Picking Friends

"Mama? Which friends did I take to school yesterday?" Alice asked me as we were preparing to leave for school.

"I don't know. Alice. Please put your shoes on, I don't want to be late."

"MAAAMA I have to pick my friends."

This conversation, or a variation of, can be overheard in my house five days a week. There is great consideration put into the decision. "Friend" picking is an art form. I feel I must stop myself and clarify for those who have no idea what I'm talking about. To Alice, dolls, barbies, babies, and most importantly in her eyes, princesses of varying size are her friends. She refers to herself as their Mama, though from the way it sounds she's more like their dictator. Anyway, she is allowed to bring a friend or two in the car for the ride to school and can bring one into school for the day.

A lot goes into picking friends. Somedays it's a breeze, the favorite doll of the day accompanies her. Other mornings it's as stressful as picking a presidential running mate, or so I imagine.

"I DON'T KNOW WHO TO PICK," she whines at me when I'm rushing her along.

There are mornings when she stews and worries over which doll hasn't been fortunate enough to visit school yet or which Barbie can't possibly come because they've been too grumpy and need to take a nap while she's gone. And then there are the times when she's selected the lucky winner but can't find the obvious partner to join them. "How can Rapunzel possibly leave Flynn Ryder at home?" Or, "it wouldn't be fair to Cherry Jam if Strawberry Shortcake gets to come and she doesn't! We just have to find Cherry Jam." I've grown used to the morning selection process, but every now and again she shocks me. Seemingly without any rhyme or reason a blast from the past from the bottom of a basket will be the chosen one. Yesterday she took blinking Dora. Blinking Dora has seen better days. She was acquired during Alice's younger, artistic period. Dora has black sharpie eye shadow on her blinking eyelids and the whites of her eyes are now filled in black as well. Her underwear has also been decorated with said sharpie. Dora's hair, which used to be fastened neatly in two pig tails, now flows freely in one big tangled mess. Why Dora, who is never played with these days, was selected is beyond me.

Once we are safely fastened in our seats, there is often more discussion regarding the morning decision.

"Mama? Do you think Merida is jealous of Pocahontas because I didn't pick her?"

"I don't know Alice. Maybe," I tell her.

"She probably is. But Merida has gotten to go to school lots of times. This is Pocahontas's first time. You must be super excited to come into my school, Pocahontas. Just wait till you see my cubby!"

She really is the most adorable kid in the whole entire world.

 

 

Except your kid. I'm sure your kid is equally as adorable.

Love at First Sight

I have a new car. And not the "new to me" kind of new car. A BRAND NEW car! Wanna see? I know you do. I know you've been at home curiously wondering, twiddling your thumbs anticipating the moment I reveal to you my new car. Wait no more...here it is!

Here for your viewing pleasure is a 2012 Honda Pilot in Bali Blue Pearl. And best of all...it's not a mini-van! Nothing against those of you with mini-vans. Truth be known, part of me wanted one. I was gonna plaster a bumper sticker on it that read "I used to be cool."

I am in love with my new car. Complete love at first sight. I've never had this reaction with a car before. Sure, I loved the oscillating ac vents in my very first car, an old Mazda 626. A novel feature that seemed to amuse my friends when they would ride with me. And I love all the memories I created in my Hyundai Elantra wagon. All the times the car left Hatta and I stranded...all very fun stories. What can I say about my Honda Element? I brought my baby home from the hospital in that car. For that reason alone it holds a special place in my heart. But really, I did not love any of those cars. They were merely cars. They served a purpose. I got from A to B. End of story.

Oh, but my lovely Pilot. We are best friends. Soul mates right from the start. With all the organizational options, she's clearly a girl car. She's smart and sophisticated. And clever, damn she's clever...for a car. You should see the seats fold. Don't be fooled into thinking she's all brains, you should see her classy leather wrapped steering wheel, so sleek and sexy. My new car has it all! Brains and beauty!

I've even toyed with the idea of giving the powerful lady a name of her very own. I've never owned a car with a name. Lots of rednecks people do it, right? She came to me from Georgia, a Southern belle! Maybe Scarlett or Victoria or Anabel?

