I just want to save the world, is something wrong with that?

My daughter has been trying to get a pass for a coveted parking place at school. Last year she had to walk from the city park to school since first choice goes to seniors and juniors. Being a junior, Sarah was excited to park close to the school. Every day, I asked her if she got her parking pass--as I drove by, I saw fewer and fewer spots left behind the school.

"No, and they yelled at me today when I tried to get one," she told me. I tried to control myself, but this got the 'mommy rage' started. "I will go get you a pass," I told her. "And I am not going to leave your school, until I have been given one," I promised (I also added that as a warning in case things ended up getting out of hand and they heard about someone getting escorted out of the building.)

So, I went to the school ready to do battle. Sarah was a junior who was going to get a parking pass---how dare they not give one to her, I was angry! I talked to the secretary, explained that my daughter had come in several times earlier and asked for a parking pass but not been given one. "Okay," she said, "I'll get that for you."

What! That's it---No begging, pleading, name dropping, demanding to speak to the principal, crying, threatening required? I was very disappointed.

"But Sarah said you yelled at her when she tried to get her pass yesterday," I told the secretary trying to understand the situation (and maybe trying to provoke her a little). "Yes, but I thought she would come back when she realized I made a mistake," she said with a smile. (Huh? Is that the best excuse she could come up with?)

I left with a parking pass in my hand, but it felt like a hollow victory. I had envisioned myself chained to a desk, threatening to sue, or well...at least something a little more dramatic than "Okay, I'll get that for you." When Sarah gets home from school today I'll tell her the story of how I somehow miraculously managed to get the very last parking pass left at school---the one I had to wrestle from the hands of two other desperate mothers---maybe she will at least remember to say thank you, after all I went through to get it...

Dangling pearls before swine and such

I never thought I would be that kind of mom. You know, the kind of mom that is annoyingly overprotective. Actually, I wasn't that way until my girls turned old enough to start going to dances and date.

A couple of months ago there was a formal dance at church and my daughters had been looking at dresses on the Internet. My oldest daughter, Sarah, is more of a hoodie/hair in a pony tail/no make-up kind of girl and hadn't shown much interest in going to the dance and even less interest in finding a dress. So, I was very surprised when she had printed out a copy of a dress she'd found and left it by the computer. Being an expert in teenage code, I interpreted this to mean, "Mom, I found this awesome dress, I just love it, see what you think!" I asked her if she wanted the dress and she said grunted. She definitely liked it, so I went ahead and ordered it.

The night of the dance was a mix of emotions. The girls were beautiful. That was the problem--Sarah had dusted off her contacts, dug out her make-up and curled her hair. I started having trouble breathing, is this what a panic attack feels like? I could just picture the guys noticing them, probably for the first time. Sarah didn't have on her baggy hoodie and she actually had a nice figure (when did that happen). I needed to remember to buy more hoodies...

Heather who is only 15 years old, had her make-up done by Miss West Virginia at a spa. When I'd gone to pick her up I hadn't even recognized her. She looked like she was 20 years old and was gorgeous. Yes, I was definitely feeling some chest pains. Miss West Virginia asked if we wanted to stay and have Heather learn how to put the make-up on herself? No, I didn't want Heather to know how to look that good on a regular basis. It was better if she looked 15, it was safer that way. I wondered if it would be rude to have her wash her face before we left? As we left I did realize that I was feeling a tad paranoid--did the men in the elevator know it was probably illegal to even look at my daughter? I was thinking I needed some medication to calm down or maybe a gun. Yes, a gun.

So, you see my problem. I finally understood what was meant about dangling pearls before swine. My daughters are more precious than pearls and I want to keep them safe. (Actually, I want to lock them in a closet and not let them go to the dance or anywhere else for that matter. I know it sounds cruel, I will find a large closet...)I also want them to go to the dance and have fun.

After several deep breaths, we left for the dance as I reminded myself that they are smart girls and were capable of making their own decisions. And one last thing, I'm sending around a petition for legalizing arranged marriages if you want to sign...

Bad Hair Days

I have never cared much about my hair. I always opt to spend the extra 15 minutes in bed rather then waste time trying to do something with my hair. It finally occurred to me that I needed to find a really good hair stylist, so at least I'd have a chance of decent hair with my "wake-up, run my hands through my hair and go" attitude. I asked my friends with the best hair who did their hair and was surprised to find that they all got their hair cut by the same person---I made an appointment immediately!

