Friendship Plan

As BigGirl and I spilled ourselves and all of our miscellaneous carry-ons into the school parking lot this morning, she was positively in a tizzy.

"Mommy, I really need your help! I just don't know what I'll do about this!"

I, completely confused as to what was her problem - except for the fact that it was taking her a solid 5 minutes to get her skinny little bootie out of the backseat, with or without her backpack - hurriedly asked for clarification. (As my arms motioned like a flight attendant for her to move to the nearest exit - PRONTO.)

"I need a plan! Today is my day to play with Bestest BFF, but Friend B will want to play too...I just don't know what to do!"

Dumbfounded (though I'm not sure why I was surprised), I quickly preached the "more the merrier" schpeal. "You know, that's why a party is more fun than just a playdate. It's more fun with more friends."

"I guess I'll just have to tell her that it's my day to play with Bestest BFF...but, HOW WILL I DO THAT? HOW CAN I DO THAT? I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW I CAN DO THAT!"

At this point, resolved that she was NOT going to go for the merry threesome idea, and feeling my stress level frizz as fast as my hair in the morning air, I gave up. "Here's an idea: SAY IT. Use your words. That's why God GAVE us words!"

As we, at long last, began moving toward the building, BigGirl hauling her worries on her back and I hauling my entire office in a cart behind me with one hand and the all important venti skinny vanilla latte in the other, she laid it on the table.

"Mommy, I just need a Friendship Plan. That's all there is to it."

This is just the latest in a long line of heart-breaking girl tiffs that she has suffered through this year. While BabyGirl is busy planning her white wedding to Don Juan Jr. (scheduled to be held in her preschool classroom sometime this year... and we're all invited), BigGirl is crying in the hallway.

On the morn of her "Friendship Anniversary" with the all important Bestest BFF, she arrived at school all decked out in her finest diamond drop earrings, diamond encrusted arm cuffs, and a diamond (blinky-light) necklace. Apparently, not all first grade girlies are confident enough to pull off this level of adornment and SOMEONE felt the need to point out the fact that she does NOT have pierced ears. (Gasp!!! The horror!) Instead, she was wearing (scandalous, I know) CLIP ON EARRINGS!!!

Girls, girls, girls.

My BigGirl, not the type to brush something off without hurt feelings, nor the type to say to her classmate, "I know. These are clip-on. Not everyone has pierced ears." and let that be the end of it, was crushed. She refused to go to school. She came down with a headache and possibly a fever. She needed FireDaddy to come A.S.A.P. to pick her up.

Unfortunately for her...and my officemate who had to listen to the wailing...AND BigGirl's crying, I threatened an embargo on all television privileges if she did not hightail her hiny out of my office chair and march that bootie downstairs to her class. She went reluctantly (and still in tears). Funny, the Motrin didn't seem to help the headache and "fever"...but, with an apology, she was cured.

Why am I rambling about this, you ask? What is it I'm REALLY trying to say?

I am SO not looking forward to the day the hormones start to kick in. Dear God, someone may need to take me out back and put me out of my misery before then.

Scratch that.

I can't leave them alone with FireDaddy.

Dear God, someone is REALLY going to need to get me some stronger pills before then.

Sunday Simplicity

Today has been a simple day for me. A day to declutter and decompress. In keeping with my decluttering mode, I'll attempt to simplify my post today. Which is going to be hard because, well, I like to talk a lot...er, type a lot.

I gave my daughters a gift this morning. I gave them a Stay At Home Day. Big Girl nearly jumped for joy when I gave her permission to wear a mismatched outfit that she, apparently, adores. Baby Girl has been in hog heaven with her baby stroller, jewelry and flavored chapstick...half the time wearing only panties. I think she's a nudist trapped in a three year-old body.

I have been busily laundering and folding, emptying the dishwasher, clicking the mouse, paying bills, talking to the doggies, and generally doing whatever it is I feel like doing. No worries today.

As I walked from my bedroom to the girls' room one time, I noticed Baby Girl lying on the floor pillows in the den with her finger up her nose. "Baby, do you need a tissue?"

"Yes, I need tissue."

As I passed back through the room I handed her a tissue and left her to take care of her business.

A moment later, on my way to the kitchen, I noticed she was chewing on something. "What's in your mouth?"

"A booger. A booger from my nose."

Nice. What a Little Princess.

Back to my simple life.

Super Saturdays

I absolutely love Saturday. It is my favorite day of the week. It is the most optimistic of all the days, the most relaxed, the most free. The world lies before you on a silver platter. For once, I feel like I've captured a little bit of that elusive thing called "time".

I love to crawl out of bed before everyone else and steal a few minutes alone. My early rising companions, Bo and Daisy, often join me on the back porch to enjoy the pleasant morning breeze. Some days I read, or write, or talk on the phone to fellow early birds like Mama Dearest. Other days I may just enjoy breakfast in peace.