There is only one thing I do not enjoy about my new car. She's clean. Not like, "oh I took the car to the car wash and was able to remove 2 months of the 5 years of dirt and gunk that built up" clean, but insanely brand new car clean. It's scary. I had a talk with Alice.

"You know we have to try and keep the new car really clean. We can't just leave our trash in here. You can't leave your toys all over the place. We have to try really hard."

"Like I can't stick gummy bunnies to the wall, right?"

This is why I'm scared. Alice actually did that and didn't bother telling me for days, weeks. I'm not even sure how long the gummy fruit snack was stuck to the wall. We will do our best. I will try hard for my new best friend, the new love in my life. For her, I will do anything.

Day One = Success

Good morning, fine friends. I really mean that. It is a good morning. Isn't that fantastic?!

It started out rough. I pulled a Hatta and realized 10 minutes into the drive I had left my phone at home. I contemplated taking one for the team and doing without for a few days. That could be fun, right? I hear how wonderful and freeing it is to disconnect and genuinely be present in your life for a change. Then it dawned on me, whoever said that was a moron. I needed my phone now more than ever. I quickly had us turned around and headed back home. Conveniently, Alice began complaining of a stomach ache. She wanted to poop. A 20 minute pit stop, complete with phrases like, "I can't keep pushing. The poop needs to catch its breath," and we were on our way again.

The drive turned out exactly how I expected. Alice was tired and refused to sleep. I was accused of fondling my leather wrapped steering wheel. We had to stop more times than I can bring myself to admit making the drive at least 30 minutes longer than necessary...not including my cellphone screw up. Eventually we arrived at the beach, mostly unscathed.

I shit you not, Hatta had a Summer Shandy in my hand within 3 minutes of walking in the front door. He's a standup guy like that. From that moment on, life was good. We quickly had beers in a cooler, swimsuits donned, and our bodies on the boat headed to the bay.

Something happens to me every time I'm on a boat. I'm reminded this is the one place I feel at home. I suppose it's the way some people feel when they eat a familiar food or visit a town from a past life, transported back to the comfort of your childhood. With my mother no longer alive, many of those old comforts trigger sad feelings for me. Except the boat. There's something about being on the water, the salt air blowing through my hair that makes me feel my childhood. Driving through the inlet, remembering all the times we would come to this spot to greet my father, a waterman, as he returned home after a week long trip. We would wave and jump up and down, he would sound the horn, knowing we would finally get to see each other again.

So, yeah, I was enjoying myself. We spent a few hours anchored at what turned out to be our very own private beach. I spent a few hours doing absolutely nothing and it was awesome. I drank. I sunbathed. I watched my daughter from a distance. I willingly played beer wench for Hatta as he fished. I would have breathtaking pictures to post for you...but I forgot my phone, again.

Hell Weekend Do-Over

I'm a glutton for punishment. It's the only logical explanation. You recall hell weekend, right? I've agreed to a do-over.

Shaking my head in disbelief.

Tomorrow morning we will load beach chairs and sand toys, suitcases and duffle bags into my new car (yup, I finally got the new car. Another post, another day.) I will drive us nearly three hours to attempt to have a relaxing few days.

I used to be a faithful Oprah viewer and I can still hear her, "When you know better, you do better." I'm not sure if this exactly falls under that quote, but I know better than to expect the next few days to be a breeze. In order to fully embrace realism, I give to you my expectations for the next few days.

• I expect Alice to force herself to stay awake on the ride to the beach. We will leave home at nap time and do everything under the sun to provide optimal sleeping conditions. She still will not sleep. Hatta and I will threaten severe punishment if she doesn't allow her body to fall asleep. No nap will be taken by Alice. She will start our "vacation" tired and irritable. Hatta and I will start our "vacation" stressed and on edge.
• Alice will not eat for two and a half days. Food will be prepared for her that isn't identical in color, texture, and consistency to the foods I prepare for her at home. Family members will beg Alice to eat, convincing her that she is running the show and calling the shots. I will spend double the days when we return home reminding Alice that she is in fact NOT in charge.
• Sleep will be lost. Alice will stay up too late and wake up too early. Unfortunately, the same will be true for Hatta and I. Sleep deprived Alice will become grumpier and bossier as the days pass. I will spend an equal number of days trying to help her catch up on sleep when we return home.

