just a little bit more dull? When I picked up Boo, I saw some coupons for a “FREE MAGIC SHOW,” and it just so happened to be at 6:30 this very night. Ding ding ding! Winner!

    The kids smiled all the way up until the very moment Boo took the plung(ers), and he only cried for a minute. Druesy didn’t cry at all.

    Bring it on!

    Bring it on!

    We headed over to the local hotel/conference center where this event was going to take place, and walked in just in time. My ticket was $12, and I still thought it was a cheap night for the three of us. I’d spoken to one of Boo’s teachers (”Miss T,” who I now consider a friend) on the phone earlier, and she agreed to meet us there with her son.

    We walked into the room (your standard banquet room – average-height ceiling with drop panels, dark green carpeting), and there was a merchandise stand, a popcorn stand and the “stage,” with banquet table chairs forming the audience area. When the lights dimmed, I noticed the workers at the stands all disappeared.

    The first few tricks were interesting. The kids were thrilled.

    The second act (here’s where the variety comes in) was a “vocalist.” A hearty woman with a very short skirt and camisole covered by a buffalo checked shirt came out and sang the whole, entire, extended version of Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the USA.” I looked at Miss T, and she pointed to her four year-old son. He had his hands over his ears. I looked around and saw kids staring, half in a trance at the stage. My little Druesy was jammin’ away with a few other kids in the crowd. Most parents shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

    Several tricks and some entertainment followed. Over an hour into it, the magician announced the “halfway point intermission.” I looked at Miss T, who said “Okay, I’m not staying much longer.”

    Fair enough… Her son was looking less than enthused. I looked over to my kids, who were boogieing away in the aisle, having the time of their lives. We were in this for the long haul.

    The begged me for party favors. They begged for cotton candy. I noticed that the cast (including the magician) was now the crew, selling magic novelties and hot dogs.

    Miss T saw it in her heart to stay for most of the second act, and I’m pretty sure she was glad she did. The trick where they chopped up and scrambled the body of the Magician’s Assistant was a crowd-pleaser. Her minuscule, ruffled outfit screamed “Fredricks of Hollywood,” confirming that this was certainly a magic show with a strong hint of burlesque!

    Drue got called up for a fun trick involving pouring multi-colored drinks from the same jug, and she loved it.

    Finally, the juggler came out. This guy was good. The kids were kneeling up in front to watch – just feet away from him. I leaned over and whispered to Miss T, “If I see flames, I’m freaking out.” (I couldn’t shake the thought of that nightclub fire that killed 100 people when Great White was performing.)

    No sooner than this came out of my mouth, I saw the juggler light up some bowling pins, and I turned into “Ninja Mama” instantly. I flew out of my row, and grabbed the kids. They were confused, but when I saw a burning ember land on the carpeting or his foot, I’m not sure which, I knew my instinct was correct. He stomped it out, but O-M-G!

    At the end of the day, my kids were thrilled, and are begging me to go back to the show next year. I made a casual stop at the front desk to mention the flaming bowling pins to the clerk. (She looked genuinely surprised.)

    We’re all good. Nobody was burned, and nobody should end up with “The Swine of ‘09.”

    Here are our modified/shortened lyrics:

    Black Eyed Peas Swine Flu Shot Re-Mix

    I gotta feeling that tonight’s gonna be a bad night
    That tonight’s gonna be a bad night
    That tonight’s gonna be a bad bad night (x3)
    Tonight’s the night
    Let’s live it up
    I got my ‘pointment
    Let’s get a shot
    It’s gonna hurt
    Gonna hurt a LOT…”

    And in 2010? We’ll probably do it again… Let’s do it! Let’s do it! We’ll do it again…

  • 13Dec

    Thanks to the ferocious bite of a friend’s hamster at Halloween, Zhu Zhu Pets are not on the wish lists in my house! (And, I think the request for any type of rodent pet going forward has also been kiboshed. THANK YOU, Mr. Nibbly!)

    This year, my kids (7 and 5) are being very reasonable with their requests.

    There have been a few shout-outs, and they include:

  • 12Oct

    Recently, I’ve been wowed, impressed, and most of all thrown off of my parenting game by the logic and persistence of my seven year old.

