The H Word...

It's no secret that the past two years have been the hardest of my life...everything I knew has been turned upside down. I've been pretty quiet about most of it, because that's how I process things...but today is the first of December, and it's an eventful one at that. It seemed like a good time for an update of sorts, so bear with me while I stumble through this mess that is my life.

First, although I'm pretty sure I have yet to utter this sentence aloud, let alone commit it to writing, it's not exactly a secret. Brian and I are getting a divorce. While I've had some time to get used to the idea, it's still very strange on so many levels...I married B at 21 after dating him for three years. I have never had a Christmas on my own as an adult. I'm turning 35 this month, and I won't be getting a present from him for the first time since my 18th...I'm essentially having to redefine my whole life, and to some extent, I'm making it up as I go. Trying to figure out who I am in the singular tense has been hard...of course, I have the girls, so I only exist in the singular tense 12 nights per month.

The girls are doing well, and are adjusting to the changes far better than I am...we'll see if that holds true after we move. The house is on the market, effective today. I'm looking to buy in the same school district we're living in now, but this is a tall order in Edmond, at least in my price range. Hopefully it will work out...they've had enough changes, and I pray I can spare them this one.

My friends have been amazing, and I am so very blessed...but it's getting a little harder, with everyone busy for the holidays, and me considerably LESS busy than I usually am this time of year. Sometimes the house is too quiet. Last month, when I had an article deadline, I simply couldn't write it at home. I kept starting, and just wasn't getting anywhere. I ended up going to O's and sitting at the bar with my laptop. Nancy was great--she got me a glass of wine and left me alone, and I pounded the editorial out amid the background noise in less than two hours...this is the new normal.

I've dated a handful of guys, and that has defintiely been interesting...no one tells you the rules change so much over the course of 16 years, but they do...and it's not always fun. Marriage is infinitely harder, but dating is no damn picnic, either...it's not for the faint of heart. And you know what? I am utterly terrified of being hurt again. I'm already a little broken, so why would I want to open myself up to the possibility of being shattered beyond repair?

Because it's what you do. Life doesn't come with a guarantee. Which brings me to my other bit of news...I'm seeing someone, and it's going really well. For now, we can just call him N...if it gets more serious, I'll give him the rest of his name. We've been dating for a couple of months, and I love hanging out with him...he's sarcastic and funny, and he makes me laugh all the time. I have a few years on him, and he likes to tease me about it sometimes, but it doesn't really bother either one of us. He's smarter than I am, and as such, I get away with next to nothing, but it's fun to be kept on my toes. But I think I just said the keyword here...fun. He's a lot of fun, which makes him exactly what I need right now. I have a great time with him, and he's a great guy, and he makes me happy...

That's right. Happy. My first Christmas on my own, my first birthday as an adult without a husband, my house on the market, my world turned on its side...it's taken awhile, but I can say it now. I'm happy. I'm on my own...and I'm doing just fine, so bring on the holidays. I can take it.

Looking for a Light...

Sometimes, a blessing comes when you least expect it. When things can't get worse, when it seems like nothing could ever be right again, when you can't get your head above water...there it is. Today I saw it happen to a friend, and I got to smile at his good fortune. Sometimes good things just happen to good people. And even if you're still in the dark, some of that light is going to shine on you, too. At least, I hope so! Cheers!

Silly Girls...

Everyone is asking how the girls are faring, and I'm happy to report that they're doing very well. In fact, in many ways, they haven't missed a beat. It's taken me a lot longer to adjust to having them gone more than it has them...and they are right back to being their formerly feisty, funny selves.

Last week, I caught Sara singing "It's Raining Men" to herself while she was doing her homework...and she knows every word. This afternoon when she got home from school, she came in, dropped her bag, and announced, "I'm feeling a little stressed out this afternoon. I think I'm just going to spend the next hour relaxing on the couch." Roger that...second grade can be very stressful, indeed.

Emily is VERY caught up in the state of being known as Middle School Girl. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this phenomenon, let me fill you in on exactly what it entails:

1) They are only 11, but they want to be 17.
2) They make an attempt to act like they're 17, but they're really 11- and 12-year-olds...and it's obvious.
3) If you give them a cell phone, they may be inclined to TEXT you from across the table at a restaurant instead of speaking to you in public.
4) Justin Bieber.