Oh friends, I think I'm having my very own Aha! moment right this second. Pertaining to this trip, I think I fully understand the quote. I know better than to expect this trip to go smoothly, so I won't. I will not stress about it. I know how it's going to shake down, why do I get upset when it goes exactly how I predicted?

So let me try again, now that I'm all enlightened and shit. My expectations for the next few days...

• I will enjoy the long drive in my new car. I will caress the new leather and learn the feel of all the buttons. I will provide Alice with hours of video to watch in hopes of not hearing a peep out of her.
• I will eat well. Screw everyone else!
• I will sunbath on the beach and allow everyone else to ensure Alice's safety.
• I will drink good beer and wine. No Coors light and Ménage a Trois Red for me.
• I will drink good beer and wine often.
• I will drink a lot of good beer and wine.

Wish me luck!

List Mode

I'm in list mode. This happens several times a year, I feel the strong urge to prioritize and organize with the help of my handy dandy lists. Usually..."I would say I'm a kinda fly by the seat of your pants gal, you know moment to moment. Yeah that's me, that's...yeah." Oh, wait. No. That's Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. That's definitely not me. I'm a planner. For sure. At any given time, in my head, is a list of things needing my attention. I lie in bed at night reviewing and reorganizing my mental do to's. Most months of the year my brain file folder is sufficient, except Christmas, Alice's birthday, and the last month of the summer. On these occasions I do not trust my memory alone to keep it all straight. I bring out the heavy artillery.

"Why the last month of the summer?" you ask.

Very good question, indeed. The last month of the summer is what I refer to as Oh-shit-summers-ending-hurry-and-do-everything. It's when all my hopes and dreams for the summer either come to fruition or crash and burn. It's the month that separates the men from the boys. All that hype takes a bit of planning. Add to that the most awesomely, awesome deadline ever...PRESCHOOL! Let's just take a moment to celebrate. In a month, Alice will be in preschool five days a week. Five. If that doesn't put a smile on your face surely nothing will. Anyway. As excited as I am about preschool starting (did I tell you how excited I am?) it does create added planning on my part. Forms, medical records, teacher meetings, new parent's picnic. Preschool prep has forced me to step up my end of the summer planning a bit. In my head are numbered lists and bullet points galore. All freakin day long. It's like I can't escape the mental organization of my thoughts. So bear with me. I imagine this will not be the only list post you read this week.

In this last month of summer, I will be the proud owner of a new car. I'm getting a new car! I'm getting a new car! My current ride, a Honda Element has been outgrown. As wonderful a vehicle as it is, it only seats four. That's right. Many a times, I have driven around illegally with a fifth seated on the backseat floor or riding in the way back. Add to that, needing new brakes, a new driver side key lock thingamajig, new tires (just guessing,) oh, and the matience required light has been on for...hanging head in shame...years. We've decided now is the time for an upgrade and I've issued the deadline of "by the end of the summer." Without deadlines we do nothing.

Reasons I am stoked about the upcoming new car.

1. Keyless entry. I've owned 3 cars and have never had the luxury of a magic keychain. Oh, how I've dreamed of keyless entry.
2. Front passenger seat arm rest. I am usually the driver. My seat has an arm rest. Hatta's seat does not. He is constantly stealing my arm rest.
3. Funk. My car, being old, has funk embedded deep in all crevices. It screams a child with sticky, crumby fingers lives here. It will be nice to start with a clean slate, you know, to dirty up.
4. Roof racks. Not needed often, but so helpful.
5. Keyless entry. At present, I can't even use a key to unlock the drivers side door.
6. Heated seats. This is not a requirement, but heated seats are such a beautiful invention. What a luxury! I used to nanny and drive a nice Volvo with heated seats. It made leaving the house on a cold morning for an early storytime bearable.
7. Color. I've never cared about the color of my vehicle. This time, paying very good money, I want to love the color. I'm not settling.
8. Keyless entry. I hear that some people have the ability to start their car with a push of a button. I just want to unlock my doors. That's all.
9. Cup holders. Nah, I don't care about cup holders, as long as I have one to fit my coffee, I'm good. I'm not impressed by cup holder count.
10. Luxury-ish. My Element is the opposite of luxurious. There is no carpet. No cushy leather. I believe I can hose the whole thing down. It's been great for camping and music festivals. It's served it's purpose. I'm ready for a taste of luxury.
11. Keyless entry. Did I mention that yet?

