Score One For The Nice Girls
The other night I stayed with my daughter at cheer practice. I don't usually do that because she finds it slightly distracting if I'm there.
She waves at me.
She squinty smiles at me.
She blows the hair out of her face while glaring and giving me that tight lipped, totally pissed off look because I didn't put enough spray in her hair like she asked me to and now its falling and she can't see.
Then, because she's blowing the hair out of her face and being, like, soooooo annoyed, she forgets what she supposed to be doing and everything falls flat. Being her mother, I felt the uncontrollable need to point that out to her, the same way that my mother did when she motioned, from the audience, during my 5th grade band concert, that I needed to sit with my knees together.
We're mothers. It's genetically predetermined that we lick our fingers to wipe smoodge off your faces, correct your vulgar posture and criticize your obscene cheer arms whenever possible. Which is what I was explaining to her when she came over for water.
"You need to be excited and sharp and pop it."
"I'm trying, but that girl is heavy and I'm afraid I won't be able to lift her."
"I don't care. You need to be excited and sharp and pop it."
And the very nice girl sitting next to me, sipping quietly on her water because her mother was not there to criticize her during the water break said,
"It's really hard to be the base, isn't it? I know. I had to do that last year. You're doing great!"
Then she high-fived my daughter and walked away, flouncing her ponytail in that subtle, cheer-y way that said
Sorry you have such a bitchy mom.
I decided not to go to practice the next night.
The Great Playroom Clean Out of 2K12
I've been cleaning out our playroom because it's a horrible, vile, disgusting mess and it stresses me out. Plus, the holidays are coming and we'll be getting more toys, so we'll need to have a place to put them.
I had gathered a few things to donate to the Grandma stash for when my niece comes to visit at Christmas. She's two and speaks three languages. Whatever.
One of the things I decided to give her were there little magnet dolls. They're kind of like paper dolls, but they're magnets. And they have 4,795 different outfits. Shirts, shorts, skirts, pajamas, shoes, purses, dresses. 10,573 pieces that have yet to ever be played with. So, I put them all in a Ziploc bag and gave them to Grandma.
After she drove away, I returned to the playroom, now void of these wretched magnet dolls, and found one, teeny, little magnet skirt on the floor.
ME: Did you open that bag?
GIRLIE: Oh! Yes. I can put that back in.
ME: I just gave all that to Grandma.
GIRLIE: What!? I got that for my birthday!
ME: Well, I'm sorry, but you never played with it.
GIRLIE: That's because I didn't know where all the pieces were.
ME: They were all right there in that yellow box on the shelf.
GIRLIE: Well, how am I supposed to see that?!
Followed by...
ME: Okay, pick out what you want to keep from this box. The rest is going away.
THE KID: Ummmm...This....This.....This.....Here. This goes in the dinosaur box.
ME: Actually, the dinosaurs are in the donate box, so it can go there.
THE KID: Oh, okay.....Wait. What!?
Tell me I'm not alone in this.....
The Greatest Question I've Heard All Week
Dad, can I have $8 for a Smencil?
The Greatest Explanation I've Heard All Week
What's a Smencil?
It's a pencil that smells. And it's like a pencil, but you can smell it. And they sell them at school...
They have Smens, too. Those are like...
STOP! I'm telling him. Smens are like pencils...
No, they're pens and they smell and you can write with them....
UGH! I hate when you do that! Smens are pens but they smell like stuff and you write with them and they sell them at school. With the Smencils. Can I have money to buy them?
I decided not to tell my beloved and his wallet that I just threw out three Smencils during the Great Playroom Clean Out that they bought last year and got sick of using because they were so strong and made everything in their backpack, their room and their closet smell like cinnamon sticks and pine trees and mint chocolate chips and some sugar plum thing that was just wretched.
And because he's a big marshmallow whose all melty when his curly girls crawl up in his lap and ask for stuff first thing in the morning before they've even said hello, he gave them the money.
P.S. It was only $1 for a Smencil and $2 for a Smen.
Because an $8 Smencil would just be stupid.
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