That sweet little girl you raised? She's gone on a very long hiatus. You can hope that she will visit from time to time, but in the meantime, in her place you may find a very tall, slightly awkward person with boobs who resembles her. This girl knows everything there is to know about the universe, so there is no need to offer her your opinion about anything. (If you do, she will find it ridiculous and will immediately begin texting her friends about your childish notions.) On the occasions when she actually ASKS for your opinion, use caution, as it may take on the following form:

Emily:  Mom, the guy with the locker next to mine won't stop hitting on me, and I'm not into him. What do I do?"

Me: Ummmmmmmm......errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.....what???

In this situation, when you are rendered ridiculous, it is actually true...let the exasperated texting begin...

Lost and Found

I haven't been writing, because I am not particularly funny, and I'm guessing those of you that come here are looking for funny. Funny girls don't get left behind...not them, or the pretty ones, either, right? Wrong! Sometimes they do...and suddenly life is unrecognizable. Don't get me wrong, it's going to be okay. I'm not exactly afraid to be on my own...I know I'm capable of it, and I know I'm strong enough for it, especially with my beautiful girls to keep me on my toes and my amazing friends loving on me...but it's intimidating. Not only was my last first date in 1995, but neither Mad Men nor True Blood returns until 2012!! What am I going to do with all that time, nearly half of which I'll be spending alone?!  Probably NOT being very funny for awhile...maybe this would be a good time to take a stab at technical writing...

So bear with me, folks, while I try to find my smile again...I promise it'll come. In the meantime, if I could borrow yours, that will help me get by...

Thursday Night Sorrow (Ode to Lee)

I don't know how many people out there are still reading me...judging from the recent lack of commentary, I'm guessing not very many...but to whomever IS out there, bear with me today, because I'm feeling a little bit broken-hearted and sentimental.

For the past couple of years, Thursday nights have been Girls' Night Out with some of my close friends. Not every week...but every other Thursday or so, a handful of us thirtysomethings (and sometimes Krystal) would line up at the bar at Othello's around 8:30 or 9 and close the place down with our trusted and much-beloved bartender, Lee. We drink wine and share appetizers and catch up with each other, often discussing our kids and relationships and what's happening in the world. Sometimes there are just 2 or 3 of us, usually 5 or 6, though we've had as many as a dozen. However many we numbered, Lee was always waiting for us with a smile, and he knew to put our water in cognac glasses to make it pretty. He always put extra cherries in my club special and knew how I liked my pizza. When our wine glasses approached empty, he would quietly appear in front of us, raising an eyebrow in question. With a nod or a shake of the head, he would refill the glass or bring coffee, without making us so much as pause in our conversation. We flirted shamelessly with him, both individually and en masse, and he would smile and blush, which made us laugh...but he always took our teasing in stride. Sometimes he flirted back, but he was always careful to toe the line and remain appropriate--at least reasonably so. He didn't talk much, and what little we knew about him, we had to drag out of him, but every once in awhile he would open up and throw his two cents into our chatter. Best of all, when our husbands or boyfriends would show up at our sides, he would treat them like old friends, but never uttered a word about our sometimes personal Thursday Girl talk. I can honestly say, he understood what was sacred.

Today, I found out our Lee is moving on, and I know I'm not alone in my sadness. He tended to us well, and will be sorely missed by us all. Thursday nights won't ever be quite the same!

Texts From Last Night...

Okay, so it was actually only this afternoon. I received the following text (which came across as 11 texts) from a disgruntled, fed-up, single but beautiful girlfriend of 26:

I need you to tell me that I am not going to die a dog lady...and that one day, a wonderful man will come along who doesn't bug the shit out of me, isn't jealous or insecure, doesn't overuse the phrase "check it out," has a real career, doesn't have to regurgitate movie lines just to have something to say, can go out without getting obliterated, wouldn't even dream of going tanning, doesn't comment on how much everything costs (especially when he takes me out), will pick the f*cking restaurant once in awhile, because if you don't we are going to Mahogany, doesn't feel the need to flex his arm if I brush up against it, doesn't wear size schmedium shirts that he constantly has to tug at the sleeves on, understands that "babe" is not to be used until a minimum 6 months of steady dating and maybe not even then or EVER, understands that my house is not an all-you-can-eat diner, knows the brand of his shirt need not be emblazoned across his chest in 4 inch letters, will not put his GD shoes on my furniture, knows that half-dead roses are lame, especially when I made it easy and said I like TULIPS (but wait, they don't sell those at Homeland), realizes that yes, my dog is cuter than your leg-humping laborador, and knows that the beer I buy is expensive, so don't drink it all every time you come over and not offer to replace it. While we're at it, jackass, who the hell taught you grammar? "Your" is not the same thing as "you're!" No one cares that your favorite movie is Dumb and Dumber--in fact, keep that to yourself when you're around my friends. It wouldn't kill you to make plans in advance, and it would be nice to get picked up and not always have to drive. Oh, and hey, guess what? BICEP is not the only muscle group, so my calves shouldn't be bigger than yours. Why the hell are you still sleeping on a futon and having your mother do your laundry? Sorry, that got a little more direct there at the end, but it felt great...I think I need to quit dating. The water is getting stale. Maybe it's that green algae.

