Mean Mommy Strikes Again (Or...Why You Should Always Put Your Name On The Invitation)

My daughter came home from school very excited the other day.

"Look, Mom!  I've been invited to Jessica's sister's birthday party!"

So, naturally, I asked, "Did she see Ferris pass out at 31 Flavors last night?"

(not really)
(she wouldn't have understood that and then what's the point?)

But, it's nice.  It's nice that she's been invited somewhere.  That people want to include her in things.  Although, of course, that means I'd have to buy yet another Barbie Fairy doll, or Squinkie castle, or fancy dancy bubble blower.

And then I looked at the invitation.  It was one of those photo cards like you do at Christmas, with a really bad cell phone picture of a girl, looking up at the camera, twirling around on what could be hot pink bricks.  Or a quilt.  I don't know.  There was a scribbly butterfly drawn up in one corner of the card and some graphic art balloons and streamers going down the other side.  I feel I should mention that nowhere on the card did it actually say BIRTHDAY.

 "Ummmm....I don't know this girl," I said.  I volunteer at school on a pretty regular basis, so I know who my daughter's friends are. 

"I told you.  It's Jessica's sister."

Right.

"She's not in your class."

"No.  She's in Mrs. Weatherly's class across the hall."

"How do you know her?"

"Oh, we play together at recess."

If my brother the attorney taught me nothing else, he taught me this:

During an interrogation with your daughter who wants to go to a birthday party of a random girl at school that you've never seen before, never ask a question you don't already know the answer to.

"What's her name?"

(because it wasn't printed on the invitation)
(I know)
(Seriously)

My daughter stopped for a second, put one finger to her lip and looked up at the ceiling.

 "Ummmmmmmm......"

Thank you.

"Sarona!"

What?

"Zahara.  No!  Her name is Zahona!"

The Prosecution rests.

Did I also mention that no where on the card was a parent's name, location name, contact information, or party plans.  Nothing but the date, the time

(5 1/2 hours long....excuse me?  Who are these people?  Go to Chuck E Cheese for two hours and be done with it.)
(You're just showin' off.)

and an address.

I hated to do it, but I didn't feel like I had a choice.

"I'm sorry, honey, but I just don't think so."

"Ugh...MOM!"

So now I'm the bad guy?  I can roll with that.  I have drawers full of black.

(yoga pants)

"Look, there's nothing on here that tells me anything about this.  I don't know this girl.  I don't know her parents.  You don't even seem to know her.  Are you sure you got this invitation right?"

Maybe there was another part to the card that got dropped in translation.

You know, maybe, it was, like, left over scratch paper at Jessica's house and she thought it was pretty and wanted to bring it to school and show someone, and my girlie, ever captivated by pretty pink paper, was the perfect target....someone.  I meant someone.

Girlie crossed her arms and scrutinized me over the tops of her glasses.  Which is super cute, by the way, because she looks like a seven year old grandmother.

(Sorry, Mom)

"I want. To. Go.  She's having a ball."

A what?

"A ball!  You know, like a dance."

You mean like Cinderella?

"And I want my brother to go with me so he can be my prince, and then you and Dad can go out and have a date."

Not bad.  Girlie knows how to negotiate.  Uncle Brother the Attorney taught her well.

Punk.

I can't say yes to this, right?  I can't.  No.  I know that.  Even if I did, we'd probably show up at a ballroom, somewhere in our neighborhood, full of Chinese people who would be wondering how the Milk Toast set got in to this super secret family party.

Why else would you not put your child's name on the invitation!?

Or your name!?

Or any other information that would indicate anything!?

And why you use such a phenomenally bad cell phone picture!?

(I'm sorry.  I like taking pictures.  I notice these things.)
(I also judge way more than I should.)

I told my daughter that if she could get me any more information about this party ball, I would consider it.

The next day she came home with a yellow, sticky note.

In Jessica's handwriting.

It said  

She's invited to the ball.

My daughter is no longer speaking to me.

I'm over it.

Project 52 2K13 ~ Week 12 {Focus}

Yesterday morning my beloved asked me what my plans were for the day.  I told him that I was going to a kitchen supply store with my mother. 

She wanted to.  And, to be honest, so did I.  I've had flat whisk dreams for a while now.

And he said,  "So, you'll probably want some money, right?"

You know...like we live in 1955.

And I said, "Money is always appreciated."

Because, why fight it if it's workin' for ya'.

So he asked how much I thought I needed.  Which is just a ridiculous question.    I've never been to this store.  I don't know what they have.  I don't know what they're charging.   What I do know is that it's completely embarrassing to be standing at the register and not have enough money....so just give me everything you have and I'll bring you the change.

This is my thinking and my reasoning for responding with,

"Hundred bucks."

He laughed.  Then he rolled his eyes.  Then he looked at me like I was crazy insane.

But I stood strong.  Ask for the moon and all.

So he says,

"Oh yeah right.  Here's $40."