I love to lounge around for hours before getting dressed. The morning kids' shows with BigGirl and Littlest Princess, internet surfing and blog reading are all well and good, but mostly - it's just delaying the chore of getting dressed that I enjoy.

I love propping up on my bed after it's been made. My bedroom, gently lit by filtered sunshine, is a cool and relaxing place. It's even better when the house has a slight chill, making my throw blanket necessary for cozying.

And Saturday television is the best. Years ago, when it was just the BigGirl and I if FireDaddy was at the station, we enjoyed the occasional (OK, so maybe it was more "routine" than "occasional") PBS marathon. For years I was too cheap to pay for cable, so PBS was the best choice around for weekend viewing. We knew what time the cooking show marathon began and we'd memorized the lineup like pros. America's Test Kitchen, Fast Food My Way with Jacques Pepin, Everyday Food, Daisy Cooks!, BBQ U, and Julia child: Lessons With Master Chefs. We both stayed glued to the screen (and our seats) for hours. (Yes, I know that was not the best parenting move for my child's developing young mind. But, luckily, she doesn't seem to have been harmed by my negligence.)

Even as the day comes to a close, even if you realize you've completely wasted away the day, you've still got the hope and promise of one more day off. Sweet, sweet, Sunday...but that's another post.

Sadly, I cannot say I spent my day like this today. I did enjoy some early morning quiet outside with my doggies. I did spend a few hours, after returning home from necessary weekend errands, propped on my bed (even if it was behind my computer working on school stuff). I did get in some quality giggle time with my girlies (even if it was flanked by bickering and whining). And, best of all, I am, once again, putting myself to bed banking on the promise of Sweet Sunday. Tomorrow, I hope to never leave the house at all.

Pssst! This weekend, if you get a chance for some relaxing internet surfing and blog reading, be sure to stop by my buddy's blog. Even though she's in Portugal right now (and has posted some GORGEOUS pics of her vacation), she's hosting an anniversary giveaway. Just keep your paws off the coffee cozy. It's mine, babe.

Photo credits: Library of Congress photostream on Flickr

Flashback Freeway

"Sometimes, a writer finds buried treasures in places they remember. As you think about the geography of a place from your past, memories will surface as you think about the place where they occurred..."

This was the gist of a lesson I recently taught my students. Then, I drove off to my old stomping grounds for a long weekend, and I felt that lesson come alive in my mind.

Sometimes, you don't even have to visit a building or any specific location for this to happen. I learned this weekend that, in some cases, just driving down the road will be enough to stir the pot. As I drove alone on a few brief errands this weekend, I was overcome with memories.

I remembered driving down the road with one of my BFFs in a red Mustang, singing along with Celine & Meatloaf at the top of our lungs as the wind ripped through the car. (Don't laugh. That song was at the top of the charts then.)

I remembered driving on the interstate for the first time with Boyfriend K. I was terrified that the car in the lane next to me was moving in on my space. He laughed at me and my paranoia, and I laughed back. Terrified, still.

I remembered riding, stunned, with Boyfriend S after the "Meet the Parents Date". I was stunned because his mother had whipped out flossers after dinner and flossed her teeth RIGHT THERE AT THE TABLE. (I'm not sure if this redeems her at all, but she was polite enough to offer me a flosser, too...."Gee...thanks...I think I'm good, though.")

I remembered wondering what road we were on as I rode home in the back of someone's parent's station wagon from the Nelson concert, my ears still ringing. (Ahem, they were cool too, thank you very much.)

I remembered getting a ride home after school from Really Nice Guy Friend everyday, only later to discover he liked me all the while and I was too stupid and too wrapped up in my Loves Gone Bad to realize it. Hind sight is 20-20.

I remembered the day I spent with Short-Term Romance Boy as he got a tattoo on his ankle, somewhere on the other side of town. I have no idea when or where this was, but it was a sight that scared me out of a tattoo...for life!

I remembered riding in Boyfriend D's brand new Jeep one cool Florida night, feeling too grown up for my years.

I remembered cruisin' in a convertible the summer I retook Chemistry (yeah...Chemistry and I went together like oil and water...) with my Wannabe Model Friend. She looked in the rearview mirror more than she looked at the road. (Checkin' out her pouty look.) Then, we'd drive through Taco Bell for bean burritos and Dr. Pepper.

I remembered walking, after a movie, down the main drag in town while it was closed for construction. Laughing my head off at Guy Friend B's jokes. Who knew Raffi's "Baby Beluga" could be so funny?

I remembered the odd ritual of touching a screw in a girl friend's "bucket" of a car and hollering out "SCREW!!!" everytime we crossed a railroad track, as though her car would fall apart without our help.

I remembered "pushing" my "For Real" Model Friend's car - from the inside - everytime we went up a hill. "Go, go, go!" We were never sure if it could make it to the top.