Oh, honey...I may be older, but that doesn't mean I'm wiser...nevertheless, I offered the following:

You will NOT die alone. You will not be a crazy dog lady. That man exists, I just don't know where to tell you to find him...but it probably isn't at a bar. He likely needs to be at LEAST your age, or close to it. He might need to have learned a few things the hard way. You don't need to swear off men entirely, just those that are underemployed, undereducated, those with roommates--especially if the roommates are his parents--and those who get drunk more than once a week. He has to be at least as witty as me, and text with punctuation and without excessively abbreviating. Hang in there. I love you and would snap you up myself if I had the proper anatomy.

Good luck to you, K. I'll keep my eyes peeled...

Sara's Christmas Luau

Sara has more imagination in her pinky toe than most people could ever even wish for. Since we got back from Colorado, she's been complaining incessantly about the heat. Granted, it IS miserable...but as I pointed out to her this afternoon, there's nothing I can do about it, and complaining doesn't seem to be helping matters...a little later, I ran out to the store and returned to find she had put up signs all over the house. Christmas Festival Tonight! Join us for a Christmas Luau! Emily had applied reindeer makeup and dressed her up, and I was selected to introduce her as our master of ceremonies.We sang carols and played games, and Sara kept us giggling nonstop. She decided to simply THINK cold...and I, for one, think it helped! :)

Mommy, Can We Talk For a Minute?

This phrase, when uttered by my elder daughter, now has the power to still my heart...but when I hear it from my sweet, happy second-grader, I typically don't worry that much...until now. Sara's somber appeal early this morning led us to the living room love seat while the house was still quiet, where she explained that she had a crush on a boy from her first-grade class. "How do I get him to notice me when school starts if we're in different classes?"

As if he could help it, I think with a smile. But I do my job and keep a straight face throughout this discussion. I explain that there's still a chance she could wind up in the same class as Hank again, but if she didn't, the best strategy at her age was to simply talk to him and become his friend.

"But what do I say?" she asks.

I tell her she can't really script their conversations, but a good starting point would be to go up to him on the playground and ask him how his summer was. I suggest she ask questions about his family and what he liked to do to get to know him better.

At this, her brow furrows slightly, and she looks up at me, clearly puzzled.

"Wait...do I have to actually listen to his answers or can I just ask the questions?"

Good luck, Hank...

Heat Wave...

It's 105 degrees today. Yesterday, it was 107. No kidding, that's actually the temperature, not the heat index. The heat index is somewhere north of 115, making sitting still indoors the only suitable activity for any reasonable family. I'm making two pitchers of lemonade per day and cooking as little as possible...and as a result of the heat wave, I've been watching a lot of movies with the girls. Last night, Sara announced that she'd "always wanted to see Gone With the Wind." Always. As in all 7 years of her existence....sure...okay. And so, after a brief warning regarding the violence that took place during the Civil War, I downloaded the epic on Netflix and we began watching. Both of them were immediately enthralled. Sara was very concerned about the slavery issue--rightly so--and a history lesson ensued. But she instantly took a shine to Scarlett, telling me she was "one cool chick."

Emily was interested on a more mature level, of course, asking whether the book would be appropriate for her to read at this age and marveling at what a feat it must have been to make such a film in 1939. At the end, she announced, "That was actually excellent!" Grandma is going to be pleased...

Today, it was Father of the Bride, the 90s version with Steve Martin. Again, the girls dove right in, laughing hysterically at Frank the wedding coordinator and dad's exaggerated reactions to spending money on the wedding. Following one such scene, Sara turned to me and pointedly asked: "So exactly how much are you willing to spend on my wedding? I'd like to have an idea of the budget going in."

I laughed, and suggested with a wink that maybe she won't get married, and will stay with me forever instead. She looked pityingly at me, and put her hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, Mommy. I'll wait until I'm at least 20."