"Fine.  I'll see what I can get with this," and I put it in my wallet, although I really only wanted to satisfy my flat whisk dreams and maybe a few fantasies about a french rolling pin.

Truly, I would have taken $20, but I didn't want to tell him that because then he would say that he would have given me $60 and then I would have had to put on a strapless, red velvet dress and a sparkly diamond necklace and fly off to San Francisco to see the opera and rescue him right back.

And it was too early in the morning and I couldn't get my hair to curl right.

Besides, I've never been much of an opera fan anyway.

When he got home last night he asked me what I bought and we played Kitchen Toy Store Show and Tell. 

"How much did it come to?"

"$37 and change."

(because the first $20 did, in fact, cover the whisk and the rolling pin, but maybe a few things jumped into my basket that I wasn't counting on)
(3 ladles in graduated sizes are always useful)
(one professional spatula beats the crap out of two plastic ones)
(a red, silicone basting brush that stands heat up to 500 degrees?...come on!)

"Well, it's a good thing I gave you forty."

Right.

Eat Ish!

I was watching TV with my son this weekend.  My wonderful son.  My wonderful son with the sweet, sweet hazel eyes.

And he turns to me and asks,  "How old is Aunt Tracy?"

Being a former teacher, I responded to his question with a math problem.  It's my nature.

"She's 10 years older than me."

(and also to see if he actually knows how old I am)

"So she's 54," said my son with the sweet sweet hazel eyes and the old soul that can see all the way through me to my back collar button.

"Nooooooo," said I.

And then just because I like to mess with him and watch him get all twirly and stuff, I followed with,

"Do I look 54?"

But, he's a pretty smart kid, my son with the old soul, and he knew right away that I joshin'.

"No, but you said she's 10 years older than you.  So she must be 54."

This drew one of four conclusions:

A.  My math lesson worked.  My son can subtract, and conversely, add.
B.  My son has no idea how old I am.
C.  Both A & B
D.  C

"That would mean I'm 44.  I'm not.  I'm 42."

(okay...so, he has a vague idea how old I am...whatever...)

And then, just because I still wasn't done messing with him, and I was still waiting for him to get all twirly like I like, I said,

"Do I look 42?"

The truth is, though, I really don't care.  I don't think of myself in terms of my age unless it's to use it as a point to reinforce my complete and total gagging response to something.

As in,

I am 42 years old and I don't have to eat spinach if I don't want to.

Or,

I am 43 years old and I shouldn't have to sleep on the couch because you snore when you eat late night snacks.

("You're not 43.  You're 42.")
("Whatever...dude...okay...don't eat pizza at 11:00 at night! is what I'm saying....")

I think you get my point.

But, then my son with the sweet sweet hazel eyes and the old soul that can see all the way through me to my back collar button and the loopy smile that slays me every time said,

"Yeah, you look 42...ish."

And then I ran to the bathroom, washed my face and smothered it in Pore Refiner and Advanced Night Repair and Daywear BB Cream and when I got back he said,

"I was just messin' with you, Mom."

Ish sucks.

Is This Real?....No. It's Just Monday Night.

I heard a woman on TV last night ask a question that was, quite possibly, the dumbest thing I've ever heard asked in real life....except that it was on The Bachelor, which totally doesn't count as real life, but it's what was on after we finished our episode of Homeland on demand.

(which totally rocks the shiz, by the way....)

Bachelor Sean, after six weeks, had just gotten down on one knee and proposed to the lovely, albeit, slightly twitchy Catherine, while at the same time admitting that he still lights up when he thinks about another woman,

and she said,

"Is this real?"

and I started laughing because did she seriously just ask that?  But, then I realized that he wasn't answering her, which is the first sign that the roller coaster ride is over, the fireworks have stopped, and the host has walked away....

(when you stop answering each others questions)
(because you don't really care)
(because you're exhausted and just want 47 seconds of uninterrupted think time to yourself)
(if that wasn't clear....)

So, to help the poor girl out, I thought I'd give her a crash course in what I have learned are the realities of life so she can avoid such publicly televised embarrassments in the future.  Helping out is what I do:

A Woman's Guide To REAL and NOT REAL

by 

Me

Having a bathtub full of baby chicks and shooing the neighbor's pit bull off the top of your fence because the full grown chickens free ranging in your backyard look like a delightful mid-morning snack all to satisfy your beloved's latent, repressed desire to be a suburban farmer ~ REAL

Watching an elephant come walking through the trees to be your mode of transportation for the day and shrieking, "Oh my God, I'm so happy right now!" ~ NOT REAL
 
Allowing your son, who only .062 seconds earlier told you that his neck hurt, to throw up everything in his stomach onto your purple, velveteen couch because it's the better option than walking him down the hall to the bathroom while he yaks up lunch from three days ago ~ REAL

Accepting a diamond ring purchased for you by a TV show and thinking that it comes with any type of actual commitment ~ NOT REAL

Taking a shower, doing your hair, putting on some make-up and having your 6 year old say, "Good for you, Mom!  You haven't gotten pretty in a long time!" ~ REAL

