Public Service Announcement

Do you or someone you know suffer from BID? There is help for you.

Blog-Induced Depression (BID) is a completely treatable disorder when addressed in its early stages. BID is most prevalent among women ages 20-75 who frequent the Internet and hop from blog to blog, reading about other peoples' seemingly perfect lives. BID worsens when these women believe that blog posts represent the totality of that author's life. In its most common state BID is sometimes referred to as envy or unequal comparison.

Although BID is most commonly found in women, men are subject to the disease and should not feel they are immune. It is common for men to be less willing to talk about their disorder and therefore the women in their lives should approach their illness with care and compassion. The symptoms in men, however, may be less dramatic since men are able to dodge the emotion more artfully than women.

Signs and symptoms may include: a compulsive need to check one's google reader frequently throughout the day, pondering on blog posts to the point of feeling inadequate and unsatisfied with one's own life, wondering why one's life isn't as rosy and full of adventure as those who have glorious blogposts, spending inordinate amounts of time on sites that include blogspot or wordpress in the address, attempting to change one's usual mannerisms to mimic those read about on another's blog, and desiring to escape reality and join the fairy land that is another's blog. Other signs and symptoms may present them self and are subject to personal translation.

BID is closely associated with, but not the same as BIOCD (Blog-Induced Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), which can lead to an incessant need to check up on one's blog roll more than 16-18 times per hour. (Basically, it's like normal OCD, only with BI in front of it.)

Those suffering with BID or BIOCD should seek treatment immediately. When treated in their early stages they can be overcome. As with any recovery program, don't attempt to solve the problem on your own. Please consult your own conscience or seek the help of a trained professional to find the program that works for you. Once you realize that said blogs should be used to inspire and incite into action rather than defeat, you will achieve the sanity you seek and deserve.

Successful methods of treatment may include but are not limited to: enjoying one's children (in all their stages and moods), finding joy in the everyday details of life, savoring the moment, accepting that the mundane is normal, and loving one's spouse in spite of any imperfections.

Once the individual is in recovery or remission, friends and family members should be sensitive and not expose the former BID sufferer to extended bouts of blog-stalking. Relapse is a dangerous and realistic possibility for the individual with BID.

If you are suffering from BID, there is hope for you. You can be treated and return to a happy and satisfied life, free from the burdensome comparisons and envyings. Believe me, I know. I formerly suffered from BID am I am now a BID SURVIVOR, enjoying a full and rich existence. If you are in need of help, don't wait- there are people ready to assist you.

AAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!!!!!

CAN YOU GUESS WHAT THIS IS?!

click the pic for a hint- it's a link...

Thank you, Target parking lot- you made it possible for a double post today! (Pollyanna in all things)

A Modest Proposal

I just received this. Thought I would share. Please don't be jealous- just be happy for me.

Dear Stephanie,

First (I like to do most things in firsts, seconds, and thirds), let me apologize for getting back to you in over world record time. Not the norm with me, let me assure you. I have been quite busy with the games. I am sure you understand. Now that the games are over and I have a little time to catch my breath, I just want to say that I loved hearing from you and love that I could spend these last two weeks with you. And, of course I remember you. I look forward to every other year so that I can share it all with you. I know you have been watching me, and I am flattered.

Second, I am completely crushed to know that you are married. However, I do know the husband and believe you have made a fine choice. I believe that with my schedule, I could not offer you all that you deserve. But, I did leave you a message on the jumbo-tron. You would have to go back and watch the tapes of volleyball, swimming, soccer, equestrian, archery, badminton, bmx and wrestling and pick out every third letter that appears next to a consonant in words that are two syllables and hyphenated to decipher my proposal.

Third, I loved the games this year. They were wonderful. So many worthy competitors. Many who put in years and years of training and dedication to win my medals. I did give many away. But, I assure you, my biggest medal belongs to you. Don't worry about all those who are vying for my attention, you will always have it. You are my best and truest lady.

You know those opening and closing ceremonies? They were all for you. The ladies dancing with the bells on their dresses symbolize the bells of our love. The flame that burns is for you. The flags fly for you. The athletes are for you. Everything I do, I do it for you. You are my golden girl. If I could have you bronzed, I would.

The silver lining to all of this? I will return in 18 months (February 12, 2010) and I know that you will be right there, watching. And, maybe, do you think you could make it to London in 2012? I would really love to see you there. And I will play our anthem just for you- at every commercial break.

