Thursday, April 22, 2010

and now i am my mother

clue #1:
you know. there have been plenty of days that i return home after attempting to leave my neighborhood because i have a not-fleeting feeling i left the garage door open (it was closed). but what if it was open? what if then the door from the garage to the house opened and my dog escaped and he's not street smart because he's a maniac and not allowed on a leash and so he ran right smack in between two headlights of an oncoming car because he thought he smelled peanut butter? what IF? that could happen. but it didn't. or one time my fear was rationalized because i came home after several hours when i had left the straightening iron on. ON. OMG it no fire. no burns. but justified my somewhat frequent returns to the scenes of the not crimes. just to make sure. this does not make me my mother. but i have been told more than a few times to unplug EVERYTHING. and not to put wooden spoons in dishwashers. and i still cannot walk over those holes in the street with metal fence-like barricades over them. what are those exactly? regardless. what do i think i'm going to fall in there? i would have to pry my tiptoes down in there. pretty sure my entire body is not going to fit. or is it going to break? it's not aluminum foil. am i maximum capacity? now i am sure i'm going to pass this worry wartness onto my offspring. hello. their feet COULD actually fit in there. and maybe their whole leg. now i maneuvered a little C leg out of the crib rails once or twice. but a gutter? not interested in that rescue mission. and not saving it for the wonder pets. we'll just walk around.
clue #2:
why am i lecturing the friendly gymboree employee about why toddler girls' skirts are made SO SO SHORT and why can't someone just make some moderately short skirts that have shorts attached? why? WHY? especially when i am purchasing a gymboree skirt at that exact moment that does in fact have shorts attached. not this lady's problem. leave her alone. but seriously. first of all, let's put some length in the skirts and/or shorts. i don't care if it's hot. 2 more inches is not going to up the already too hotness. it's not possible to up the already too hotness unless the extra 2 inches are made of fleece. second of all, even if it's moderately short, let's throw some little shorts under there. i'm not talking about a skort. no. no. no. NO. i don't want the mullets of clothing on my child. i just want her bootie covered. is that too much to ask? i know it's a little tiny bootie and i know it's cute. but it's not for public viewing. there's a reason dora doesn't make it to any shirts. only suitable for undies. maybe pj's. all of a sudden i'm remembering my first fight with my bff, holliday, when we were in 4th grade and made our classmates pick their first teams. you know, you're on team holliday or team betty. choose. choose if you think it was ok for someone to tell a little girl that she shouldn't be flipping over the monkey bars showing everyone her business in her short skirt and hello kitty undies (team betty) or if you think it's fine for a 6-year-old to dangle while onlookers laugh and point and mock (team holliday). if i had to choose a team today, i don't know what i'd do. except. except i'd suggest to the girl's mother that she put some damn shorts under the skirt so she can act like a little 6-year-old nadia comaneci wannabe and uneven monkey bars her little heart out. because that's what my mama told me. i would have been in shorts. and now my R will be in shorts under her skirts. thankyouverymuch.
clue #3:
what preschool in their right mind would have painting at preschool, done by preschoolers, with NOT washable paint. i'm sorry, that's NOT washable BLACK paint. that makes sense right? oh. no smocks either. nope. just go for it! i have encountered many an art stain by the washable paints. me and my oxyclean. we've tackled some trickiness. but non-washable paint. really? and how was i to know? i didn't see it coming. i let her wear her new favorite shirt. it was from target. it was $8. what can she do to it at school? a little apple juice? no prob. a little scuff of dirt from the playground? thank everything i didn't send her in the oilily dress. washwashwashwash. no prob. washwashwashwash. but blacknon-washablepaint. damn. it. scarred forever. blemished forever. darling bright pink shirt with sweet yellow flowers. maysherestinpeace. i'll just go get a new one. hello it was $8. no biggie. oopsie. not there anymore. cripes. now what. that shirt is gone baby gone. OR. wait a minute. i think i can. yes. i can. i will remove said sweet yellow flowers from the non-washable black paint stained shirt and i will attach (sew. i'm sewing. i'm a sewer. no no not a sewer. i'm not anthony from project runway making my big finish dress out of polyester. heart you anthony! what's the word? seamstress? bygones. i'm exhausted.) the flowers to a brand new non non-washable black paint stained shirt. yes i will. yes i did. i'm excited! how exciting! "Loooook, R! you're non-washable black paint stained shirt has been reinvented! better than christina aguilara! what? you don't want to wear it? what? you don't care? are you sure you don't care? are you sure you're not still devastated from the black non-washable paint stain incident? are you sure? really? it was pretty awful. i mean. i've seen stains before but. that one was bad. and you were so sad. don't you remember how sad you were? you were sad. depressed really. you wouldn't even eat (for 10 minutes. 2 actually.)." this is just like when my sister (older, wiser, more mature, less likely to hurl herself off of the top bunk) and i got bunk beds and i was relegated to the bottom bunk. obvi. it was good (woohoo! exciting! bunk beds!). it was bad (why oh why must i be the occupant of the bottom bunk where it's only possible to hurl myself from 10 inches in the air? what a waste.). so my most amazing mother crafted. serious crafting. a blue sky scene with the most eightiestastic rainbow with white puffy clouds. it was like looking up into a giant lisa frank sticker. sigh. i might still love it. a lot.
so, friends and anonymous counting crows fans (ok i don't get many comments so i better thank folks when i get them), i can only hope/wish on my lisa frank rainbow that i am actually becoming my mother. i still get care packages. not just for her grandkids either. sometimes some things just for me. she's the best. not to mention that she gave me genes which resulted in zero stretch marks even after carrying and delivering two biggish bouncing babyloves at the same time.
she would kill me if i ever posted a photo of her but this is basically what she looks like.


hennat said...

you are my hero.

Jenny said...

I pretty much laughed my arse off through this entire thing. haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalarious. Esp the picture.