by Mary Anne on October 15, 2008
When I was in first grade, I went to a Catholic school where we had to wear uniforms every day. One precious day a year, all the kids were allowed to wear whatever they wanted for the grandest day of all…picture day. One boy? Got to wear a turtle neck and LOVE BEADS . He was totally the coolest 6 year old in all of 1971. But not me, nope….my mom put me in an itchy green dress with an ugly scarf to go with it. I did have some pretty rockin’ white patent boots though so it offset my otherwise middle aged attire just a little bit…but not much. It didn’t help that I was sort of a chubby kid with no athletic skills that people picked on.
I got to school on picture day and after enduring an awful lot of laughter over my stylish dress green polyester frock, I looked around and realized all the “popular girls” had bangs while I did not. My mom prided herself on not having given in to cutting my bangs despite my begging her…I had long wavy brown hair that she could do all sorts of things with to make me look even more like a middle aged 70′s housewife. (And not that there is anything wrong with housewives, but honestly, do any of you want to look like your Mom did then? Hip and cool were so not in vogue then in middle America…)
Well, I showed her a thing or two. Everyone, please meet Stiletto Mini, the 6 year old version of The Stiletto Mom.
See those crooked bangs? Yep, those were clipped by yours truly in Sister Mary Catherine Francis Angelica Margaret Elizabeth Anne Catherine’s (bc you can’t have too many Catherine’s) class with a pair of little kid safety scissors. Look at that uneven line…but more importantly, look at that evil gleam in my eyes. VICTORY! I may be dressed all wrong but man…I showed her….I totally jacked my hair 5 mintutes before pictures…take that! Also? While it looks like I have a missing tooth? I don’t…it’s a SPIT GAP. Ok, so let’s put all this together, chubby kid, dressed like a 1970′s polyester wearing forty year old, uncool hair plus spit gap equals??? You got it, six year old meltdown with safety scissors. Granted, it could look worse but there was a good four minutes spent trying to make them appear even for the picture with tremendous amounts of nun spit and I believe Elmer’s Glue…though I can’t be sure.
When my Mom came to pick me up that day, the nun stoically marched me out to the car and handed me over to my horrified Mother. I’m not sure, but I think they could hear her scream all the way up in Oklahoma, “OH HOLY MOTHER OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY!!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR HAIR????” And what did I say? “I fixthed it Mommy.”
So when Oklahoma heard these very words come out of my mouth some 37 years later this weekend, they should not have been suprised. None of this should be a shock to me either because Miss G is a carbon copy of me. (Wanna know what she looks like? The picture above, with blonde hair….evil gleam in eye is the same)
Keeping in mind tht Miss G’s circumstances are totally different…she has a the tiniest bit of a spit gap, is very fit, wears super cool clothes and is generally popular, the thing I learned this weekend is bad hair happens to all of us.
Apparently, it went down like this. She had a headband and put it in her hair. Her hair, however, did not want to cooperate and would not form the perfect swoopy on her forehead. So doing what any logical 6 year old girl birthed by me would do…she got out the scissors and went to town. While she did not create the full bangs like I did, she managed to take a huge chunk of hair out of the middle of her face and elected not to tell me but to tuck it into the headband (you know, because I’d never figure it out right?)
Well I did figure it out. While I was on the phone with my cousin (who knew my mother all too well) all of a sudden Oklahoma heard from a crazed Catholic Mom from Texas one more time…“OH HOLY MOTHER OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY!!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR HAIR????” And what she say? “I fixthed it Mommy.”
Well, of course you did. And now, Miss G, you have bangs just like Mommy did in first grade. You enjoy growing those out honey.
by Mary Anne on September 14, 2008
Last night, Miss G ran out to show us that she had literally ripped a toof out of her mouth. Blood gushing everywhere, she was so proud, bless her. Mind you, this is not the first toof, it is the third but this one proved to be especially difficult in it’s desire to stay in the mouth of the Princess forever. As she jumped up and down exclaiming, “My toof! My toof!” it was all I could do not to gag at the bloody rag hanging out of her mouth. I’m a bit of a wuss, I admit. The Man and I talked to her about how she should be so excited that the tooth fairy was soon going to make her RICH! Miss G listened very closely and agreed to leave the toof in a place that would make it easy for the magical Tooth Fairy to get in and out and leave her wad of cash as she is ever so busy with so many teef to get to.