Yours forever,
The Olympics


P.S. I'm glad you liked the hand sanitizer.

Batter Up!

So, as a mother you gotta stick up for your kiddos, right?

We are now in the 4th week of school and today was oldest daughter's first day in a new classroom. Let me fill you in:

The Thursday before school began was meet the teacher night. The husband and I attended with oldest daughter and with middle daughter and little son in tow. We were informed that the teacher she had been assigned (and the one that we had requested because of her awesome reputation as a teacher) was now the official 1st grade ELD teacher- for all the Spanish-speaking students- so oldest daughter was re-assigned to a different teacher.

OK, so we went into this new teacher's class room. It was bare- NOTHING on the walls. Oh, except for an alphabet strip above the dry-erase board. That is all- an alphabet strip. In my head I was like, "Huh?" But outwardly I was presenting an open-minded front. As we met the teacher we learned that she recently graduated from college, somewhere in the mid west. She just arrived in our state 2 weeks prior to the start of school, the ink still wet on her diploma.

Leaving her classroom I was hoping that there would be more to her than what was presented. I was a little let-down and skeptical of what she could pull together in just the few short days before the actual start of school.

First day of school dawns. We take the required photos of oldest daughter with brand new school uniform, back pack and Hannah Montana shoes, load all the children in the car and set off for a top notch first grade education.

As we entered oldest classroom, I saw what new teacher had pulled together for the actual start of school. Um, nothing. Same ol' alphabet strip and that's pretty much it. I was hoping for more, I'm not gonna lie. The husband and I exchanged nervous glances, took a photo of oldest daughter with new teacher, kissed and hugged her (oldest daughter, not new teacher) and left our offspring in the hands of a green teacher with a naked classroom.

Fast forward 3 weeks: oldest daughter comes home each day (the ones where I remember to pick her up) very down on school. She "hates school." This is something new to our home. She loved school last year! She had an awesome teacher that we all love. Last year the only time she would voice any opposition to school attendance was when I first woke her up in the morning. (she didn't know what she was saying, she was still practically asleep) But this year, it is constant. First thing she says when she wakes up. Second and third thing she says when she wakes up, etc., and last thing she says as she gets out of the car when I drop her off. Then, all is repeated at 3:00 when i pick her up.

Last Tuesday was my first day helping in the classroom. I like to go once a week for a couple hours to help out. I sure was not prepared for this class. I can't even tell you everything I witnessed, you would not believe me. Believe me. So, I will highlight the standout issues. Upon entering the classroom, this is what I witness:

• children roaming around the class while the majority is sitting at the back carpet for spelling review
• teacher teaching to 3-4 students while others are under tables and tuned out
• class returns to desk for math lesson
• one little girl painting nails
• one little boy cutting paper
• one little boy lying on floor
• one little girl squirting lying boy in the face with her water bottle
• one little girl eating chips
• 4-5 little girls and boys trying to get chip girl's attention so they can share the bounty
• one little girl falling asleep on desk
• the majority of the little boys and girls disrupted by all that is happening
• one little boy playing with cars on his desk
• one little boy facing completely the opposite direction of the lesson
• chit chat all around the room
• little girls and boys getting up and leaving the classroom to go potty
• no attempt to bring the class to order during math lesson
• no worksheet given to apply concepts taught

The class then adjourned to the carpet at the back of the room for story time. They were to read a short book and answer questions. The book began, the children were rowdy, the children were under tables, the children were talking and bothering their neighbors, etc, etc, etc.

A half hour after the story time began I left to go home. The book was still unfinished. It was a picture book. Should have taken maybe 10 minutes to read. (I was in the class for 2 hours and these three things are all that were accomplished in that time.)

When I picked up oldest daughter from school I asked her how the book ended. She didn't know. They never finished it. I understood her lack of enthusiasm for school.

The next morning I put in a call for the principal. Her voice mail said she would get back to me within 24 hours. 72 hours and 3 calls later, still no word from the principal. Finally I walked into the school requesting to see the principal. After meeting with her and demanding (sounds all "in your face", but not so much) that oldest daughter be given a new teacher, I went home again. I was feeling bad for this new teacher. She needs help, direction, supplies. And I know this teacher will improve as she gets the teacher skills she needs. But I cannot afford to let my daughter be in a situation that is constantly bringing her down while we are waiting for this teacher to come around.

Yesterday I met with the principal to sign papers for a transfer to a new class, met the newly assigned teacher, and explained my reasons for pulling oldest daughter to the little green teacher.