    While her interests seem to come (and go) in waves, her most recent request for a baby sister is hanging around much longer than I’d like.

    It’s really funny. First, I try to explain that in order for me to have a baby, I should be married. (It’s the way I roll.)

    “But,” she reasoned, “you have Brett and me, and you aren’t married.”

    Sigh. This is the time I realize that gone are the days of pacifying my kiddos with a simple answer to any question they pose, and when I have to remind her that when they were born, I was married; that I didn’t enter the realm of the Single Mama until I got a divorce.

    “Well,” she said (wheels turning) “I think I know a really nice guy for you. My PRINCIPAL!” She’s also commented on people we run into out and about, and once decided that because a man winked at me at the gas station that he thought I was beautiful and wanted to marry me.

    Not good. Now she’s on the hunt to find not my soul mate, but the papa for her dream baby sister.

    When I first got divorced, I was getting clobbered from every angle by friends, colleagues, neighbors and even vague acquaintances trying to set me up with “so-and-so,” who was always “really great,” and “blah, blah, blah.” I never imagined that one of these forces would be my own offspring!

    I’m trying to prove to my kids that I don’t need some nameless, faceless entity to make my life whole. So how do I do this?

    So far, my approach has included the following:

    • I laugh with her when she tries to set me up, and agree with her when we see a “cute one.”
    • I tell them constantly that I don’t need to be in a relationship to be happy!
    • I remind them that happy families come in all shapes and sizes; that they are my focus, and that when the time is right, maybe I will get involved again.

    At the end of the day, I stand by my conviction. I really hope that my theory that they’ll get a stronger sense of themselves holds true, and that they learn much earlier than I did about what it really takes to have an awesome relationship.

    C’mon. Who else out there has gone through this? Who else has dealt with similar efforts and requests by well-meaning children? I want to hear from you!

  • 21Sep

    We’re fresh home from Disney World.

    One night, in the hotel, Drue told me: “I’m a little bit homesick. I miss our house.”

    I told her I understood, but reminded her that “Home is where the heart is, remember?”

    She looked at me with a tired, serious face and nodded slowly.

    To confirm she understood, I said “Okay, so then where’s the heart?”

    She said “At home. You just said so.”

  • 15Sep

    Tonight, when I came home and opened the fridge to scavenge for dinner, I was met with a fright: The gallon of milk I poured into the morning cereal today was gone.

    “Damn,” I thought, “I left it out.”

    I pivoted around to look in the usual places, and the milk was nowhere to be found.

    Freaked out, I did a slow grid search (Ha ha! My kitchen isn’t THAT big!) and determined it was nowhere, including the garbage.

    I pictured a carton of milk with a gallon of milk featured on the back: “Have you seen me?”

    Have You Seen Me?

    Have You Seen Me?

    Suddenly, it occurred to me that the kids are getting old enough to, at the very least, remove it from the fridge. I circled their usual hangout areas thinking I might find it.

    I did not.

    Not worried that someone broke into my house and stole merely what was left of a gallon of milk, I checked less conspicuous areas, such as my bathroom and in the corners of all bedrooms. I envisioned coming home from Disney to find yellow crime tape circling my house, as neighbors had called in “offensive odors” coming from the place. (If you’re new to this blog, I’ve previously disclosed my runaway imagination.)

    No milk.

    Often the victim of hysterical blindness, I decided to abandon the search for an hour or so. During the time off of my search, I remembered my hunger. I opened the fridge to scavenge again, and found the milk low in the fridge door.

    Duh! No wonder I couldn’t find it!

    Suddenly, it occurred to me that my little, helpless children are capable of refilling their cereal bowls and putting the milk away… Just not in the spot I’m used to.

  • 20Aug

    About 2 weeks ago, Boo approached me without a shirt. I asked him where his shirt was, and he said “in my new basketball hoop,” then ran away.

    Since I was in the middle of nine other things at the moment, I didn’t think twice about it, and haven’t thought about that shirt since.