Yeah well, Miss G is a tricky little princess. She decided to hide the toof and see if the Tooth Fairy could find it. Miss G also demanded to sleep in our room which ruined our Saturday night and added a new level of difficulty to our toof fairy operation.
The Man and I go to bed after several glasses (a bottle) of wine. A few minutes into those wonderful moments between sleep and consciousness I hear some massive fumbling going on on his side of the room. The Man is looking for the toof and it ain’t nowhere to be found. Typical. We’ve been duped again by a little blondie with green eyes and freckles. The Man searches and searches, no toof. Still a promise is a promise and said Tooth Fairy leaves five bucks.
First thing in the morning, Miss G gets up and promptly begins her search for the loot. She and The Man come running into my office where I was stalking surfing my favorite blogs, and The Man is looking slightly alarmed. We still believe in Santa Clause in our house, and the notion of a giant bunny leaving eggs throughout our house is not only accepted but embraced. We don’t need the Tooth Fairy jacking up our well constructed fantasy life with our kids. However, there it is, in all it’s glory…a grocery list in my writing attached to the five bucks. How it got there, I do not know. All I know is I quickly had to explain to Miss G that the Tooth Fairy must be really busy and she must have been the last stop on the list before her trip to the grocery store to purchase such staples as sliced turkey, swiss cheese, health nut bread, avocado, red onion and tomato. Sounds to me like the Tooth Fairy wanted her some California Club Sammies! There really is no explanation for the Dog Food as we all know the Tooth Fairy is to busy to care for a canine, right? Thank God, she cannot read my writing for this was the one answer I was not prepared to give.
After much interrogation as to where the toof was, Miss G admitted to hiding it in her blanket. She was still giving us the evil eye, we think she may be on to us and our little scheme where fat men fit through the chimneys, bunnies have opposable thumbs that can carry baskets and some winged female creature collects teeth and does God Knows What with them.
The good news is, The Man is a sneaky one and was able to distract her with some well placed sugary breakfast treats buying him the needed time to find the toof. Score one for the Tooth Fairy who lives to collect bloody toofus stumps another day!
by Mary Anne on September 6, 2008
Nothing big to post today as Mr. C is at a sleepover and Miss G is in full control of the house. Did you know that the average 6 year old diva can ask approximately 3,276 questions in an hour? Please send help…and a full set of encyclopedias.
In an effort to save my sanity and that of The Man, I entered into extensive negotiations with Miss G and am now leaving to take her shopping for a new outfit but only if she takes the questions down to 1,622 an hour.
by Mary Anne on September 2, 2008
I’m at a sushi restaurant right now, pretty empty as it’s a Tuesday night, just killing time while Miss G is at practice. I am happy to tell you, one family in America has less fun at dinner than mine does.
There is a family of five sitting next to me and they are SCREAMING at each other. It seems to have started with the (I’m guessing) 14 year olds inability to hold chop sticks correctly. After general mocking and belittling, it has spiraled into a discussion on some errant behavior on his part on vacation. Apparently he didn’t like being woken up at noon on vacation and forced to eat. (I can’t blame him) The mother actually said (screamed) “Here’s the deal, if we go to a restaurant and you don’t like it….STARVE.” The other two kids, a boy and a girl who look to be maybe 7 or 8, are looking down at their plates with concern on their faces. I am a little concerned for them to be honest. The discussion/negotiation has moved on to where to vacation next year. The son of course has some suggestion, which was ignored and the Dad says “SCREW THAT….WE ARE GOING TO EUROPE!” Quick, somebody call Europe and warn them. But not the French, because they deserve this family.
The fourteen year old though, really needs some coaching on his negotiation skills as he is now in a very loud voice demanding a laptop for his birthday. Mom and Dad are not buying off on this, not even a little bit, and the boy has now shifted his demands to the laptop OR THE CASH EQUIVALENT. I’m starting to see why his parents want to starve him.
