Huggers and People Who Want to Be Huggers

Maren is a natural-born hugger. She will hug almost anyone, given a few minutes to warm up to them and possibly cheesecake. She is just a demonstrative little person. You know, she hugs, she kisses, she says "I love you" all the time. Sometimes, she'll come out of her room at midnight-thirty and I'll sit up in bed and fuss, "Go to bed." She'll smile and say, "I just woked up and wanted to say I luuuv you." Which then makes me feel like pants, but you know.

I can't ever get up and leave the room without Maren hopping up and giving me a hug. She gives great hugs, too. She throws her whole body into her hugs, wrapping her arms around you, closing her eyes and breathing out, like even that pesky air in her lungs can't get in between you. You can't help but hug her back.

Brynna is less of a hugger. I mean, she hugs. She's not cold or a vampire child or anything. She's just more of a cuddler. Brynna will crawl in my lap any time I sit still long enough and just melt into me. She'll lay her head in my lap and insist that I rub her back or stroke her hair. She'll climb between me and the back of the chair if my lap is full and wrap herself around me like a snake.

I get Brynna. I'm not all that much of a hugger, either. I like hugs and I'll hug back. It's just, sort of, awkward for me. The hugging. But I want to be a hugger. I'm southern, ya'll and we hug. Except me. I sort of don't. Unless I know it's the accepted social norm.

So, frankly, Brynna and I have spent the last seven years tangled up in a ball of arms and legs and have been perfectly content with this situation.

Until Maren.

Or rather, until Maren started hugging.

It started with a few whiny proclamations.

"You don't hug me as much as Maren." I vowed to hug her as much as I hug Maren. And I worked at it, ya'll. I truly did. I hugged her randomly and fiercely. We made up our own hug, the Smacky Hug, based on Maren's big wet smacky kisses. Something that was all ours.

Now, Brynna knows I'm trying, so the proclamations have ended, but the Acidic Glares of Doom have taken their place. Last night, I shooed Maren up and into the bathroom for her shower.

"Wait, Mommy. I need a hug first," her eyes were closed before she even got to me.

As I leaned down to hug her back, I saw Brynna channel Drew Barrymore in  Firestarter. I couldn't decide if it was funny, scary or sad. I immediately walked over and gave her a hug too. The thing is, and I don't think I can explain this to her yet, I hug Maren more because Maren's a hugger. I cuddle with Brynna more because Brynna's a cuddler.

I just think that in this world there are huggers and the people who want to be huggers. And Brynna and I are hug deficient soul mates.

Rambling about Hats

You know what I love? Hats. I am a hat person. I think I look alright in a hat. Not like Audrey Hepburn good, but plenty fine. My preference is brimmed and floppy, but I can also rock a beret, a tam or a newsboy (which is sort of brimmed and sort of floppy). Or the occasional fedora. I may look ridiculous in a fedora, but here's the thing. I feel so fabulous it doesn't matter.

I don't wear hats for the same reason that I don't really do scarves. Because despite the fact that I think I look awesome, I still feel awkward. Like the word awkward, with all those "w's". I feel like everyone is staring at my hat. And being all judgey of my hat. And wondering what kind of idiot walks around in a hat like that.

Of course, when I see people out and about wearing hats, I never think that. I think, "Ah. What a cute hat! I wish I could rock a hat like that."

I'm working on my whole scarf issue. I am, in fact, wearing one right now. It's black and purple and of the infinity variety, which is my current favorite scarf variety. It turns out that the key to not feeling stupid in scarves is to wear them. More than once every blue moon. And just pretend you are comfortable until you are. Fake it 'til you make it, if you will.

I truly hope that the same things is true for hats, because as soon as I get this whole scarf thing down, I'm gonna start rocking the headware. In the meantime, I have incredible respect (mad props) for anyone who isn't afraid of hats. Really.

And yet, I have this thing about this one type of hat. Remember when you were a kid and you had something that was basically a stocking cap? It's purpose was to keep you warm, cover the tops of your ears and let you play in the snow. It was appealing on almost no one because it looked like a woolly condom on your head. You probably had one to match your mittens because they came in sets.