Something tells me I'll be offering her money to elope...

The Referee

It's been awhile since I wrote anything...I would like to say that's because things have been smooth sailing...but that would be a bit of a fabrication. With the long-anticipated advent of summer vacation comes a new title dreaded by moms worldwide: Referee.

Tonight, as I was chopping onions, Sara trudged into the kitchen and sadly announced, "Mommy, I could use a little advice. Emily is getting meaner by the day, and she just isn't the sister I've grown up loving anymore."

Now what mother in the universe could ignore this kind of appeal from her seven-year-old? Only one without a soul, I tell you. Plus, I had been listening to their bickering for days, and thought it best to seize the opportunity and consider it a teaching moment. So I encouraged her to tell her sister how she felt, and called Emily into the kitchen, where I had them both sit down at the table. Sara repeated her concerns to her sister, who angrily responded, "well, you've been Little Miss Sassy-pants yourself lately!" I reminded them to watch their tone and be respectful. Emily then calmly told her sister that it hurt her feelings when Sara refused to let her play with her Zoobles, even though she wasn't using them, and that's what made her mad. I agreed that it seemed like an inconsiderate thing for Sara to do. Sara's response? "You know, I think we're getting a little off-subject here..."

Although I was able to briefly negotiate a truce, within a half hour they were screaming at each other again. After a couple of warnings, both girls were sent to bed without dinner, which is actually a first for me. At present, Little Bit is fast asleep. Emily is crying quietly, lamenting her general lot in life and the horrible, evil mother she was cursed with...and I am still in the kitchen, drinking a glass of wine while I pack up leftovers.

Blah blah blah...

School's out for summer. I have a freshly minted middle schooler (with the attitude to match, at least most days) and a sweet-but-strangely-cynical second grader...and not a hell of a lot else going on. We have reached the time of year that, historically, it takes everything I have just to endure, for a number of reasons. First, I find the heat and humidity of an Oklahoma summer to be extremely oppressive. Second, although it seems the opposite would be true, I hear less from my favorite people during this stretch...my amazing friends are scattered about traveling, and texts and phone calls drop off sharply...which I know means that they're probably having a great time, but still feels remarkably like abandonment at times. Third, my job tends to become e-x-c-r-u-c-i-a-t-i-n-g-l-y slow during the summer months. And finally, although this is exclusive to this summer, neither Tina Fey nor Lorne Michaels have come calling, and hits to this blog have dropped from 40-50 per day to--oh, about 6. I'm guessing none of you are scouting for either one of those people, but who the hell really knows?

What, then, is a girl such as myself supposed to do? I ask you--all six of you. How can I make this part go faster? How do I get past the unsettled feeling of having nothing to do and no one who's looking for me?

Bragging rights!

Yeah, yeah, I know...no one likes the parents who shove their kids' every accomplishment in the face of their friends...but forgive me this time, I had to do it! So stinking proud of her! (Plus, I missed the live version, as Sara's dance recital began a scant 30 minutes later and was 20 miles away...clearly I'm dealing with some residual guilt.) Love my girls! :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCf0Jn5iJYU

Sara Logic 101

This afternoon, I attended Emily's fifth-grade graduation, which, I admit, was a little surreal. The program was sweet, and Emily was recognized for several accomplishments over the past year. After the program, the Northern Hills Elementary senior class made its way to UCO for the Fifth Grade Field Games. It was still 25 minutes early, but I went ahead and checked Sara out and took her home for a little one-on-one time. Lately, Emily is involved in so much, I feel like Sara has been lost in the shuffle sometimes.

I fixed her some popcorn and poured her an apple juice. We played Sorry and Connect Four and had the house to ourselves for a couple of hours, and it was fabulous. At one point, I caught her wiping her hands off on her shirt, and I reminded her to go get a napkin for the umpteenth time. At this, she raised an eyebrow. "You know, I'd rather have dirty clothes than be responsible for death," she said matter-of-factly, shrugging her shoulders.

I stared. "I beg your pardon?"

She sighed, clearly exasperated. "Well, I think it's much better to get my clothes messy than to waste a paper napkin. A tree had to die to make that napkin, and trees produce oxygen. By using a paper napkin, I'm not only killing the tree, I'm taking someone's oxygen," she explained patiently. I could see the wheels turning. That Mommy, she can be awfully slow on the uptake sometimes...

I opened my mouth to say something, and realized I couldn't exactly argue with her logic...partly because I was speechless. Score: Fifteen-love, advantage Sara.