I remembered walking with a Middle School Friend to the 7-11 outside her neighborhood and spending a few dollars on that crazy powder candy you dip a candy stick into and then lick off the stick. Afterwards, we dried fresh flowers in the microwave and rolled each other's hair.

I remember walking home in the rain after school. I remember cutting through the field, taking the short cut to Freshman BFF's house and having Dr. Pepper and bologna sandwiches. And laughing.

I remember the little sink hole on a corner around a few corners from my house. It totally freaked me out, so I walked a wide circle around it.

I remember standing outside my house after a great first date, with butterflies in my stomach. My face hurt from smiling so much. I don't remember where we went or what we did, but it was great.

I remember walking home from a friend's house when the street lamps came on, after a really silly afternoon of prank calling everyone we knew...and didn't know.

I remember riding downtown to a summer theater camp with a girl I barely knew, singing Richard Marx in the car. (Yes, he was cool then, too.)

I remember being so impressed when One Or Two Dates Boy had a CELL PHONE. (oooooh......) Sure, it was his mom's...but WOW! I also remember being stupid enough to believe his nonsense blabber about how it "worked on a grid system...blah blah blah...and if you move when you're on the phone it will lose the signal..." What??? No wonder boys got me in trouble so much.

Those moments truly are miles away from my present. Today, I find myself cruisin' the streets on the way to and from school and the dance studio, jamming to Hannah Montana with my NEW BFFs...Little Princess and Big Girl. My latest boy, FireDaddy, has a seat indefinitely reserved in my cool, white Pacifica. Sometimes, I still kiss the clock and make a wish when I glance down from the road at exactly 11:11. I still love to car dance on Target and Publix runs. And, everyday, when I look back in my rearview mirror, I smile at what I remember AND at what I see smiling back at me.

Photo credits: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dotsi/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Sweet Dreams

Baby Girl tearfully tip-toed into my room tonight with her precious Pinkie [baby blanket]. She had a bad dream.

My life has been plagued by dreams, both good and bad. Perhaps this goes back to a post I started (and abandoned) earlier this evening on imagination; perhaps it's something different, I don't know. But I live in awe - and fear - of my dreams.

My dreams are as real as they come, and they always have been. For as long as I can remember, after I ate my breakfast (once it was deemed "safe" to tell them by my mother) retellings of my night life have been met with remarks about their details and lengths. More times than not, if I remember anything of what I've dreamed, I remember it as clearly as day. I can tell you what I was wearing, describe the setting "to a t", replay conversations verbatim, and - the emotions. That's the most powerful of all. The emotions are raw. Pure. Intense. Consuming.

Perhaps this is why I have also have so many memories of tip-toeing into my parents bedroom at night.

My own little teary person would tenderly, slowly step into my parents room; stalling at the threshold to listen to their breathing (or snoring, whatever the case may be). My heart cried for them to please, please wake up. Most times they would continue sleeping soundly as I crept to Daddy's side of the bed. I can remember sitting on the spare pillow that lay by his bed. My, surely snotty, little nose sniffing as I sat silently near his sleeping body...staring. Intently. Willing him to wake up and save me from my sadness and fear.

I never spoke. I never said his name. I just...waited.

He always woke up. He always knew it was me. He always knew why I was there.

And he always let me climb into the middle of their bed, be comforted by their familiar scents and sounds, and safely fall back to sleep.

I remember the way my mother's speech sounded different in the night - with her mouthguard in. (We suffer from bruxism...add that to my list...) Their voices were quiet and broken by sleep. Their heavy heads never lifted far from their pillows. Daddy's hand softly rubbed my head, a habit he had perfected in my infancy. I welcomed those familiar things.

Now, as an adult, there are nights I would still do it all over again, were they near enough. My dreams continue to disturb me. Sadly, my Littlest Princess seems to be touched in this way, too. While I cannot change her dreams or take them away - and in many ways, I would never want to - I hope one day she will have memories like mine. Because, in the end, it's not the dreams I remember most, it's being saved.

**Author's Note: I considered providing examples of my dreams in this post, to help you understand. But, I decided that' s another post entirely...

A New Project

So, my sister-in-law, Tammy, texted me today after she read about Big Girl's near miss with the law. 

I want to know:  What kind of keys was she planning on putting on that "hot" keychain?  Or is a "hot" mustang next on the list??  

Let's not plant any seeds, OK?

With that, she promptly got me going on my next project.  Just the rebound I need.  I have a good history with rebounds.  I married my last one, you know...but that's another post entirely.

As I recover from the slap in the face my parenting journey just dealt me this weekend, I suspect this sentimental look at motherhood is a fix I sorely need today.  I also expect it will be accompanied by its own fair share of tears on my part, as its timing is right on the heels of the sad culmination of a book I'd been reading.  Needless to say, any tears shed at this late hour, won't be the first of the day.