Apparently, now, they still make those, except they just make them longer, so now it looks like your head condom is on wrong because you have this fitted thing on your head and then a little flop of excess knit behind you.

I hate them.

Understand that I don't hate you if you wear one. Maybe you look awesome in it. I don't know. Also, all other floppy hats - totally cool. Also, the ones that are just a little floppy are actually fine. Those hats look way more comfortable than head-condom-hats and I kinda get it. I won't be purchasing one any time soon, but whatevs. I also don't wear skinny jeans, but I can appreciate the concept and what they do for that really long sweater thing you have.

Image courtesy of Disney.

This weekend, I was watching TV with my family (okay it was totally the Disney Channel movie, Radio Rebel. What? You don't watch Disney Channel movies? You are totally missing out.) Debby Ryan was wearing this ridiculous hat and I may have made a comment about how stupid it was. Then, I may have been totally embarrassed to learn that someone else in that room with me had a very similar hat.

 Just look at Debby Ryan, here, though. (What? You don't know who Debby Ryan is? She's totally a Disney star, yo.) Now, in this movie, she wears a lot of headware and most of it rocks. She has this little black brimmed hat that looks amazing on her. But this hat? Well, first of all, what is keeping this hat on her head? Sheer will? Bobby pins? Hair gel? Shouldn't it just slide right off the back, what with it being so far back on her head and clearly baring all of it's weight around her neck region? Plus, ew. That is all.

Here's the thing, though. I've mostly seen this look on girls, and girls' fashion is well... temporary. I can bear anything that comes out on the shelves for the half a second it'll last because I know that in six months the whole world will look at that hat and say, "How very early 2012! Wow."

Image courtesy of Bernat Yarns.

But then today I got an email from Bernat. (Seriously? You don't get emails from Bernat? Well, they make yarn and send me patterns so I'll want to buy said yarn. It's a thing.) And in this email was this picture. Of a guy. Wearing a floppy hat. Now, seriously, I cannot think of a situation where this would look acceptable. Sleeping in a tent in the tundra? Santa's grandson? Look at his face. This guy is thinking, "How much longer until I get to remove this ridiculous thing from my head. I want to go back to modelling Harry Potter scarves and trying to look casual while holding a crocheted messenger bag."

I just. I cannot get behind this trend. And I feel bad, because I'm clearly in the minority here. With the floppy hat hatred. And I'm sure that I wear something that all those floppy hat wearers think is bizarre. Someone right now is writing something scathing about my "dressy" Crocs. Or long dangly earrings. Or considering chapstick a make-up routine. And that's cool. I can agree to disagree on the hats and the chapstick. I can ignore the hat and say, "Hey, Debby. Love your top. And your hair looks great today," and just not mention the hat. And she can say, "Oooh, what a cute scarf," and not mention that my lack of lip color makes me look dead.

It's cool. But if I die today and you stick me in one of those hats, just know that I will haunt you. With rattly chains.

Quotable Quotations

I'm a sucker for quotes. I have this thing for people who said it better than I do. It has something to do with my adoration of all things wordy. I have this whole plan that someday, I'm gonna finish my basement and then I'm going to decorate it in "wordy" things. Big & book ends and scrabble tile art and books everywhere and huge quote posters and murals.

Because nothing says happiness to me quite like being surrounded by words.

On this bright, shiny (outside) dull, dreary (in my office) Monday, I thought I'd share some of my current favorites. Courtesy of Pinterest, of course:

Cannot find original. Apologies and
Promises to fix it if you inform me that this is,
indeed, your image.

Abraham Lincoln apparently once said that the problem with Internet quotes is that you can't verify them. Or something like that. And of course, I have no idea if my Dead-Scientist-Boyfriend, Albert Einstein actually said this, but it makes perfect sense, doesn't it. Everybody is a genius and a super-hero and a star. Other people can see it, we should be able to as well.

Originally pinned from "Live, Love, Laugh..."

I love that this is attributed to Albus Dumbledore rather than J.K. Rowling. Because, of course, he's a real person, saying real things. Cryptic, magical, amazing things. Turn on the light! You might bang your shins getting there, but it'll be worth it in the end.