Love Hate Relationship

There are two sides to everything. Take for example, the sun. If you're thinking to yourself, the sun is the sun, no two sides about it...then, my friend, you are wrong.

All in one day I was reminded that the sun can be a relaxing, pleasure inducing star or a bright, blinding, headache inducing, bitchass ball of plasma.

This past weekend, we took a trip to the beach town where Hatta and I grew up. I spent hours and hours in the sun, relaxing carefree. Riding on the bow of the boat, basking in the warm glow, surrounded by delightful memories. The moment was perfect. The sunny sun made it perfect. The sun glistened on my skin, tricking me into thinking all my physical flaws were gone. Wonder sun. With family around doting on Alice, I was able to step back fom my full time job and chill. I laid on the tube in the bay, drink in hand, eyes closed, listening to my daughter's sounds of delight, sun shining it's happy rays down upon me. Life was good, courtesy of the brightness in the sky.

Alas, as I said, everything has two sides.

Tonight, car packed with kid, dog, and far too many bags of shit that I would have to unpack upon our arrival, I drove three hours, with traffic, home. In the sun. The mothafokking sun was the bane of my existence for three straight hours, no relief. I drove, Alice and Hatta slept. And by drove I mean did my best to try and block the sun glare without ramming into the car in front of us. Let me break the annoying ass shit down for you (please excuse my language, I'm still a little high-strung from the stressful drive.) Put visor down, flip it to the side, push back to the front, sun still blinding my vision, pull out visor extender, push visor to the side, extender in the way knocking my rearview mirror, pull visor back to the font, flip visor up thinking the sun is finally behind the trees, realize it was a cruel trick, flip visor back down, pull out extender again, push to the side. It carried on like this for hours, three to be exact. Mostly, I enjoy driving. I find it peaceful and cathartic. Tonight, because of the punk ass sun, I hated it. The sun tortured me this evening and seemed to find pleasure in it. It laughed at me as I tried to hide from it. Mocking me as it retreated behind the trees just long enough for me to breath, then bursting back out, snickering as I scrambled to try and block it from my sight so I didn't sideswipe the neighboring car. Tonight, as I drove, the sun sucked. Period.

Every now and again, in this life, you are reminded of life lessons. Some days it's crap about a body at rest staying at rest unless a force acts upon it. Today, the life lesson is there are two sides to every story and one of them is usually sunshine and daydreams while the other side is full of a nasty power hungry star that wants to see you total your car creating a five mile back up leaving you stranded on the side of the road while passerby's rubberneck to see what idiotic, moron was done in by sun glare.

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Wit and Wisdom - Stop Sign Edition

I present to you the wit and wisdom of my 4 year old darling. That's right...she's now 4. Insane. Birthday post coming when I can stop saying "My baby! Where did my baby go?!" for long enough to write it.

Alice and I were in the car (of course) driving home from a super duper fun visit to our local FiveBelow. Party favors were purchased.

Her: Mama?

Me: Yes.

Her: Wasn't that a stop sign?

Me: Yes.

Her: Then why didn't you stop?

I chose to ignore her smart ass, back seat driving self. I suppose, only being 4 and not 14 like she thinks she is, she's never heard of a California stop.

Yesterday Was My Day

I know what the problem was, yesterday was the best day I'd had in awhile. Not sure what it was, maybe the stars were aligned properly and the cosmos was working in my favor. It set the bar entirely too high for today. Silly me, woke with brilliant optimism, thinking today could be another yesterday. Ha!

I should have known better, right from the start, when Alice broke her 8 night record and woke me up at 6am with pee soaked sheets and pajamas. Hind sight. Instead, I got out of bed with a spring in my step. Opening the windows, breathing the crisp, morning air, the day held the promise of possibilities.

I'm not sure when it started to deteriorate. Maybe when Hatta called and told me he had been pulled over on his way to work for the very same expired tags he received a ticket for a week ago. Or possibly when I knocked a snack cup of Goldfish on the floor. Perhaps when I over watered 2 house plants and the water poured over the radiator down to the floor. Maybe it was when I, yet again, spilled water all over the floor in an attempt to water the front garden. Perchance it happened when Alice, jumping on the dog bed, smacked her head into the wall leaving a lump. On her head, not the wall.