True Colors...

Sometimes, in spite of your best intentions, your carefully assembled existence will go careening off the rails in the wrong direction, and a detour to Shitsville is inevitable. If this has never happened to you, I offer my congratulations...and I sincerely hope you never have to go. However, I recently spent over a year there, and I can say without hesitation that it blows. And while I don't ever care to return, there are some blessings that have come of it. I have learned who my real friends are, and a few people surprised me by showing their love and support in ways that I had never seen, and in some cases didn't know that I had. Of course, the flip side of that is that I had to discover that one or two people that I really believed in didn't have my back at the end of the day.

To those of you that hung in there with me (and you know who you are), I can never begin to express my gratitude. Even though you may not have understood, you stood by me and loved me without question or judgement. That kindness will stay with me always, and while I suppose it would be nice to be able to repay it one day, I hope you never have to go through what I did in order for me to do so. I hope you know I will always consider you family.

To the ones who didn't, it's your loss. I'm in a far better place than I've ever been, and you're missing out on the best of me!

Love my people! Thank you all! :)

Life With Sara...

I keep meaning to tell my seven-year-old that she's only seven...that she is not, in fact, a thirtysomething divorcee living in New York with a cat and an attitude that comes from working too many nights as a cocktail waitress while she tries to sell her novel. But I have a hunch she wouldn't believe me, even if I told her...and that's okay, because she's been this way since birth, and I wouldn't know what the hell to do if she suddenly started acting like an actual first grader...

Sara perfected the eye roll at the astonishingly young age of 18 months. She is NOBODY'S fool. She knows what she wants, and she sets out to get it. When she decided she wanted her ears pierced at 3, I explained how it was done and that it would hurt. She was undeterred, and she sat still and didn't shed a tear as they did first one ear, and then the other. "Now, give me a mirror," she instructed matter-of-factly after the second earring was in place.

Tonight, she was relaying an exchange with a classmate at school. "My friend Laura's parents are looking for a bigger house, one with at least four bedrooms," she tells us. "I told her that MY parents are renovating a house to flip and that I'd make them a good deal."

On second thought, maybe she won't have trouble selling that novel, after all...

3 months old and thoroughly unimpressed...

 My girl today!

Babypalooza!

Two of my closest friends have been blessed with beautiful baby girls in the past week. It's funny...they were due 4 weeks apart, and instead, their babies were born 4 days apart. I don't get to bring home any more baby girls, but I'm happy to watch the people I love getting to know their daughters. It's hard to believe that I was there once upon a time...sort of. Lisa and Shana are a little older and a whole lot wiser than I was at 23 when I hatched Emily. I still vividly recall being handed my firstborn in the hospital and bursting into helpless tears. "I don't know what to do!" I wailed to the dumbstruck nurse, who finally recovered and assured me I would get the hang of it...and I did eventually gain a measure of confidence--which promptly flew out the window when I realized both kids were much smarter than I am.

I am confident that Shana and Lisa will get the hang of it much faster than I did...Lisa already has a sweet little boy at home. And I realize they'll get more than enough unsolicited advice, but this is my blog, so here is mine:

1) Don't rush. It seems like yesterday that I was in your shoes, nursing a baby through many a sleepless night, and now I'm buying bras and going to middle school parent orientation night. While I don't exactly miss those days, I won't get them back, just like I won't get these back...as much as I'm tempted to hurry Emily through adolescence, and just get it over with, already.

2) Love her! Tell them--and show them--often! And that doesn't just mean lots of hugs and kisses. Set boundaries. Remember that you're her mother, not her friend. That's not to say that you can't break it down to the Black Eyed Peas together in the kitchen or let her play with your makeup and heels. It just means that when she refuses to eat her vegetables, you have to convince her that you know what's best for her. (Because you do!) Your job is to teach her how to live in the real world, where not everything is exactly how you want it...and while you can't begin to imagine it now, eventually you're going to want her to move out of your house and live in that world.

3) Stay Calm. If you freak out, I can promise you, she will, too. Don't micromanage, and don't get hung up on things that aren't important. If she wants to wear a Cinderella ball gown every day for more than a year, let her. Who knows, you may have one of Broadway's biggest stars on your hands!

4) Let Her Make Mistakes. If you don't, she won't learn how to fix them. Just be ready to help her figure it out if she asks for your advice. (How do you get her to ask your advice? See above.)