From Emily McDowell.
You should check out her cool posters.

Silly, but oh so very, very true.

Cannot find original. Apologies and
Promises to fix it if you inform me that this is,
indeed, your image.

This is something I am constantly reminding myself of right now. I have a tendency to blame myself for everything and while plenty of it may actually be my fault, that doesn't mean that I can't expect people to love me and stand by me anyway. I, like Marilyn, and fierce.
And worth it.

From Handmade Ryan Gosling 

Okay, so this is silly, but it made me laugh. And drool. Which is sometimes all you need.

Any favorite quotes you'd like to share?

Five Things on Friday - Everyone Needs Edition

I've been spending a fair amount of time analyzing the stuff in my life. From redecorating my room to purging the junk from my closet, I'm trying to be fair and honest with myself about who I am, how I live, what I need and what I don't need.

As a third generation pack-rat, this is an ongoing battle.

In any case, I'm still just getting started, but already I have determined there are a handful of things that everyone, everywhere needs. I thought I'd share:

Five Things You Absolutely Must Have:


1. A Junk Drawer - This is not sarcasm. There are just things in your life that don't go anywhere. Twist ties. Leftover birthday candles. Screws that you can't quite remember what they go to. The extra night light bulbs. I started out with about six junk drawers and I'm down to two. Hopefully, this weekend, I'm going to get down to one. We'll see. I'll never be without, though. That's just crazy talk.

2. Something Ridiculous - I used to work in the local arts community. At a show, on an impulse, I bought a small, unframed print of a photo of fake flowers in a broken pot on a grave. (I'm not sure there's a grave, it just has that vibe.) I call it the Grave Flowers Print and I've had it in an envelope ever since. Because where does one hang a print of grave flowers? But the thing is, I love it. It's really kind of lovely, and you can't help but wonder what's going on there anyway. I may never find a place to hang this lovely little gem, but I'll never get rid of it, either. It's ridiculous to keep, but it's continued presence in my life reminds me that I have a life. A weird, quirky little life all my own.

This is not my Buffy lunchbox.
I couldn't find my Buffy lunchbox.
But how cool is this one?

3. Something Everyone but You Hates - Listen, I'm all about compromise. If you have a wagon wheel table and your significant other hates your wagon wheel table and you don't really, really love your wagon wheel table, you should consider getting rid of your wagon wheel table. I mean, it's only nice. If, on the other hand, you have a miniature Buffy the Vampire Slayer lunchbox and your significant other thinks it's a waste of space and your kids find it sort of creepy because Spike is juuuust about to bite Buffy's neck, but you really, really love said tiny lunchbox. Then you shouldn't show it to your kids before bedtime.

4. A Sock Basket - Years ago, I dumped out a small metal basket and shoved mismatched socks in it. It was supposed to be a temporary solution. I would find all the mates I could, throw away what was left and live happily ever after. I still have it. I moved it from one house to another. Just in case there were singleton socks tucked away in something else. I get it out every time I wash whites. And on the mornings when we are out of matched socks. Sometimes, I still think it's temporary. I throw out the socks that won't fit anyone even if I find their mates and the ones that I haven't seen in years and I decide that as soon as everything's matched up - that's it. No more sock basket. It's all a pipe dream. A dirty, dirty scam I play on myself. There will always be a sock basket. At least until I give up and decide to just go barefoot.

5. A Mess - It is my firm belief that if every inch of your house is clean, there is something wrong with you. Be it too much time, OCD or a desperate need to throw everyone off of your dead body collection in the shed, there is something wrong. Every house needs a spot where we all just accept that it's going to be a mess. A closet, under a bed, a corner or the basement, whatever. Accept your mess and move on. It's the only way to survive.

What do you think everyone needs?

In Other News

Brynna has started announcing that she hasn't slept when I wake her up in the morning. Since I know this can't be true, because she would have whined me to death overnight, I'm not taking it too seriously. On the other hand, I'm trying to make her go to bed earlier because, heavens-to-pants the whining! This typically ends in me staying in her room for a half hour while I adjust the radio, bring her a drink of water and tuck her in three times to get it right. In other words, she's not getting to bed any earlier, she's just killing time by annoying me. And then I lose my temper and shout "Go to bed!" and stalk out.