I feel for her. I have arranged with her to go in and help for a 1/2 hour each week.

When the husband and I told oldest daughter that she would be changing classes, she smiled. She is excited. She will thrive in this new teacher's class. I am excited. I am hopeful. I am drained.

It is scary to face people. I don't like confrontation. I want everyone to be happy. I am proud of myself for going to bat for my sweet oldest daughter. I would do it again.

P.S. Sorry this one is so long. Thanks for reading.

You are Under-Dressed

I am sitting here in the dark, laptop on my lap in little son's bedroom (per his request as he falls asleep) on the most comfortable chair in the house. The husband has been away on business for the better part of the week and I am missing him fiercely. This is what I will tell him when we talk next.

You will be glad to know that the children, the plants, the canine and I are still all alive.

Middle daughter and I had a beautiful afternoon crafting jewelry- one ring for each finger. She was delighted.

I visited with oldest daughter's principal this afternoon and hope to resolve the conflict by Monday. I will tell you more of this when we are together.

The canine's bowels are functioning wonderfully. And even better- all the functions have been outside!

We had a lovely visit this evening with older sister and her family. We feasted on crusty bread sandwiches, strawberries, and best of all- brownies and ice cream. Oldest daughter was playing with the plastic handcuffs and asked me to hold out my wrists because, "you are under-dressed", she said. We must teach her what the proper phrase is.

I think it is time for two things 1) teaching middle daughter a little tact and decorum and 2) locking the bathroom door. Middle daughter walked in our bathroom just as I was stepping into the shower. She stopped dead in her tracks, stared at me and said, "Mom I just want to tell you something. You are beautiful, but you are not beautiful when you be naked." I know you would hotly contest her on this one. Thank you for being my champion!

The haystacks at the dairy are on fire and filling the air with a foul aroma.

I missed my scripture reading today and hope you are not too far ahead of me. I will do my best to catch up.

I finally removed the squash plant from the flower planter. It is not producing squashes and is overtaking my lavender. I feel much better now.

Little son insisted on me laying down with him for his afternoon nap. I was glad for the invitation as I was feeling a little weary and in need of a recharge. I said to him, "Goodnight little son." To which he promptly responded, "I'm not little son, I'm Worm Boy." It seems he refuses to be called by his given name anymore. So, I teased a little and said, "Good night buddy boy." Again he responded with, "I'm not buddy boy, I'm Worm Boy. " I couldn't resist. I taunted for a few minutes and then we both drifted off into dreamland.

Enjoy your hot air ballooning and white water rafting. And be prepared to share your adventures with the children.

Come home soon. Sons and daughters need their dads and wives need their husbands.

New Mom

Many of you have asked about the canine. I will tell you this: I personally believe the only thing worse than having a dog is having a dead dog.

No, she is not dead. But, I have been worrying that she would die ever since we got her. (Being a pet owner is just about too much pressure.) You know that feeling? You may have felt it when you brought your first baby home from the hospital. I certainly did. I remember bringing oldest daughter home that first day. My mom and younger sister came over to see her. The minute they left I broke down in tears because reality hit. There were no nurses at my house to reassure me that her quick breathing was normal. Or that her little body flinches were nothing to be worried about. Or that she wouldn't stop breathing all of a sudden when she was sleeping. And they were leaving me all alone- with a brand new baby. Nobody told me that was going to happen.

Doesn't every new mom check on her baby 13,000 times while they are sleeping just to make sure they are still alive? Tell me all moms do, because I have to believe they do. I also know that all moms' greatest wish is that their infant will take long naps. Then, when the nap goes longer than their usual time, moms go into panic mode because, "my baby is sleeping longer than normal. Is that baby ok? Is she breathing? Wake up, wake up."

Okay, this was a huge diversion. Not the point of my post at all. What was I saying? Oh, yeah, what I was going to talk about was that the canine does not eat. It stresses me out. Not in a huge way, but in a small dog way. And in a way that if she died my kids would be pretty bummed. Then what? They have bonded with her in a huge way.

I'm pretty sure dogs aren't supposed to eat play dough. I keep trying to sweep it all up as soon as the kids are done playing with it, but I think tiny play dough balls are magic and they replicate upon sweeping. No, they replicate as soon as you put the broom and dust pan away.

The canine doesn't like her dog food. So I went and bought a new kind yesterday. She ate twice. A triumph since she didn't eat at all the day before. But, then I am wondering if she likes this food or was she just way hungry?