Shana and Lisa, you are in for the adventure of a lifetime! Enjoy every step, and let me come along and play from time to time! :)

Teacher Appreciation..and a bit of Parental Desperation...

I asked the girls to write letters to their teachers for Teacher Appreciation Week. They found some decorative note paper and went to work. Sara produced the following draft for her teacher:

Dear Mrs. Evans:

I feel like I've really blossomed this year in your class. First grade is my favorite so far and my favorite part about it is you!

Love, Sara


Her sweetness touched me, and her choice of verbiage made me smile. She more than made up for her sister, who rolled her eyes at my suggestion, sighed often during her composition, then refused to let me read anything she wrote. I imagine it to say something like:

Dear Mrs. R:

My mother is making me write you a letter of appreciation, because she is ridiculous. But whatever, you've been a pretty nice teacher, and fifth grade hasn't been altogether lame. Thanks and have a great summer.

Em

Tomorrow is Parent Orientation at the middle school she'll be attending next year. Of course I want to know all about the school's dress code and severe weather policies, but I wonder if they will hand out some sort of Survival Guide for Mothers of Preteen Girls. At the very least, a list of appropriately witty, sarcastic responses should be given out, along with some situational guidelines...perhaps a flow chart.  Hmmmmm....I think I smell a project....

Touche...

Yesterday, I let Emily get feather extensions in her hair...she is now adorned with 6 thin rooster-tail plumes in fuschia, black, and white that peek out from the front of her shoulder-length bob, which can be blow-dried, straightened, or curled right along with her real hair. She's been asking for them for weeks, even offering to pay for them herself at one point--and so, today, as a reward for her hard work in preparing for Thursday night's Academic Bowl competition, I obliged her request. I stood by silently as she considered--and, mercifully, discarded--a neon green ensemble that made my eyes hurt. After a lengthy period of consideration, she settled on the fuschia striped bundle, and ten minutes later, she emerged from JC's Funky Hair Ranch a new woman.

This morning, after she'd showered and dried her hair, I asked her how her new accessories were holding up. Her response? "Very well, I think!" I smiled at this, and told her that I loved that she knew when to use "well" as opposed to "good." At this, she rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated with me. "Mom, I'm eleven, for crying out loud!" I laughed, explaining that there were plenty of adults who didn't know which word was appropriate, to which she replied:

"Yeah? And how many of THEM have YOU for a mother?"

Keeping Vigil...with a smile!

Last night, we went to the Easter Vigil, as has become our custom. I love the candlelight liturgy from beginning to end...the readings and the music, and the moment when, after the baptismal covenant, the priest announces He is risen! and the darkness is replaced by the sanctuary lights blazing forth. It is a solemn affair, more formal than our usual relaxed, contemporary Sunday Mass...but I love it. And I like the kids being exposed to traditional services sometimes, too, because while I understand the need for the casual, relaxed atmosphere that has prevailed in most 21st century churches, I don't want them to think of their relationship with God as something to be taken lightly.

The Easter Mass begins at 8:30, and usually takes about 2-2.5 hours, depending on the number of baptisms taking place. When we arrived last night, we learned that there were no acolytes on hand, so Emily quickly threw on a robe and Brian acted as Beadle, so they were sitting up front together after their procession, while Sara and I were seated with the rest of the congregation, towards the middle on the right. Sara held out her candle to be lit by the Paschal candle during the procession, and proudly held it very still...right up to the moment when her head dropped back against the back of pew and she fell asleep. I took the candle from her little hand and blew it out, and continued with the service, figuring I could wake her for the Eucharist.

Then she began to snore. We're talking seriously snore. Sara's bedroom is the furthest one from the living room of our 2400 square foot house, and we still sometimes have to turn up the tv if she's in bed, even if her door is closed. My tiny little blonde can put most grown men to shame with the sheer volume she emits. Such was the case last night. I startled a bit when I heard her, in the middle of a reading, and as the people surrounding us began to smile and nudge one another, I leaned down and tried to wake her by patting her cheek and whispering her name. This only caused her to turn her head to the side and mutter a few unintelligible sounds mid-snore before resuming at an even louder volume, which our neighboring parishioners found utterly hilarious. The guttural sounds continued throughout the Gospel reading and baptismal covenant. When the lights came on, she opened her eyes for a moment and laid down on her side in the pew, finally silencing the snores. During the passing of the Peace, the little old lady immediately in front of me, who had remained stoic throughout, turned and grinned at me, and said, "now that girl knows how to sleep!" Several others came up to see the source of the racket, laughing at the sight of the dainty little girl in her Easter dress drooling all over the pew.