Which isn't great parenting.

Also, it's what I yell at Maren every night when she sneaks her door open and stands in the doorway like some creepy horror movie kid trying to see if I'm asleep yet so she can come get in my bed.

Last night, as I yelled, "Go to bed!" and headed in defeat for the hallway, I heard a plaintive, "I in bed, Mommy. For reallies," coming from the wrong room. I should have been chastened at the thought of the wrong kid thinking I was mad. Instead, I thought, "Maybe that'll save me some time later."
_______________________________

On the other hand, Maren wakes up off and on all night ready to go. She wants to watch TV at 2:30, switch me sides at 3:30 and play with my Nook at 4:30. But at 5:45, she's all, "No. Mommy. Turn off dat light. It's still night outside. Seeeeee!"
_______________________________

Last night, I cleaned out the bottom of Maren's closet - where I throw the clothes that she's grown out of for the next consignment sale. After sorting and filling five large plastic totes, I still have a box and about four missing shoes. My living room floor is covered in clothes and I lost one of Maren's brand new shoes somewhere in the piles. This, to me, is the true sign of Spring. Absolute chaos while I try to get everything together to sell. I actually had nightmares last night about clothes.
_______________________________

I'm guest posting today at Jodifur. You should go read it. It's funny and about the girls. I call Brynna Spock. Also, you should read Jodifur all the time. She is funny and smart and loves shoes. That is all.

And Learn Something Cool

Most of my best parenting techniques came from movies and TV. I'm cool like that.

My favorite thing I do with the kids is Highs and Lows, something I stole from The Story of Us. This is one of my all-time favorite movies and the sole reason that eggrolls make me tear up. In any case, every night at dinner, I, like Bruce Willis and Michelle Pi-fiffer before me, ask the kids for their highs and lows, the best and worst things that happened to them that day.

It's a fascinating look at what makes them tick. Sometimes the littlest thing can be their best or worst. Of course, for Maren, it's pretty much the best and worst thing that happened in the last ten minutes, but it's still fun.

Once a TV show I can't remember, a mom shouted out the door to her kid on the way to school, "Learn something cool." I've adopted this also.

So, then it made sense to combine them.

So, now at dinner, we do Highs, Lows and Something Cool You Learned. It's lost some of the ring, but it's really neat having the kids report on what they've learned. It's also interesting to hear what they consider "cool."

What this means for me, of course, is that I have to come up with the same things. Which means that I've got to pay attention and make sure I'm learning something every day.

Which, you are thinking to yourself, is a good practice anyway. And you'd be right. It's still hard. I get a word of the day every day, but half the time I already know the word. And even when I don't, remembering at the dinner table is harder than it sounds.

And, you know, part of being good at a job is knowing a lot of it, so I don't learn something new at work every day. Sometimes I learn an interesting tidbit of gossip, but those aren't always appropriate to share with my kids. Sometimes they are - like who fought in what war or where someone used to live.

Today, I learned that Sutters Buttes is the smallest mountain range in the United States.

So there.

A Room of One's Own

I'm obsessed with the idea right now that we all need a space of our own. I suppose it has, mostly, to do with the fact that I have my own room for the first time in a long, long time. Like ten years. Or more, feasibly. There were roommates before there was husband, after all. Although I was one of those spoiled brats with a single room for a while. I love being a spoiled brat.

But I digress.

I've been thinking and planning my bedroom make-over for a couple of months now and have made very little progress. I know what I want, though and that's something.

The other day, Brynna and Maren got into a completely typical (around my house) fight and I told Brynna that when she needs to get away from Maren, she should go to her room.

"The living room is for all of us to share and I'm not going to kick Maren out of it so you can have space. You have space. It's called 'your room.'" (I was a might bit frustrated.)

"But I don't like my room," she responded. Since we just redid her room about a year and a half ago, this sort of floored me. And also broke my heart. I didn't have a sibling when I was Brynna's age, but I still needed a spot that was mine all mine.