It has been over a year now, and every time I go in for a hair cut, the lady says the same thing: "Who has been cutting your hair!" It's like a tape recorder---I tell her that she is the only one who cuts my hair---and then I remind her about the special pair of scissors I keep in my bathroom drawer to take care of any naturally curly hair that's being disagreeable...

When she is finished cutting my hair, I point to a group of hair that is curling the wrong way, "Hey, could you cut that off?" I ask her. She starts to explain why a straightening iron would come in handy in these kind of situations, but I interrupt her, "It will save me the hassle of having to dig my fingernail clippers out of my glove compartment and cutting it off in my car," I tell her. She sighs in exasperation and cuts it off.

"You are nothing like my other clients." She tells me (again). Her other clients have standing monthly appointments, where I come in only 2 or 3 times a year...As she takes my black cape off, she finally asks me, "Why do you come to me?" (She realizes I have to pass a Dollar Cuts and a Super Cuts to get here). "Because," I say with my biggest smile, "you are the best!" And she smiles, even she can't argue with that.

Where has the summer gone?

It's that time again. I know I'm supposed to be excited for my kids to be going back to school, but it's just so much work! Shopping for schools supplies, new clothes, making lunches, waking up early...It almost doesn't seem worth all the effort it takes to get them up, ready and out the door.

I mean, my kids sleep in until almost noon---I hardly know they are home! With school starting back up, I'll have homework to help them with, lessons to drive them to, field trips and parties to volunteer for. I'm exhausted just thinking about all the work it takes having my kids back in school. I cringe remembering the endless fundraising opportunities that I will be able to participate in.

So, it is with a heavy heart, that I help my children lay out their first day of school outfits. Make sure to set the alarm clock an extra fifteen minutes earlier than usual so we can get plenty of back to school pictures and repeat over and over again to myself that my kids will only be young once and I need to enjoy this wonderful time in my life.

Does this skirt make me look fat?

"Anyone want to go to the fabric store?" my husband asked at dinner one night. Okay, I thought, this ought to be interesting...

We picked out a roll of black fabric and took it to the counter to have it cut. "This is a lot of material," the lady told us, "what are you making?"

"Not me," I pointed to my husband, "he is making a skirt." "That is A LOT of material for a skirt." She told us. "It will be a very LARGE skirt," she continued, dying to know the details.

"It's not for me," my husband finally told her..."It's for my son." He was loving this. The lady turned a bit pale and mumbled, "He must be a big boy..."

Finally, I decided to put her out of her misery and explained that it was a skirt to go around a platform for our son's drum-set. She was very relieved. "How are you going to attach the skirt?" she wanted to know. I stepped back and let them discuss the pros and cons of the various options, tuning them out.

So, we went home wondering whether we could talk our daughter into getting started sewing on her brother's skirt that night...

The three stages of no...

My friend Sandy was telling me how frustrated her sister-in-law was---her kids had talked her into having rabbits. "Anyone who knows the three stages of no and can tell them to their kids, would not find themselves in that situation." Sandy was telling me---this is one of the reasons I love Sandy. We grew up in Nebraska together and only get to see each other once a year. "You do know the three stages of no, don't you?" Sandy asked me.

"No; No Way; and Heck No!" she explained, "And anyone who can't say this to their children, deserves to have rabbits." I thought about everyone I knew with rabbits and had to agree with her. (If you are one of those people, I'm sorry---but it's the truth.)

But then she had to admit, "I have a bigger problem saying no to my husband." I had to smile with that one. "That is why you have children." I told her before we both started laughing. So true.

A rose by any other name...

I went hiking with my friend Sandy yesterday. Her daughter Lizzie was wearing "flip-flops" for the hike. When I grew up we didn't call them "flip-flops." To the great disappointment and embarrassment of my children, I can never remember to call them that.

"Hey Lizzie, don't you hate it when you get blisters from wearing your thongs?" I asked her. Everyone looked at me strangely, except Sandy, of course. She grew up with me, she knew what I was talking about, she called them the same thing.

"Yah, Lizzie, you can tell everyone your thong rubbed you the wrong way on your hike." Sandy joined in. It was too easy. And we weren't even trying...