So, in the end, the beautiful liturgy was still beautiful, and the little girl in her Easter dress snoring like someone's grandpa was also beautiful...and funny...and a good reminder that children are simply the sign of a Living Church, even a traditional one. Happy Easter!

I am not Tina Fey...but I want to be...

Desperately, really...I just downloaded her book, and am now considering stalking her a little. Or a lot. I don't know...surely, if she just met me and hung out with me once or twice--or allowed me to speak to her for a few minutes as the security guards are leading me away in handcuffs--she would recognize my own comic genius and want to be my BFF...which, of course, would lead to a writing gig on 30 Rock. Or perhaps she would introduce me to Lorne Michaels, and I could become a writer for SNL...because, let's face it, that show has nowhere to go but UP right now. (No offense to Kristin Wiig, as you are truly, madly, ridiculously, wet-your-pants hilarious...but honey, you really are doing virtually all the heavy lifting there, you know? Well, you and Seth...) Speaking of, once my position on SNL is secured, I can flirt wildly with Seth Meyers as much as I like...because it's not as if it'll ever get me anywhere, seeing as how I'm ME and he's Seth Meyers...who, although adorably dimpled, rich, and funny as hell, is single at 37 and never seems to be dating anyone. Hmmmmmm...I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that it's not because he's waiting for ME.

Now, don't worry, once I'm a famous writer, I won't forget my people! I hope you will all visit me in New York often...okay, well, maybe not ALL of you...but most of you, I'll want to keep. Then the Thursday Girls can have brunch with Tina and Kristin Wiig...maybe Chelsea Handler can join us if she's in town, too. And E can come along to brunch, because he's the only one I know who appreciates a good Bloody Mary as much as I do...and Shana can come for some amazing shopping, and Bethie and I can hit The Great White Way, and.....

SHIT. Sorry...got lost for a second...rest assured, I am still sitting in my windowless office entering accounts payable invoices--just until the earth stops spinning--if anyone needs me...

Nightwatch

Sara weighs 49 pounds and is 49 inches tall right now. That's a smallish 7-year-old, especially when you consider her hair accounts for at least a few pounds...but her personality is so BIG that people seldom notice...she is fearless, and she is one of the funniest people I've ever met. She has trash talk down to an art form, refers to her 35-year-old daddy as "my old man" and has a flair for the ridiculous. Last year her list to Santa included 3 items: a million dollars, her own planet, and new socks. A few months ago, she came to me and asked, "Hey, Mom, can we lose these training wheels already?" After we took them off, she refused all offers of assistance, and simply took off down the street alongside her sister. That's Classic Sara.

She never really seems small to me. But I have to say, right now, as I'm listening to her having to work to breathe in her sleep, she seems pretty tiny...in spite of the fact that she is taking up 85% of my queen-sized mattress, and she seems to be most comfortable draped across me like a blanket, with her head smashing my left boob and her arm flung across my face. I'll take that gladly, as long as she gets some rest and I get some peace of mind...but what I would REALLY love is some rain that might actually bring her some relief from this little asthma/allergy hell. Don't get me wrong, she doesn't complain much. She's a trouper, but me? Not so much...

And so, to review...

Obviously, I had a hell of a week. I'm relieved to say it DID somewhat improve...on Friday, I took my Girl Scouts for self-defense lessons, and proudly watched my 88-lb daughter throw an adult to the ground...not only that, but the adult in question has about 60 pounds on her and is solid muscle! All the girls did really well, and I'm told that some of them promptly went home and began practicing on their siblings. (Sorry about that.) Miss Ashley was amazing with them! Suddenly Emily's heartfelt campaign to walk to school next year holds a little more promise...not that I'm going to tell her that...yet!

Yesterday, we took the girls to the Red-White game in Norman. The weather was fabulous, and I have to say, it's a rare treat to only have about 30,000 in the stands. You can actually let your child walk a few feet away from you without wigging out. I even let the girls go down and sit on the steps that lead down to the field, so they could get close to the action. Sara was having a hard time grasping the concept of a scrimmage, and kept asking who we were playing against...but they enjoyed being outside, not to mention a never-before-seen spring serving of Stadium Nachos, complete with extra radioactive-yellow cheese product.

A good weekend was made even better by good company, which was in steady supply from Friday morning onward...for this, I am more thankful than I can describe. And the best news yet? Today is Sunday, and we ALL get a do-over every seven days...and so far, it's off to a pretty good start!