Growing up, my room was pale pink. I didn't hate pink yet. It was large, but I was limited as to what I could do. I had wallpaper, so I couldn't paint. I also had a grandma who was a little crazy about wallpaper, so I couldn't have posters or tape or push pin anything to my walls at all. I had really nice furniture and although it was really nice, it didn't exactly scream little girl.

For all of that, it was still my space. I had my pictures on the wall and my bed had a fluffy white canopy. (You may feel free to pass out that I was ever that girly. What can I say, everyone has phases.) My bed was covered with pillows and stuffed animals and dolls and at the foot of my bed was a park bench.

I may have been stuck with my antique hooked rug, but there was never any doubt to whom that room belonged. I made it mine. It may not have been my dream room, but it was still all mine. I always felt at home there. In fact, after the nearly twenty years since I moved out of that room, there is still a certain comfort to be found in those pale pink walls.

That is what I want for Brynna. That sense of ownership, of peace and quiet and calm and belonging. When the world pushes against you, you need a space where you are completely free and yourself.

She and I are working on deciding what that means to her. What would make that space belong to her in a way that it doesn't right now. And I'm working on doing it to my space too.

Everyone needs a space that is only theirs. Where's yours?

Five Things on Friday - Small Blessings Edition

Today, I dropped my kids off and I won't see them again until Sunday. This is one of the worst things, the every other weekend thing. And the truth is that the weekends themselves aren't so bad. I do fun things, I hang out. I go to movies. I take quilting classes. I clean out my kids toys while they aren't home to pull out everything I want to sell and declare their undying love for a toy they haven't seen in four years. But Friday morning, kissing them goodbye like it's any other day and knowing that they are going to be gone for the whole, long weekend. That is rough.

So, I present:

Five Small Blessings on this Friday:


1. It's Friday - Who can be all verklempt when they don't have to go to work the next morning. Seriously.

2. It's Sunny - I love the cold weather and rain and general gloominess, but in the heart of winter, I don't get to see much of the sun and today is a happy reminder that it still exists.

3. Red Spoons - I took my lunch money today and got myself a sandwich and some ice cream with a lovely long handled red spoon. So cheery, a red spoon.

4. Movies with Grandma - Tomorrow's the day. Scary movies, HO!

5. Girls Night Out - I've got a friend coming in town tomorrow night to hang out and play cards. And that's truly awesome.

And now... to announce the winner of one $25 AMC Gift Card in honor of my 500th post.....

Suze!!! 

So, Suze, I'll get this to you next week and I hope you have a wonderful time at the movies.

The Birth of a Hoarder

Last night:

Me: All I really want is to just go to bed. Is that okay if I go to bed

Smarter Me (SM): No, you idiot. Brynna's not even home yet. Declare cord bankruptcy, you've been talking about that for two weeks.

Me: I don't wanna. Cord bankruptcy is stupid. Who thought of that anyway?

SM: Umm.... You dumbpants.

Me: Whatevs. I guess I can do that.

SM: Don't forget that drawer. And the other drawer. And the drawer in the kitchen. Oh, and that drawer you have to move the couch to get to. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe the cord situation wouldn't have gotten so out of hand if you kept them all in one place?

Me: Has it ever occurred to you that the cord situation wouldn't have gotten so out of hand if this were Victorian England.

SM: I fail to see how that applies.

Me: This cord says Fisher Price. Can you think of anything at all Fisher Price that would need a USB cable?

SM: No. So we must not be using it. Throw it out.

Me: But what if it's in the basement and it's totally fabulous and if I could find it I could see it at the consignment sale and make a lot of money? I think we should keep it.

SM: *sigh*

Me: How many telephone cords do you think I should keep?

SM: Considering that you no longer have home phone service and you have a wireless network? Let me think...

Me: Yeah, two is probably enough. A short one and a long one. Unless you think I should keep this red one because it's red.

SM: I think you can live without a red phone cord, since you don't, you know, have a phone.

Me: Okay, so I have 8 USB cables that I don't know what they go to. I'm going to label this box "Cords for Stuff" and then put them all in there and when I need a USB cable for something, I'll know it'll be in the "Cords for Stuff" box. Unless it isn't. And as I discover what cords are for what items, I'll label them and then someday, I'll throw out all the unlabeled cords since I obviously don't use them.