And so my goal for the day is to keep the canine alive.

P.S. I caught the husband running and playing and pretty much having a great time with the canine the other night. When he caught on that I had seen his shenanigans, he said, "If you tell anyone about this, I will deny it."

Questions

Hey all of you out there.

Do you know what today is? That's right it is Wednesday.

And do you know what happens on Wednesdays? Very good, it is early release- 1:00 EVERY Wednesday.

And do you know where I was at 12:50 today? Yes, you are right again. I was waiting in the school parking lot for oldest daughter.

You know why I was there on time (even early) (although, every time I have NOT forgotten to pick her up I have been there early)? BECAUSE I HAVE HEARD THIS ALL WEEK: "Don't forget me on Wednesday like you did last time!" or "remember when you forgot to pick me up last time?" and "that's the tree I waited under when you didn't come get me" oh, and this "that's the lady that called you when you didn't come get me."

So, we are now home from school. It's Wednesday, and I didn't forget. Go me.

I have a suspicion that oldest daughter will never let me live this one down. And then, I think that when middle daughter starts school next year, oldest daughter may say to her, "Sister, I hope Mom doesn't forget to pick you up."

And to tell you the truth, it is possible that it could happen again.

Hilarity

I was raised in the funniest family ever. I have some funny parents and funny brothers and funny sisters. They are funny. REALLY funny. (this word is starting to look a little funny now, you know how that happens?)

My dad always had some funny one-liners. Oh, and when we all get together, you better watch out.

One of the cutest things my mom has ever told me is that when she first met my dad her cheeks hurt at the end of the day because she was laughing and smiling the whole time they were together. (And it was a long time- they met on a very long drive home from college for Christmas break. AND, she was practically engaged to someone else.)

My mom and dad make a great team. When they were first starting out and having kids and birthdays, my mom took cake decorating classes. We always had awesome birthday cakes.



My mom made this one for my dad WAAAAAAY back in 1972. Growing up I thought this cake was a little scandalous, or at least a little funny. Cause, remember, we are a funny family.

Later, when my older sister got married my mom started doing wedding cakes. Yeah, she's awesome.

There are seven kids in my family. I am the third. My oldest sister turns 40 years old today. She is the one one who always wrote plays for us to perform, usually we would take the swings off the swingset and hang a bed sheet over it. That was our curtain. Those were some Tony Award-worthy performances. Yeah, good times. She also had a colossal paper doll collection, many of them handmade, with names like Denim Deb and she even fashioned an alien one. I don't recall her name- so oldest sister, will you please comment and tell me her name?

I remember when she turned 20, I was like, "Whoa, 20 is soooooooooooooooooo old!"

I was 16.

Now that she is 40, I am like, "Wow, Happy Birthday." Not so old anymore. And, no, I won't air any of her closetal skeletons.

Happy Birthday, Oldest Sister! I have loved being a part of your life for 36 of those 40. You are an amazing woman.

Item #2

If you missed yesterday's meeting, please take a moment to review the minutes. (Oh, and for those who were absent, don't forget to submit your doctor's note so that you may have an excused absence, as unexcused absences will result in immediate laundry detail. May I also remind you that 3 unexcused absences will result in immediate bathroom duty.)

This meeting will now come to order.

We will begin with our second agenda item- the one we were unable to address yesterday.

For those of you who know the husband and me, this one is really gonna throw you. Are you sitting down? Are you seat-belted in? Because, if you aren’t you might want to make some sort of provision. Perhaps you should cushion the ground around you for your impending collapse.

Drum roll please…

We, our little family- the husband, oldest daughter, middle daughter, little son and I have acquired a canine companion. I know. Breathe, breathe, breathe... I’ll give you a moment to collect yourselves, catch your breath and gather your thoughts.







Your thoughts: “I don’t even know these people anymore."

No, “that place” hasn’t frozen over. We have a dog. This is symbolic of a huge and total commitment (and perhaps a little temporary insanity). Can I do it? I am so not an animal person. You know I am not. Don't you? Yes, you do. I am the non-animalest non-animal person you will EVER meet.

I have daughters who should live on a farm. (I don’t know who their parents are.) They are drawn to animals. They play like they are animals. ALL THE TIME. They beg for kitties and puppies and fishies and turtles. And, no, I couldn’t pull off the “let’s get a pet rock” thing with them. (It's like I have told you before, they are genius kids.)

