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....