I was in Walmart the other day with my kids. I yelled out, "Run and pick out some new thongs---yours are all so nasty." I turned around and my kids were gone, they had vanished. At that point, I couldn't figure out why. Then I heard the guys next to me laughing. "Oh," I thought. But instead of getting annoyed at the perverted guys next to me, I decided to go with embarrassing my kids---intentional or not, it was always fun. "There are some cute green and yellow thongs over here, pick out what you want and find me in the food aisle." I knew they were hiding close enough to still hear me so I walked away.

It really wasn't my fault. Surely someone was creative to give underwear it's own name without having to steal the name from footwear, right? And if not, why couldn't they use one from shoes, I don't wear? For example, Penny Loafers or Mary Janes---I don't wear either of those. So, Mary Janes can be the new Thongs. Confusing? My point exactly. You can hardly blame me for not remembering to call "flip flops" by the right name. But really, I shouldn't bother to try to change the name, it is way too fun to embarrass my kids...

How I've Failed my Children---Let me count the ways

My daughter cornered me in the kitchen one day. "Did you know that worms are both male and female?" she asked. "Yes," I told her---I remember reading that somewhere.

"WHAT! And you never told me!" she asked very upset. Hum, I thought about all the things I tried to remember to tell my kids over the years (wipe then flush; don't put the empty milk carton back in the fridge; deodorant is your friend; if it came out of your nose don't eat it) no, I guess I never did tell her about the worms.

"But you figured it out on your own," I tried to console her. "I wasted the past hour looking at this worm trying to figure out whether it was a girl or boy so I would know what to name it." She complained holding up a jar with the worm inside for me to see. She continued: "But did you know that worms have five hearts and they absorb oxygen through their skin and that when they go to the bathroom it is called..."she paused.

"Dirt?" I offered. "NO! It starts with a "C" I think," she said still thinking. "Crud?" I supplied? "NO!" and off she went, most likely to the computer to look up more fascinating facts on worms and to find the technical name for worm poop. I, on the other hand, stood in the kitchen and wondered what other important things I knew, but had forgotten to tell my kids...

Reality, anyone?

I dropped my kids off at band camp, and decided to run in the park for a change of scenery. It was a bit crowded for my taste and I ended up picking up my pace so I wouldn't look too sluggish.

When the first crowd of joggers passed me, saying hello, I realized that I had a couple of problems. My first problem was that I was using all my oxygen just to breathe and had none left for casual banter with other joggers. I grunted in reply, hoping it wouldn't sound too rude.

This left with me with my second, larger problem. I was no longer invisible. Apparently, something had happened to my invisibility shield and other people could now see me.

I know, before you think I am completely crazy. No, I don't really think I am invisible. It's just something I tell myself that allows me to sweat, breathe loudly, and shuffle awkwardly, outside in public. Okay, when I say that out loud, it does sound a little crazy. But when I tell this to myself in my head it sounds better.

So, anyway. Last night, my husband and I were walking around the neighborhood. One of my friends called out to us, "I saw you running in the park this morning," she said, "and you didn't say hi."

Not knowing what else to say, I told her the truth. "I didn't think you could see me since I was wearing my invisibility shield."

She laughed, and I laughed along with her since I didn't want her to think I was crazy or anything...

Life is like that sometimes...

Something happened to me this summer. I woke up one morning with an ache in my legs that to my dismay, I found only running could alleviate. Sometimes I get up as early as 5am to hit the pavement and run. I have been running for a long time. But don't let me kid you. Please, consider me a "runner" using only the loosest terms possible.

I run during the school year with a dedicated friend. She never misses a day. I, on the other hand make it 2-3 days a week. The other days, I wake up early to think up excuses of why I won't be able to go running that day. I wonder if I can manage a fall down the stairs---I don't want to break anything, just a good sprain---something to get me off the hook for a couple of weeks. My mind wanders with ideas of ways or appointments to make to get me out of running...I always call her with my excuses and she is very patient with me, but I can imagine the eye-rolling going on from her side of the phone.

So, imagine my surprise to find myself actually running every morning by myself during the summer! I still haven't told my friend about my new found enthusiasm for running. Maybe, I am a little bit worried that it will somehow be gone by the time school starts...Or maybe, I think she won't believe me...it will be better to wait and show her my new dedication this fall.

As I ran this morning realizing that I had decided to run an extra mile---just for fun--- something I had never thought I would do unless at gunpoint; I couldn't help but smile.