Going back to what my good friend Marjorie Hinckley (really, we have never met. But I like to imagine in my head that if we ever did meet, we would be the greatest of friends) has said about saying YES to your children, I realized that all I was doing when saying no to the pet issue was denying my children an opportunity to love an animal. Again, selfishness.

Since getting the dog (and I know that we are still only a day into it) I have seen a whole new universe open up to my girls. They are in love and the husband and I are coping.

So, tell me your greatest dog tips, and pray for dry carpets!

Thank you for being in attendance. Meeting adjourned.

Item #1

Ahem. Ahem! AHEM!!

Can I have your attention please? I have a couple matters of business to address.

First of all, I have an in-grown toenail (the second toe on my left foot) and I don’t feel that I have received proper sympathy from those who are already aware of the situation. So, I am opening it to a broader audience and I am begging for your compassion on this issue.

I know that many of you have had an in-grown toenail and many of you have not. For those of you who have, you know the pain and agony that I am enduring. And for those of you who have not, I am sure you can understand when I tell you that this is excruciating to bear. My only prayer is that you never have to endure such a wound. But, I in the event that you do, I want to convey to you that if you come to me and share your burden, I WILL BE THERE FOR YOU! I will give you the proper amount of sympathy and understanding. I will find you an open-toe shoe that would be appropriate for the toe that is experiencing the ache, and I will let you talk about it until you feel you have sufficiently expressed your burden.

Mine was the sleep of the bitterly disturbed last night. Impossible it was to find a sleeping position that would benefit the toe. What I think the problem is would be this: a couple years ago I broke my toe- the third one on my left foot. (Although the doctor said it was just a contusion:
con·tu·sion (plural con·tu·sions) n
bruise: an injury to the body in which skin and bone are not broken but damage is done to tissues under the skin, causing a bruise
I never agreed with that diagnosis) When I had this "contusion" I completely babied that toe. I was extra careful with it, splinted it up, and made sure that it didn't have to work too hard when I walked. Understandably, the other toes had to pick up the slack.

So, I personally believe that my second toe is making an attempt at gaining an equal amount of attention as third toe. Let me tell you, it is working. I have given it mounds of attention. I have focused on it every step of the way.

I do know that this will repair itself and my life will return to semi-abnormal, however, in the meantime- just know that I am suffering.

I am sorry, that is all the time we have. This meeting will stand adjourned. We will take a short recess and reconvene tomorrow morning to discuss Item #2.

Please be prompt, as latecomers will not be admitted.

Lady of Mystery- Revealed

So, the lady in the office yesterday? Only the new Assistant Principal. Found this out when I picked up oldest daughter (on time) today.

Nice to meet you, Ms. Macdonald.

First impressions. Always nice.

Mom Card in Serious Jeopardy

I am operating under a suspended mom card. Please don’t judge me. Let he (or she- we are equal opportunity here) who is without forgetfulness cast the first frying pan.

You know how yesterday was Wednesday? Wednesday. Yeah, Wednesday. The day oldest daughter gets out of school early. 1:00- EVERY Wednesday. And that’s what day it was yesterday.

1:15 the phone rings. Oldest daughter’s school was on the line: “Hey, did you remember that it was early release today, because it is Wednesday? We have oldest daughter here waiting to be picked up.”

Hello?! How could I have forgotten?

I wake up little son from his nap (the one where I had just put him in bed 10 minutes earlier), tear middle daughter away from planting weeds in a flower pot outside, and strap them in the car.

Rushing into the office, some lady (a teacher, I guess?) says, “You know, we have early release EVERY Wednesday at 1:00.”

Thanks, I know that.

The last thing I said to oldest daughter when I dropped her off at school Wednesday morning? “It’s early release today, I’ll be here at 1:00.”

Put it on the Jumbo-Tron

I only have two thoughts going through my head at this precise moment: 1) I LOVE the Olympics!! and 2) I have a massive pounding headache. Since there really is no substance to item number 2, let’s just focus on my first point, shall we?

I do. I LOVE THE OLYMPICS! I love the Olympics so much I could marry them. Except, I love my husband more and we are already married (except if the Olympics were a girl, I could use another wife (and not in a polygamist sort of way- just an extra helper sort of way, which in that case what I really need is a maid) because she could help me with the cooking and cleaning and driving, blah blah blah. But that really sounds weird, so NEVERMIND). But, I think the Olympics are a boy anyway, so maybe I should just send the Olympics a little note. Yeah, I think I’ll do that. It will say something like this:


Dear Olympics,

I don’t know if you know me- we have every other year together. I am the one with the half-way curly hair. I just have to tell you that I watch you all the time. You really make me smile.