No. It wasn't that. At that point I was still naively thinking today could be a close second to yesterday. I hadn't given up, as my tweet said, "I'm trying really hard." I had every intention of rocking it at the mom job. I wasnt defeated. I took Alice to a playground near the airport. We usually have a picnic and watch the planes fly in to land.

Nice pic, huh? Except, I didn't take that today. No. See, today, the planes were not landing for our viewing pleasure. Instead, they were departing, over top of our heads, at the rate of 1 plane every 15 minutes. Not nearly the impressive impact on a 3 year old as the usual, 1 plane landing every, I dunno, 3 minutes. My outing was a bust. Alice was bored and tired. I was finally defeated.

Ready to concede, I told Alice it was time to go home. She burst out sceaming "NO!" repeatedly and as loudly as possible. Everyone was watching, I'm sure. Whatever. I was so done, I wasn't even embarrassed as I climbed the playground to drag her naughty behind out of there, crying the whole way. You know what? She cried the entire 25 minutes home, too. Icing on the cake.

Today, Friday, May 18th, you win. Today was not my day. I was its bitch. And sadly, I still have many hours left before I can pull the covers over my head and wishfully hope tomorrow is better.

Everyone Heals Differently

I've been playing this game for awhile, maybe you've heard of it? It's called "How Long Can I Avoid Having My Wisdom Teeth Removed?" It's similar to another game I like called "How Long Can I Avoid a Tetanus Shot?" I rock at that game. I'm the reigning champion. I think the last time I was forced to get a tetanus shot was middle school. College was a close call with it being mandatory for admittance and all. I dodged it as long as I could. Just as I was about to be forced to forfeit, luck turned up on my side by way of a vaccination shortage.

You might ask why one would choose to play these games. Let me enlighten thee. It's rather simple. Either a.) You're afraid of needles, b.) You're afraid of hospitals and doctors offices, c.) You're afraid of pain or d.) All of the above. I can attest, avoidance is always easier.

Anyway, back to the original game I've been playing for quite some time. It seems, sadly, my time playing was all for nothing. I must graciously bow out, admit defeat. All four of my wisdom teeth will be forcefully sliced and ripped from my mouth a week from Thursday. Nevermind the months I patiently suffered while my wisdom teeth tore every filament of my gums just so they could break the surface and join the rest of my teeth. Forget about the extra minutes I was forced to spend every week brushing and flossing four extra teeth. All for naught, I tell you. All for naught.

Today, I found myself in the oral surgeons office, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, filling out pages 1,2,3, and 7 where I'm sure I agreed not to sue them if they cause me pain and suffering by accidentally removing the wrong teeth. I was trying to complete the paperwork with my legs shaking the clipboard (see letters a, b, c, and d from above,) when up to the counter walks this small, dark haired college girl. I guess she was about 19. I listen to her conversation with the office assistant and instantly, I'm sucked in like a moth to a flame. I could have given up rights to my second child in the paperwork for all I know.

She's trying to make an appointment to have her wisdom teeth out.

"I have an 8, a 9:45, and a 10:30."

"Don't you have anything later, I have class in the morning."

"No, I'm sorry we only do them in the mornings. Blah blah blah dehydration. Blah blah blah. And you know you have to have somebody here to drive you home after surgery," the assistant tells her with a tone in her voice.

"Oh, okay. I guess my mom could bring me and my friend could pick me up."

"No, no that's not going to work. Someone has to be here in the office the entire time of the surgery and then drive you home." This time she's a touch rude with the meek girl.

"Um, okay. I'll be able to go back to school after the surgery cause I have class, right?"

"No, no. You're going to have to stay home the rest of the day,"

"But the next day, I'll be able to go to class the next morning, though."

"It all depends, everyone heals differently," she says. And I have to applaud her for not laughing aloud in the poor, foolish girls face.