Classifying, in any way, shape or form, the social interaction of 8 women and one guy as a date ~ NOT REAL

Having a slight crush on the mom who lives one block over from you and manages to walk her kids to school every morning in the full hair and make-up of a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model mixed with a granola bar, while you barely manage to stagger to the car wearing electric blue yoga pants and a faded, bleach stained, over-sized night shirt that says "Very Sexy" on the back that your husband bought you from Victoria's Secret when you were pregnant because he wanted you at least think you were sexy ~ REAL

Having center eyelashes that curl up to your eyebrow ~ NOT REAL

Wetting your pants every time you sneeze because your business end is totally stretched out from pushing two, watermelon sized human beings through it ~ REAL

Meeting a guy at any place called Proposal Point ~ NOT REAL

Living every day in fear that your husband will have a heart attack and die from the stress he incurs trying to run a business in an economy that has been for crap the last several years and knowing that if that actually ever happened, you'd be alone for the rest of your life except for your children whom you would never allow to leave you ever ~ REAL

Living every day in fear that the man you've known and lusted after for 6 days will ultimately choose the vampire chick over you ~ NOT REAL

Putting the kids in the car then running back into the house and closing the door so you and your beloved can have 10 quiet seconds alone together ~ REAL

Pulling a guy to the other side of the pool deck so you and he can have quality time alone while 25 other women watch you and curse you and send up silent prayers that your 47 layers of make-up will crack off your face and you'll be revealed as a two-headed turtle freak with nothing significant to offer to any man ever ~ NOT REAL

Drinking three glasses of wine in 52 minutes so you'll be just buzzed enough to pass out and maybe get some actual sleep before the freight train next to you starts rumbling and you just want to shove corks up his nose to stop the flow of air and shut him up ~ REAL

Riding barefoot, on an elephant, off into the Thailand sunset, while pinching every part of your new fiance's body, exclaiming "Is this knee really mine?  Is this shoulder really mine?" ~ NOT REAL 

Believing, after investing 18 monogamous years, that you have, with absolute certainty, found the love of your life, your best friend, and the person you'll spend forever with ~ REAL

Believing, after investing 42 days with a guy who has been simultaneously dating 25 other women, that you have found the love of your life, your best friend, and the person you'll spend forever with ~ So phenomenally NOT REAL I can't even begin to tell you how NOT REAL that is. 

I could go on and on, but, as my mother says,

Then I'd have to charge you,

and I've got enchiladas to make and freeze for the weekend, and dinner to get ready for tonight and kids to pick up from school, and DVDs to get in the mailbox so we'll have something good to watch on Saturday...

You know...real stuff.

Project 52 ~ Wk. 10 {All Stacked Up}

If you like taking pictures, you'll want to share them with a project group.
So, you'll look for one online.

When you find one, you'll join right away.
Once you join, you'll start getting weekly themes.

When you start getting weekly themes, you'll look around you for inspiration.
Sometimes it will be hard to find.

When it's hard to find, you'll take your camera someplace new.
You'll decide on school because it's your day to volunteer anyway.

When you arrive at school, the teacher will ask about your camera.
You'll tell her about your project group and the theme for the week.

When you tell her the theme for the week, she'll think that's sounds neat.
She'll run around the classroom while the kids are working and stack things up for you to photograph.

When she's done stacking, you'll take the picture.
It's the nice thing to do and it will make her happy.

When she's happy, she'll start talking more and forget about what she's supposed to be doing.
The children will get bored waiting and start getting a little loud and freaky.

When the children get loud and freaky, the teacher will remember that she is, in fact, a teacher, and start working again.
She'll send you to the office for construction paper.

When she sends you to the office for construction paper, you'll take your camera with you.
Just in case.

When you stack the construction paper, the obsessive/compulsive Virgo in you will force you to put it in color order and make sure all the edges are neat and tidy.
You'll think it looks beautiful.

When you think it looks beautiful, you'll want to take a picture.
You'll be glad you have your camera because you like taking pictures.

And chances are, if you like taking pictures,
You'll want a project group to share them with.

You Gotta' Read A Lotta' Dr. Seuss (Revisited)

She's been excited all week,

So much fun to be had.

We'd gone to school early,

With $3.00 from dad.

She bought a new hat,

Striped red and white.

She put it right on

And wore it all night.

It flopped and it fluped.

It gave a great fall,

So we stuffed it with paper

To make it stand tall.

She woke up this morning,

Got dressed in her jammies

For Pajama Day in class

With Green Eggs & Hammies.

The first graders love it,

Being silly with a Flubat.

The fifth graders, however,

Are too cool for that.

"No way," said my kid.

"I'm not wearing PJs.

My friends will all think

I've lost my marteejays."

"I don't know that word,"

she told him, looking puzzled.

 "Then you need to read more

About Wockets and Wuzzles." 

So, she popped on the hat

And went on her way.

Happy, once more

That it's Dr. Seuss Day.