Remember that one time when Michael Phelps won like 11 gold medals? Yeah, that was cool. I’m pretty sure I could get 13, maybe 14.

I can’t believe I am about to say this, but what the heck, I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!! I have had a crush on you for a long time now. I have one of your shirts. I've had recurring dreams of you giving me one of your rings. In fact, my parents would have loved to see us end up together. They are the ones that introduced me to you in the first place. (they would make great in-laws)

I really loved you in Salt Lake City when we came to see you. You had it all together, you were so organized. I always knew I wanted someone like that. But I got a little intimidated because there were a lot of people vying for your affection. You were such a gentleman. You knew how to treat the ladies. You had extra port-a-potties for us at every venue. You even had hand sanitizer.

I just have to ask: if I weren’t married, would you marry me? You can just check yes or no. Or, since you have access to lots of scoreboards and stuff, you could just program a proposal into one of those and I would be like, “Oh my gosh, YES! Except I have a husband now.” But it would be cool because the whole world would see it.

I’m sorry I can’t accept your proposal right now. (Does that break your heart? Because I know for a fact that the Olympics has a big heart.) But I will be devoted to you till I die. I just gotta focus on my husband right now. You only come around every other year and he is here for me everyday. So I think you will understand when I say that I just owe it to him.

I will tell my children and grandchildren about you! Let’s still be friends. Don’t ever change. Keep in touch, and call me over the winter.

Regretfully,
Stephanie

I'll Send the Therapist's Bill to Sam

All I wanted was to go to Sam's Club and get my bulk pack of 720 diaper wipes, garbage bags, gogurt and some treats for our Olympics Opening Ceremony party. Instead I ended up treating middle daughter to the most traumatic moment in her young, 4 year old life. Way to go, Mom!

It was meant to be a quick in and out stop. Go ahead and laugh. Because I know you know as well as I know that there is no such thing as a quick in and out stop at Sam's Club.

We were headed to the back of the store for those trash bags when we happened upon the Halloween display. (I know! It's only August. But I guess if we can already be in school, they can have the ghouls and goblins out.) So, we pass by the automated life-sized zombie guy.

I have little son and middle daughter in the cart seat (I just want to mention how much I LOVE the carts at Sam's due to the double accommodation of the seat. It is genius!) and oldest daughter walking alongside. Oldest daughter sees the monster and stops to take it all in as I continue making my way to the trash bags.

As soon as she has seen enough of the zombie, she hustles and catches up- giving the full report, "Brother, sister- you have to see that thing. It shakes and changes faces and everything!"

Immediately middle daughter declares that she must witness this spectacle. I assure her we will go back by on our way to the gogurt. Her pleadings become more intense as I am distracted with the task of deciding which bags to select: force flex with ties or the generic with 10 times more bags in the box. Once the decision is made and the bags are placed in the cart we proceed to the "gotta see" scary man.

As we near the ghoul, the automated shaking begins and ghostly sounds ring out. We are still behind it- not even head on- and middle daughter lets out a terrified, blood curdling 10 second (at least) scream of intense fear that stops all the shoppers in our immediate area. Almost as soon as the scream begins, she starts crying inconsolably. I have never witnessed (nor do I hope to ever witness again) my daughter in such a state of fear. Her little body literally shaking.

I quickly push the cart away from the display and position it to the side of the aisle so that I can make an attempt at reassuring her that all is well. My heart was aching for her as I could see that she was scared beyond description.

I have to admit, my first thoughts were, "Bring on bedtime. We are having nightmares at our house tonight."

Finally we were able to comfort her enough to get that gogurt, check out and get home. The rest of the afternoon she was in constant fear that we were going to go back to Sam's and she would have to see that scary guy. Obviously, this experience damaged her little secure self.

As soon as the husband got home from work she related the entire story. Now, I know I have a wonderful husband and this is why: as he was talking it through with her, they decided to give that scary monster a name. Frank was suggested, but middle daughter asked, "Can we just call him Underwear?" It was brilliant! Out of this scary situation, she was able to place a funny name on the experience and laugh about it. Thank you, husband! The gold medal goes to you. (What is your national anthem?)

The scene was recalled a few times during the Opening Ceremonies, but there were no nightmares.