Has this dewey-eyed girl never known anyone who's had their wisdom teeth removed? I nursed a boyfriend during college through his recovery, I still shudder at the blood and the pain. I was friends with my husband when he had his removed. I watched him eat mashed potatoes and jell-o for days. This little girl has clearly not been playing the game. She's one of those that never even knew the game existed. I feel for her. On Wednesday, at 8:00am, she will experience what my mother referred to as worse than childbirth. She delivered three babies, naturally, without drugs. Wisdom teeth extraction worse than that. And this girl hasn't got a clue. Had she, she would've been playing the game right alongside me.

The Drive that Drove Me Mad

My husband and I grew up in the same town, about a 3 hour drive from where we currently live. A good percentage of both our families still live there. We visit often. We have the packing and driving with a child down to a science. Remember in grade school when you made the volcano with backing soda and vinegar and it exploded all over the kitchen? Yeah, that kind of science.

Since it was Easter we decided to head back home, visit our families and have an Easter egg hunt with my sister and her almost 2 year old daughter. Two days before we were set to leave I get a text from my sister.

Sis: Do you ignore a child in the car when they say mommy over and over again after you've already answered?

Me: Yes

Me: I tell Alice, it's nap time mama and papa will not be talking to you anymore. And that's it.

Sis: We obviously do not have the system down for traveling.

Me: With travel, we do our best to drive in the nap time range. And that's the goal. We talk to each other minimally, we listen to mellow music, we don't eat until she falls asleep.

Sis: I love your rules!!!



Let me just take a moment of silence to listen to the laughter singing out in my head.



As you have guessed, the car ride did not go as planned. It started out well. She was tired, had her lovey friend. The rules were being followed. About forty minutes in, I started to become concerned. I checked the rear view, she was yawning.

Okay. Good. She'll fall asleep soon and still get a 2 hour nap.

Thirty minutes passed by. Still awake. She was making sounds that I imagine very large frogs make. Not quite a ribbit, something more growly but still from the frog family. It was obvious, Alice was actively trying to keep herself awake.

New tactic, we switched the iPod to Jack Johnson. No offense to Jack, but his music seems to help her sleep. Twenty minutes later, still awake. At that point, I turned around and ever so slightly yelled to Alice.

"This is eenough!! You need to go to sleep! You are going to be so grumpy. If you don't take a nap you will have to go bed early and you will not get to play with your grandparents. Now hold Peter Pan, sit still, look out the window, and fall asleep!!"

That's sure to work, right? Nope. Half hour later she was still awake and kicking the passenger seat. Occasionally thrashing in her car seat as if she was possessed. Blurting out random screams, which I can only imagine were intended to wake her sleepy ass up. It was bad. I think I may have turned Rage Against the Machine on at a volume loud enough to drown her out. I had stopped looking in the rear view at her, it was only infuriating me to watch her eyes get progressively more tired as her body grew more and more crazy.

And the I nearly hit a motorcycle.

She was holding Peter Pan (who, by the way, is just a brown stuffed bear wearing a Santa hat and a red scarf) above her head, waving it all around. I couldn't properly see out of the mirror and I just barely missed the motorcycle when I changed lanes.

Aw yeah...it's smack down time!

I reached behind, ripped the bear from her hands, and threw it in my husbands lap.

"I will not tell you again to sit still and go to sleep! If you choose not to sleep and contine this crazy nonsense trying to stay awake, when the Easter egg hunt starts you will have a time out! And your cousin will hunt for eggs without you!"

The crazy nonsense continued. It was horrible. I wanted to scream. At one point we discussed, quietly to ourselves, the merits of drugging a child with Benadryl. I seem to remember saying out loud how I was going to enjoy watching her in timeout. The trip was not a shining moment in our little world. But we got through it and eventually arrived at my grandparent's house.

And when the eggs had been hidden and both girls were outside in their pretty dresses with their baskets, my sister said, "okay, go ahead. Hunt for eggs!" I rather calmly picked Alice up and plopped her in a garden chair to watch her little cousin gather eggs without her.

"You're in time out because you were being naughty in the car. You knew it was nap time and instead you were being crazy, kicking and screaming," I so calmly told her.

And she sat there. The rest of the family thought I was the wicked witch, but dear, sweet Alice didn't. She understood. Three minutes later she was up hunting for eggs and life was good again, for all of us.

I do believe next time we decide to take that trip things will go much more smoothly...I hope. Please.

Oh, and I did enjoy it, just a little bit of satisfaction.