SM: Really? "Cords for Stuff" is your solution.

Me: Look, Brynna's home. Can I go to bed now?

SM: Whatever. You've totally worn me out.

On Cuddling...

Maren has had a terrible cough for the past couple of nights. And only at night. I think it's a lying down thing. In any case, for the past couple of nights, after listening to her cough for a couple of hours, I've given in and invited her to climb in bed with me. My giant pile of unshared pillows guarantees her a slight incline and you know, the comfort of mommyness.

Usually, Maren comes and gets in bed with me when she wakes up. She'll usually doze for a while and then start slapping me about turning on the TV. As I wake up generally as a grumpy monster of doom, you can imagine that these are not my happiest moments. I am nice, because it's my kid, but I also take extra time to wallow on the mornings when she isn't there when I wake.

But there's something different about these nights.

When she crawls in bed with her hair still damp from her bath, smelling of shampoo and nuzzles her head into my ribs, it still hurts and I still develop an uncomfortable wet spot on my side. I still can't sleep through her congested little snores. She still tries to push me out of the bed with nothing but her skull and her will.

But for all that, she's so much cuter while doing it. I lay in bed last night and thought, "What else could I possibly need in my life, other than this one trying to merge with my bone structure and the one that's going to wake up mad that Maren got to sleep with me?" And the answer, of course, is nothing.

Brynna woke up with a migraine this morning, and was reluctant to get up, get moving, get dressed, take her medicine or anything else. Finally, I broke down and made a strategic decision. I risked being late and made her crawl under the blanket and lay her head in my lap and just lie still for a few more minutes.

She lay there, breathing deep while I rubbed her back and watched the weather. It wasn't much special, but it was sort of magic at the same time. There was still a healthy dose of morning yelling - seriously, how many times is it necessary for me to say, "Put on some shoes!" but we got out the door and into the car and were the very last car accepted through car line.

It wasn't my idea of a peaceful morning, but as Brynna pulled on her shirt and fumbled with the buttons, she looked at me and said, "I want to cuddle more. We don't cuddle enough."

Indeed, Brynna. We don't. I'm not sure we ever could. But we'll try. We'll cuddle every day. We'll still fight about shoes and backpacks and why-didn't-you-do-that-last-night's. We'll miss a few bedtimes and possibly a few car lines. We'll struggle through.

Cuddling is now on my daily to do list. Because someday, you're going to think that we cuddle too much.

Five Things on Friday - Go to the Movies Edition

I love to go to the movies. It's partially because I love movies. They're like short stories and I love a tightly crafted story. But it's also because I just love to go to the movies. I love the dark, cool quiet. I love the big screen and the booming sound that completely remove you from your own life for two hours. I love the weird decor. There is no other place on Earth where giant velvet drapes, rope lights and bright orange and purple "go." I like the popcorn and the half gallon of Coke.

I used to go to the movies a lot, and then I had kids. Now I consider going to the movies to be one of the world's biggest treats. Here are:

Five Movies I'd Like to Treat Myself with Right Now
1. Woman in Black - I'm plotting to take my grandma (who is increasingly living my dream of becoming a hermit) to see this next weekend. We share an intense love of ghost stories and all things horror. Grandmommy, however, doesn't like the slasher end of the spectrum, which makes movies that are absolutely perfect for her few and and far between. I think the last one was The Others. Combine the creepy feeling, the Victorian flair and the Daniel Radcliffe of it all and I think we have a winner.

2. Chronicle - I love a good sci-fi. I also love a good twist on the super hero genre and Chronicle promises to be both. Also, I love high school movies. I don't know why.

3. Contraband - Mark Wahlberg. Is there really anything else I need to say? Okay, so it's also an action movie, and it doesn't seem like it's going to take itself too, too seriously. This is a risk we run with Marky-Mark.

4. Iron Lady - This is a biopic about Margaret Thatcher, a woman I find fascinating. If I ever get to see this, I guarantee it'll be all alone, but I'm in anyway.

5. Joyful Noise - This doesn't seem like the strongest premise ever and I'm not even 100% sure what it's about. Frankly it doesn't matter. Queen Latifah and Dolly Parton. That's all I needed - two of my favorite women doing their thing. I kinda can't wait.