Yesterday as were getting ready to go to Target, middle daughter pipes up with, "I don't want to go if Underwear is at Target."

We went. He wasn't there.

Growing

I am ashamed and embarrassed to admit it. We have always had a rocky relationship. I think you just learn how to put a smile on your face and go on like things are all normal and that you are perfectly happy. But really, it has been one of the greatest trials of my life. I think the only time that things were really great between us was in the 90’s. Other than that, I can probably count on one hand the days that I have been satisfied with our relationship. But it takes a crisis to realize how much something means to you.

I have always known that my hair didn’t really like me. But, honestly, who wants to accept that? Who?

I have crazy naturally curly, way-too-thick hair that has a mind of its own. You can’t make it do something it doesn’t want to do. So, really, the only time that I could just go with it was in the 90’s when big, curly hair was in. I just learned to put my desires aside and go with it. You just have to learn to be unselfish. And I truly was happy. And I thought that was what I wanted. Until straight hair became the order of the day.

My journey of appreciation climaxed last summer when I purchased a new flat iron. I was ready to get better results and took it into my own hands. I had been RELIGIOUSLY straightening my hair for the past 6 or more years. Subconsciously thinking that straightening out those curls would straighten the problems between us. So, when I got that new red and silver flat iron- from Sally's- with more than 10 heat settings, I was pumped.

Immediately I cranked it to the hottest setting and let that baby get HOT. I ritualistically divided my hair, affixing the appropriate clips to hold the upper layers in place so I could work on the under layers. And so I began to flatten out those curls. Strip by strip. I watched as this magic iron slid through my tresses, steaming as it went. Then I began to smell the scent of very hot, not quite burning, hair. But I was not alarmed because my hair was straightening beautifully. In under 15 minutes, my hair was completely sleekly straight. It was a monumental moment. The best results I had ever achieved on my mop. And, I knew I had hit gold.

The next day, after washing my hair, I was ready to repeat the process. I began to blow dry my hair and immediately knew something was not right. Instead of frizzing out and going out of control, my hair was blow drying straight. What? One would think that I would be ecstatic. Not so much. It was in that moment, a moment of sheer terror, I realized what I had done. That beautiful new red and silver flat iron had melted the curl right out of my hair. I was mortified. What had I done?

Do you know what this meant? It meant that I no longer had the option of letting my hair go curly when I didn’t have time to straighten it, because the way it dried was so unattractive. I couldn’t just dry and go like I could with my curls. I am here to tell you that it truly is in a crisis that we realize how important some things are to us.

So, here we are, a year later. I have learned a few things 1) you cannot turn your 10 heat setting flat iron to the hottest setting, 2) curls can melt out of hair, 3) no matter how much I complained about it before, I really did appreciate my hair all along, and 4) I would be sad to lose it.

My curl is finally growing back in. It is funny to see my hair with the curl at the root and then straight about two inches after that, all the way to the end. But I am embracing it- like The Prodigal Son returning from a wayward life.

In the end, I know I was the selfish one in this relationship. My hair gives and gives. I take and take- expect and expect. (Although I do give it good conditioner.) I am the master, it is the servant. Still, I don’t love that it usually looks its best right at the end of the day- just as I am brushing my teeth and getting in to bed. What is up with that?

I think our relationship is on the mend.


P.S. Go USA!!!

H-Mon in Da Howse

Can I get my mom card back? I took oldest daughter and got those Hannah Montana shoes. (hence my totally white mom, feigning teen-coolness title.)

Before we went, we were discussing the shoes and she actually asked, “Which ones do you want me to get, Mom?” It kind of pricked me a bit. I realized that she really wants to please me.

To be sure we could find the appropriate size and style we went to a different store on the evening of my last post, and funny thing, little son found the exact same four-sizes-too-big shoes that he did at the other store and wore them around till a decision was reached on oldest daughter’s shoes. Which, really, took no time at all, since she went for the same shoes she had her eye on and we found a pair in the right size. She was beaming. All smiles. I was biting my tongue and smiling and reassuring her on her BRILLIANT choice of shoes.

I should be spanked, though. I saw a pair of Tinker Bell shoes with a VERY INCONSPICUOUS little Tink on them. That is the answer! A character shoe with barely any mention of the character. I slyly pointed them out to oldest daughter. She scarcely gave them a glance and continued with the tying of her first love- Hannah.

It was a good thing that the husband went with us, he acted as my moral support and reminded me of the importance of letting her make her own decision. (I think there may have been something in “the Plan” about freedom of choosing for one’s self?)

