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...