Sooooo.... For those of you counting, this is my 500th post. Which kinda blows my mind. Who woulda ever thought I had so much to say. I really, really appreciate all of you coming along for the ride - it's been wild, but I would have given up long, long ago if it weren't for each of you.

I'd like to give you each a puppy. But I can't. I can't afford that many puppies, plus the shipping would be a bear. And of course, I'm not at all sure that you guys would even want a puppy. So, in lieu of that, and in honor of me babbling along for 500 whole posts, I'm giving away one $25 gift certificate to AMC Theatres.

To enter, simply leave a comment telling me what movie you would like to go see right now. If there's nothing out there, you may feel free to leave a comment about the horrible-ness of modern cinema.

A couple of notes:

1. I'll take entries until next Thursday night at midnight. I'll announce the winner in next week's Five Things. 
2. Only one entry per person, please.
3. I will choose the winner using a random number generator to be all fair and pants.
4. I am not in any way affiliated with or reimbursed by AMC Theatres. They don't know who I am or what I am about. If I died tomorrow and started haunting their corporate headquarters, they wouldn't even recognize my ghost. They'd be forced to hire a medium to get rid of me because they would have no idea how to put my soul to rest.

Have fun!

Talking about the S Word

If there is any part of motherhood that I am not on board with - it's talking about sex. I think that kids should just magically grow the knowledge they need as they mature. Or, do like I did and hum like a mad person and pretend absolute ignorance until middle school where there was sex ed, which, while uncomfortable, was waaaay better than having any kind of "talk" with my beloved family members. (Holy run-on sentence, batman.)

My coping mechanism for this is to not have "the talk." And by that I mean that I never, ever, ever intend to sit down with my daughters on the edge of the bed and have a full-on heart-to-heart where we cover every bird and bee issue under the sun, like they always seem to do on TV. Instead I have "talkettes."

It started for both of them when they were about two. Two rules for two year olds:
1. No one touches you where your bathing suit covers except mommy or daddy and the doctor in mommy or daddy's presence; and
2. You are boss of your body.

That's pretty much the basics. Since the first talkette, Brynna has asked questions that launched a new talkette, like, "Mommy, what's a period?" and I have done my best to not choke on my Coca-Cola and answer in a complete and truthful manner without telling her more than she actually wants to know.* (And you know, make sure she's talking about that period and not the one that comes at the end of a sentence.)

As far as spit-take inducing and immense discomfort goes, it's all been pretty cool so far. Until last week. While we were watching TV, Brynna casually said, "I know what you're supposed to use your girlfriend for - sex." Other than the massive heart attack I suffered right there in my mom's living room, I survived. I chose to answer the more worrying part of that statement - i.e. not sex.

"Well, Brynna, a boyfriend and a girlfriend are in a relationship," I said. "They shouldn't be using each other for anything. A relationship is about equal parties treating each other with love and respect. Not about one person using the other person for anything."

Later, in the car, Brynna asked what sex was anyway. Brynna asks me stuff in the car a lot because she doesn't have to look at me or have me look at her. This is a good thing when I am pretending not to have an aneurysm. It is a bad thing in that Maren is typically in the car with us and I have to think doubly hard about age-level appropriateness.

I survived, but just barely. I answered as honestly as I could, without giving any scary details and made sure to emphasize the part where - for the love of pants - only grown-ups. I mean, I kept the car on the road and that seems to be a major accomplishment here.

So when does sex ed start these days? I mean obviously, the playground talk has already started. Isn't that when other adults should step in and save me from myself? I feel certain that talking to your kids about sex is the ultimate punishment for having it yourself. Pregnancy, childbirth, sleepless nights - cake walk. This is the real test.


*In my opinion, this is another big deal. A three year old asking what sex is wants a completely different answer  than a fourteen year old. You have to know your kids and also, you have to ask them, "How much do you want to know," or give them permission to stop you, "it's okay to tell me that I'm talking too much." Just remember where you left off for next time.

Accessorizing

It's no secret that I'm trying to look nice. I'm not very good at it.