It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized just how excited she was about her purchase. She got up first thing and put on those shoes- with her pajamas- and wore them all day. And then, of course, yesterday was the first day of school and she proudly donned her shoes, talking about how much her friends are going to love them. Oh, my sweet little oldest daughter.

So, we have Hannah Montana shoes at our house and I have found that I am not suffering because of it. Life can still be wonderful, even when your child wears those ghastly character shoes, and my pride is still intact.

Middle daughter starts preschool the beginning of September. A promise of school shopping has been made. This includes a trip to the shoe store. Heaven help me…

Play-dough, Pony Tails and Pride

Ya wanna know something I don’t really like? That’s gotta be those character shoes that are so marketed out there these days. You’ve seen ’em. The ones with Strawberry Shortcake, Barbie, Transformers, or Elmo on them. I don’t like those shoes. Are you with me on this? Really, I shouldn’t care, but I do. I do! I have made it through six years without having to get those things for my kids. Don’t know why I don’t like ‘em, just don’t.

So yesterday I took oldest daughter to get school shoes, since school starts on Monday. I know! We are still at the VERY BEGINNING of August. Um, one question: who starts school during the MIDDLE of summer break? We do, that’s who. It stinks.

Back to the shopping trip. We enter the store and right there, displayed proudly on the window, is Hannah Montana. They have Hannah Montana shoes. Oh, ARE YOU SERIOUS? I can’t turn around, oldest daughter has seen Hannah and can’t wait to get in there to see what kind of Hannah Montana shoes are inside. The sales lady measures oldest daughter’s foot and the whole time I am stressing about how to get out of buying “character shoes”. (I think I already mentioned I don’t like those kind of shoes. But do you get it? I just don't like those shoes.)

Sure enough, the first pair of shoes oldest daughter sees are white plastic looking tennis shoes with a guitar going down one side and a very poor likeness of Hanna Montana on the other- gold shoe laces and all. I am horrified! She hurriedly grabs those shoes and shoves her very narrow feet right on in. A pretty decent fit. She is excited. I am nervously pointing at other pairs of shoes, trying to turn her attention away from the shoes at hand. My strategy backfires, as right next to the shoes I am trying to sell her on is another style of Hannah Montana. In all, we tried on 6 different Hannah styles. And I was getting more and more bummed with each pair.

Just then, a stroke of genius luck. Oldest daughter begins to pout because the store doesn’t have her fave version of the shoe in her size. This is my chance! I proclaim I will not tolerate pouting and we are leaving THIS INSTANT without shoes! I admit, pretty lame of mom. Oldest daughter is more than sad, she is experiencing the deepest depths of despair. We pack up our gear, strip the four-sizes-too-big shoes off little son’s feet that he has been clomping around in since we entered, and walk out into the 2,000 degree summer sun. Because, that is a better alternative to being in a shoe store with a pouting daughter who insists upon Hannah Montana shoes.

Reflecting upon this experience over the last 24 hours has led me to this conclusion: WHO CARES? Shoes are shoes, right? Of course, the ultimate thing I want is oldest daughter’s happiness. And why does it matter what or who is on the shoes, as long as it is not inappropriate? This shoe-tastrophe was all about me. Me! ME! ME!!!! Darn that pride! Why do parent’s ideals sometimes get in the way of their children’s welfare?

I am reminded again of a huge role model in my life, Marjorie Hinckley, who stated in an awesome book that it was her belief that we should say “YES!” to our children as often as we can, when it does not interfere with what is truly best for them. When I originally read this from her, I felt it. Right through my whole being. I agreed. I put it into motion and began to say yes to the things that had inconvenienced me before. Yes, you can play with play-dough, yes you can paint with watercolors, yes you can blow bubbles, yes you can brush my hair and put it in 14,000 little pony tails. These are things that make my kids happy. It applies to shoes, too. I remember being young- a long time ago- and wanting something so badly, yet feeling like I needed to please my mom and get the shoes, shirt or pants she picked out. I don't think she was aware of the need I felt to please her by choosing what she suggested. And I know it was not intentional on her part, but I don't want my kids to feel that. It took me a long time to realize that my mom's feelings would not be hurt if I didn't choose what she picked out. I want my kids to select what they like- I want them to create their own identity and be strong and confident in who they are.

Yes, oldest daughter, you can get those shoes. We are going to the shoe store tomorrow- first thing.