    Tonight, as I was cleaning the kitchen and hanging a clean pot on my above-island pot rack, it all came together for me…

    Note: I am not responsible for any dust that might be evident in this picture.  (Okay, yes I am.  However, I will once again use the This is my blog clause and deny any responsibility for it.)

    Note: I am not responsible for any dust that might be evident in this picture. (Okay, yes I am. However, I will once again use the "This is my blog" clause and deny any responsibility for it.)

    Oh, how I love a creative description.

  • 15Aug

    Her two front teeth are one thing, but a BABY SISTER?

    The other day, Drue informed me that she’d like a baby sister, and that I should go adopt one for her.

    I reminded her that we aren’t even discussing a pet until she is ten. She laughed.

  • 10Aug

    I’ve always chuckled at the tidbits I’ve caught of Hannah Montana.

    True, if you didn’t have a child interested in her, you might be intimidated by the constant display of Miley Cyrus on your trips down the cereal aisle, but since I first heard the echos of Hannah on the Disney Channel on a regular basis, I have become a fan.

    It wasn’t until the recent release of the Hannah Montana movie, however, that I really gained respect for the Hannah persona.

    As often as I can, I try to take a one-on-one girl’s day with Drue. The release of the movie was a perfect catalyst for such a day. The story line of the movie was just what I’d hoped for: Country girl-gone-Hollywood develops an attitude. Daddy brings her back to reality.

    As far as values go, I appreciated the fact that they covered such touchy subjects as loyalty to friends and family, treating others with respect, a single parent moving on and “keeping it real,” in spite of unreal circumstances.

    Overall, I approve Hannah as a role model to my kids for these reasons:

    • She’s cute, but real.
    • She has her moments – she screws up, regularly.
    • She is a real physical comedian. She falls, whacks her head, falls face-down in flour, etc.
    • At the end of the day, she recognizes right from wrong.
    • She has a deep voice, that is uncharacteristic of most other teen idols!
    • I like her tunes – especially “Butterfly Fly Away.”


    What’s your feeling about Hannah?

  • 14Jul

    One of the rites of parenting passage is when your oldest child begins the tooth loss process.

    When the baby is born, you have all of the gross stuff that comes along with it… Diapers, boogers, barf and other unexpected surprises can be disconcerting, but I got used to all of it very quickly.

    I wasn’t prepared for the wiggly, cockeyed, flapping baby teeth that sometimes hang on for days, unwilling to come out despite valiant efforts including dental floss, kleenex and sticky or dense foods to chomp on.

    Drue had a pretty easy time of her bottom teeth, but her first top front tooth started to look like it was bucking out a bit last week. We laughed all weekend long about it, and every so often she’d allow me to try some other technique I heard about from my Facebook friends.

    Last night she decided to write a song about it, which I (of course) put out on YouTube right away.

    This morning, it finally popped out when she bit into some Cinnamon Toast Crunch. The tooth fairy paid a visit while I was at work, and apparently left her a note with her $1.

    It said “Drue – Congratulations on the tooth! Saw your song on YouTube… Loved it! Love, The Toothfairy.”

    I just love how technology has given yet another avenue of communication to our holiday/special event heroes.

  • 11Jun

    As I was washing dishes tonight, Boo (4) approached me and said:

    “Mom. Marissa (a girl at daycare) is fabbyliss, and she is MEAN.”

    I said “Fabulous?”

    He said “I mean, popplyer. But she’s MEAN.”

    I said, “Well, if she is mean, then she probably isn’t popular.”

    “Oh, but she IS. Marissa TOLD US she’s popplyer.”

    Lightbulb moment!

    Is that the secret? Proclaiming your own “popplyarity?”

    Based on our previous discussion, I engaged Drue in the conversation and asked her what popular means.

    “It means you are famous, and sing on a stage, mom.”

    I told them both, (acknowledging Druesy’s definition as on-track) “Popular means that people like you.”

    Then I realized that in reality, kids often refer to mean and nasty kids as “popular.”

    Oh, the challenge this brings to a parent.

    Among my bazillion other parenting goals, I now embrace a mission to promote the immunity of my own children against self-proclaimed “popular” kids who are mean.

    Who’s in it with me?

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