I don't mean that in a self-deprecating way. One of the things I like about myself is that I am not one to spend hours getting ready for anything. Give me a hairbrush, a toothbrush and some moderately clean clothes and I can be ready for whatever in about five minutes.

But, what this usually means is limp hair, no make-up, tennis shoes, jeans and a "dressy" tee shirt. FYI - dressy here means plain with nothing on it. That's about my only requirement for "dressy."

So, I'm trying.


I'm still not wearing make-up because after years of saying I was going to and working at it, I've finally just come to conclusion that I am just not a make-up person. I will wear it to job interviews and cocktail parties and maybe, maybe girls' nights. That don't involve my daughters. But not on a daily basis.

And although I want to work on the tennis shoes, I'm not making much progress.

So, basically, I bought some stuff that makes my already-almost-curly hair actually curl and I'm trying to wear matching clothes. And accessorize.

And that's the fun part.

Apparently, trying doesn't
require smiling or opening my
eyes. Pay no attention to that.
Look instead at the kinda
curly hair and necklace.
Not that the necklace is curly.

You know what I mean.

Because, the thing is that I love accessories. I love clunky necklaces and dangly earrings and scarves - oh how I love scarves. And there is so much more personality in a pair of earrings than in a whole wardrobe of solid tee shirts. I love this stuff. And I have this stuff. I just don't wear this stuff.

Until now.

Holey Pants, this is a full time job.

But it's also inspired in me a desire for more accessories. For instance, despite my all encompassing adoration of all things scarfy, I only have about three. And I have a awe-inspiring collection of fun, little pendants, but most of silver chains have seen better days.

All I've bought so far is a card of big box silver hoops and a couple of pieces on a $1 sale at a little store downtown, but I have needs, here. Scarfy, necklacy, dangly earringy needs.

So, those of you who accessorize: where to you pick this stuff up? Give me some insight into where you shop. I'm hard on jewelry, especially, so I don't like to pay a lot, but I don't want it to be really pitiful quality, so mid-range stuff for bargain budgets? Help me, please.

Now with More Dancing!

I'm trying to institute a new policy at work. Whenever we finally accomplish something, we all jump up and dance like this:


What do you think?

And Then There Was Shrieking

My children (bless their hearts*) have entered this phase in which they are constantly screaming.

They scream when they are happy - "Papaaaaaaawwwwwww!!!!!!"
They scream when they are sad - "Paaaaaandddeeeeeee!"
They scream when they are angry - "AAAAARRRRRRRRR. You are sooo mean!"
They scream when they are bored - "EEEEEEE! It wasn't me, it was the pony."

They scream when they are together or separate or hungry or sleepy or just woke up or in the car or on the lawn or in someone else's house. They scream when they see me, my mom, Jerry, Uncle D, their dad, a cartoon on TV or a rainbow.

Or, you know, air.

I figured that by having my kids four years apart, I wouldn't be dealing with the simultaneous phase, but there you have it... screaming.

So, the question arises, how does one deal with screaming. I've tried to reason with them about inside volume levels and such. I've tried yelling at them, which seems counter productive. I've tried punishing. I've tried bribing. I've given begging a shot and I've even appealed to their sense of empathy, "Mommy has such a headache. Do you think we could keep the volume down? For mommy's poor head?"

Nothing works.

The screaming continues, unabated. And my head pounds, likewise unabated.

This morning as they were screaming at each other (a favorite variation), I broke down and asked them, "What am I supposed to do to make you guys get along and lower the volume?" I asked.

"Spray us with water," replied Brynna.
"Yeh, spay us with hot-hot water," added Maren.
"Oooh, hot water. Good call. That'd teach us. And when we are good, you can spray us in the mouth, and when we are bad, you can spray our hair," amended Brynna.
"Or our eyes," complied Maren.

So - there you have it. Spray your kids in the eyes with hot-hot water when they scream.**
_____________________________________
* You know how ticked off a Southern woman is by her use of "bless their hearts." In this case, very.

**Of course, in the interest of not being a psychopath you should probably not do this. Although, maybe if I spray myself in the ears with hot-hot water, I won't mind the screaming so much.