According to Her Bad Mother, I'm supposed to share with you five trinkets of motherhood I would love to tuck away in the safety of the box my grandmother gave me years ago, alongside a two dollar bill and locks of baby hair.  Then, as the ritual goes, I'm supposed to tag five more mothers who blog - so they can continue this virtual journey around the world in "80 clicks".  

Alright, buckle up, folks.  This boat is setting sail.

1.  I love to watch them sleep, cuddled together like kittens.  Their long, thick lashes lay softly in perfectly neat little semi-circles against their smooth, milky skin.  Their little lips - pink painted on with the tiniest, delicate brush.  Their breathing smooth until they flail and rustle in their sleep.  Arms flopping all over one another.  Their slumber too deep to be disturbed.

2.  I love the glee in riding with the windows rolled down.  As tiny babies, the wind made them catch their breath.  Now, as they grow, the more refreshing and invigorating the wind is to them.  We drive shamelessly through town, singing at the top of our lungs, dancing like mad women, uninhibited by onlookers in the next lane.  I am transported back in time to my high school days - driving around town in a red mustang with my best friend - behaving the same.  

3.  I love playing on the floor with them.  We don't just do puzzles or play Barbies.  We rollick and roll -- we do cartwheels and jump on the mini-trampoline and sing and dance and play "break-break" and airplane and they squeal and scream as I hold them upside down above me while they cling to my legs.  We hide eggs in the house in June and even November.  We paint on the glass door.  We squirt each other with the hose.  We sing songs.  We laugh until we cry and sometimes wet our pants.  

4.  I love to talk to them.  I love to hear their thoughts.  Their tales.  Their perspective on the world around them.  I want to crawl inside their heads and see what goes on in there.  I want to watch the movie of their day from where they stood.  Then, I'd slide down into their chests and study their hearts.  And before I climb back out again, I'd hold it. I'd hug it.  I'd cradle it and cry over it.  There is nothing so precious to me in this world.  My baby's heart.  My heart.  

5.  I love seeing them everyday.  I love their companionship.  I love their smiles.  Their hugs.  Their kisses.  Their grumps.  Their fusses and whines.  I love their presence in my home and in my life.  I love hearing them in the backseat.  I love seeing them in my rearview mirror.  I love that my television is perpetually on Disney, pillows never stay where they're put, books are never reshelved, blankies are on my kitchen floor, sticker charts hang on the bathroom door, small furniture is in every room of my house, and my refrigerator, my desk, my bedside table, my car, my walls, and my heart is decoupaged with their smiles.

I love being a mom.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

Your turn.  Go.  Wallow in it.

Be sure to come back and share your link.  

Feeling Full of It

Ever seen Oklahoma?  Not the state -- the musical (or movie).

"Oh, what a beautiful morning!  Oh, what a beautiful day!  I've got a beautiful feeling, everything's going my way."  

Today was an absolutely gorgeous day.  Perfect temperature, lovely breeze, not a cloud (that I noticed in a bad way, at least) in the sky -- sunshiny, gorgeous, perfect weather. 

To make the day even better -- it was Good Friday.  (a.k.a. - No school.  Mommy and girls are OFF!)

My babies woke up on the RIGHT side of the bed - with sweet little happy smiles on their faces.  We had an exciting day planned.  The Hannah Montana movie opened today.  We were meeting some friends for an early showing, then lunch, then park, then dance class.  Whew.  I knew it was risky, but I felt good when everyone slept well last night and greeted me with perky little hellos this morning.  

To make a long story short, I was not entirely so lucky.  There were tears, there were time-outs, there was lots of fighting and fussing (me vs. Littlest Princess, mostly).  The movie (what I saw of it) was very cute.  Lunch -- grilled chicken and fruit salad at Chick-Fil-A (with children on playground) -- was delicious.  Dance class started off rather badly, unfortunately.  We were late and I had to deal with one teary-eyed, obstinant Big Girl.  However, their spirits seemed to recover after class and we enjoyed a fabulous trip to the park (ran out of time before dance).  To top it all off -- we came home too late for me to cook dinner (sniff, sniff) and BOTH babes fell asleep in the car on the way home.  Woo-hoo!  

This very full and long day has left me feeling a bit full of it.  Not in a funny way -- just a full way.  Do you ever have that feeling?  The feeling that your gut has risen into your chest?  The feeling that you have something to say -- something to EXPEL -- that you may or may not be able to accurately express?  It's nights like this that I am apt to have a drink(s) of wine...but I'm currently on a litenany of meds for a variety of reasons, so my better judgment is urging me to stay away from the adult beverages.  

It's funny, too, how the "full" feeling seems to morph into a numbness.  

Perhaps this is fatigue -- on caffeine...and pain meds...and steroids...and Prozac.