They are moving on to the hard stuff now. Apparently the 14 year old took something from them that he promised to pay for yet has not so far. Threats of prison and jail are now being tossed about, and while the little girl seems really upset by this thought, the little brother is all “Also, he took my DS the other day….”
Sadly, it’s time for me to shut down and go collect Miss G. I am truly sorry I’m not going to see the portion of the programming where one of the family members (and it’s a crap shoot who willd draw first blood at this point) stabs the other one with a fork. I’m just really glad that in my family, because we are perfect you know, when we have our knock down drag outs…threats of children going to prison fights…it stays within the walls of our home. Sure it gets so loud sometimes that passing joggers look startled but then again, they sure aren’t carrying a computer and reporting on it blow by blow like I am. Pick your fights…and more importantly pick the place to have your fights…and never do it next to a girl with a laptop and nothing but time on her hands.
by Mary Anne on August 28, 2008
At some point dinner at our house has to stop being a three ring circus show, it really does. It’s usually not Mr. C., though sometimes it can be if we try to hard to make him eat such difficult items as guacamole, any veggie other than broccoli (let’s not even talk about what happens if he even suspects salad may appear) or any type of potato served any other way than baked whole or fried. At least I have a clearly defined set of problems with him that I can usually operate within.
Miss G, however, tends to be difficult at every turn. Unless it is Mac and Cheese or Chicken Nuggets, it really need not apply. I am not going to go into what happened last week when I dared to serve a simple baked ziti because, quite frankly, I just don’t have the strength to revisit it. Here’s how it usually goes….dinner is on the table…five minutes later, we manage to convince her through a series of threats to join us. She does, for a moment and then needs to go to the “bafroom”. Comes back, sits down, picks at food and realizes whatever doll she is wanting to dine with that evening is not present. She must go get her friend, lest they feel left out. Sits back down for a moment and toys with our emotions by picking at her food. At that point, it’s time for the talent show portion of our meal which involves either a quick cheer or a dance routine. Lucky for us, we get this for free, some people pay for dinner theatre.
We’d pay not to have it.
Yelled at again, and now becoming annoyed at us for not appreciating her amazing dinner time talent, sits down, looks hard at food, and proclaims it “DISGUSTING”. This is the point where the threats of no desert start to kick in. She argues, she insists she needs another beverage, she puts a bite in her mouth and cries and the poisonous gruel we have put in front of her begins to take effect. The Man has always lost it at this point and demands she finishes eating. The crying begins in earnest at this point at which both of her parents turn against her. At some point, she will run screaming from the table to swear she does not want to eat another thing all night and we clear the table in our attempts not to create an early onset food issue of some sort. Jokes on us though as 20 minutes later when we are not looking she sneaks upstairs with one of the following: A baggie full of Goldfish, several packages of Cheetos or….if we are really lucky….a tub of chocolate Blue Bell ice cream that we find the next day after it has tuned into chocolate soup.
Now, I have to say here, had I ever acted like this once, just once, at dinner, my mother would have quietly put down the cigarette she was smoking to enhance the flavor of the food and without batting an eye sent me sailing halfway across the room. She was just that good and I was scared shitless of her.
We obviously don’t employ the same tactics, what with the whole CPS system and all, and tonight went about our usual dinner time exercise in futility. We served the ever offensive taco and quesadilla dinner and she wasn’t having any of it. Sophie, the doll joined us, (face down on the table, ass out…really not appropriate at all) then she tried to hang her Disney iPod on her Dad’s head, and before the dancing portion of the dinner could commence, Daddy called a halt to the entire thing and ended the show before the closing credits could roll. Miss G was escorted to another room, reprimanded and told not only would we lock the pantry to avoid the late night raid, no cartoons…and….she would have to go to her room and quietly read a book instead. The screams were primal and loud, and endless. I’m a little shocked the neighbors didn’t come next door to see if we were doing some type of human sacrifice, and if they could partake in it. In the end, with a whimper and a sigh, she went to her room with a book about counting bunnies and I found her there 10 minutes later quietly reading it…with her swim goggles on.
At least know I now what it takes to get her to read a book on her own.