Utterly Irreplaceable...and yet, Imperfect...

I am blessed to have many wonderful friends in my life...but we all have that very small handful of people we simply COULDN'T do without. Today I got into an argument with one of those people. Someone I would trust with my life, who knows everything there is to know about me--and I'm talking the good, the bad, and the REALLY ugly--someone who has made me laugh at my lowest points, who has listened to me cry when there was nothing to do but listen and be there, and someone who has trusted me the very same way. Not only did I get into an argument with that person, but I started it...in a really bitchy, self-serving sort of way, when I know this person already has enough on their plate without adding me to it. When the dust settled, we were both bleeding pretty heavily, but it was me who fired the first shot, without question.

I always try to be a big girl and take responsibility when I'm wrong. Today, I was wrong. Today, I kind of sucked. Today I regret beyond explanation. I will try to do better tomorrow. I can only hope to be forgiven for today, and pray that no permanent scars were left. For as BIG as I screwed up today, my love and respect for this person is at least a thousand times bigger than that...

Mama's Girl

She is seven and she is ME...Sara keeps a diary.  It's pink, and she's been writing in it since she turned six.  The earliest entries are in crayon, written in all caps, but the spelling and punctuation are actually pretty good.  She talks about how she loves everyone in her family, but she's really Mama's girl. <3<3 She talks about our cats, her best friend Katelyn, her rock collection, and her hobbies...and she talks about how much she loves to write.  The latest entries are in pen, and include poems that she's written.  She's too little to know that diaries are typically private, and being the Mama's girl that she is, she loves to share her ideas with me...I even spotted the boy's name written inside a heart on a page near the end...but I didn't mention it.

I wonder if she'll reach a point where she NEEDS to write to stay sane?  Where she has so much on her mind, she has to write it down to sort it out?  Where she needs a pen in her hand to solve a problem?  I don't remember when that happened...rather, I don't remember NOT operating that way...in the early days of elementary school, my favorite toy was my electric typewriter.  Talk about a classic word nerd...now I can't help but wonder.  Will she turn out exactly like me?  (God help us all! A smart mouth and a big vocabulary can be a dangerous combination!)

Yesterday afternoon, this is what I found her doing in the backyard:

Credit Where Credit is Due...

Remember?  I don't sleep...

Neither, apparently, does my dear hot mess of a friend, Krystal.  It seems I have failed to identify her as my original inspiration for starting this blog, as it was created at her suggestion, including part of the name.  She is convinced that a cult following will ensue, and that I will be booked on Letterman and Chelsea Lately within months, soon after my ridiculous musings go viral.  For the record, I have agreed to allow her to accompany me to New York and L.A. for the tapings should this occur...let's just hope the rest of the world finds me and my progeny as entertaining as she does...

Cheers to Krystal!  Thanks for the idea!

Had to share...so why not do it right?

I have two incredible, beautiful, hilariously precocious daughters...Emily is 11, but thinks she's 16, and has a better vocabulary than many adults in the area (although we live in Oklahoma, so take that for what it's worth).  Sara is 7, and truly believes that the world is her stage.  (I'm pretty sure she perfected jazz hands at the moment of her birth.)  Each day, they find ways--intentionally or unintentionally--to put me in stitches.  Todays Quotes of the Day are as follows:

Sara:   Mommy, I know you said I had to have my room clean to spend the night at Madi's, and I cleaned it. Could you please just trust me and not check it?

Me:  No, Sara.  I'm still going to check it.

Sara:  (pauses a moment) Oh...gonna need a few minutes... 

She then turned on her heel and ran down the hall toward her room...

At her tender age, where do you suppose she's learned such manipulative tactics?  'Tis a mystery...


Her big sister is attending a 13th birthday slumber party for HER friend Maddy. (The name Madison in Oklahoma is a little like Jennifer was in the 80s...shout it out on the playground and half the girls come running. So is Emily, for that matter, but I can't exactly help that...she's named after my 80-year-old grandmother.)  The theme of the slumber party is "Old Hollywood" and the girls were planning to dress up like 50s starlets and do photo shoots.  I got a text from one of the 2 moms manning that madness relaying the following exchange that occurred mid-makeover:

Mackenzie:  It smells like a dance recital in here...

Emily:  Whatever.  It smells like hair spray and desperation...

And THAT, my friends, is the most fitting introduction to my daughters that I could ever hope to give.  I hope you enjoy hearing about our adventures...