Friendship Plan

As BigGirl and I spilled ourselves and all of our miscellaneous carry-ons into the school parking lot this morning, she was positively in a tizzy.

"Mommy, I really need your help! I just don't know what I'll do about this!"

I, completely confused as to what was her problem - except for the fact that it was taking her a solid 5 minutes to get her skinny little bootie out of the backseat, with or without her backpack - hurriedly asked for clarification. (As my arms motioned like a flight attendant for her to move to the nearest exit - PRONTO.)

"I need a plan! Today is my day to play with Bestest BFF, but Friend B will want to play too...I just don't know what to do!"

Dumbfounded (though I'm not sure why I was surprised), I quickly preached the "more the merrier" schpeal. "You know, that's why a party is more fun than just a playdate. It's more fun with more friends."

"I guess I'll just have to tell her that it's my day to play with Bestest BFF...but, HOW WILL I DO THAT? HOW CAN I DO THAT? I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW I CAN DO THAT!"

At this point, resolved that she was NOT going to go for the merry threesome idea, and feeling my stress level frizz as fast as my hair in the morning air, I gave up. "Here's an idea: SAY IT. Use your words. That's why God GAVE us words!"

As we, at long last, began moving toward the building, BigGirl hauling her worries on her back and I hauling my entire office in a cart behind me with one hand and the all important venti skinny vanilla latte in the other, she laid it on the table.

"Mommy, I just need a Friendship Plan. That's all there is to it."

This is just the latest in a long line of heart-breaking girl tiffs that she has suffered through this year. While BabyGirl is busy planning her white wedding to Don Juan Jr. (scheduled to be held in her preschool classroom sometime this year... and we're all invited), BigGirl is crying in the hallway.

On the morn of her "Friendship Anniversary" with the all important Bestest BFF, she arrived at school all decked out in her finest diamond drop earrings, diamond encrusted arm cuffs, and a diamond (blinky-light) necklace. Apparently, not all first grade girlies are confident enough to pull off this level of adornment and SOMEONE felt the need to point out the fact that she does NOT have pierced ears. (Gasp!!! The horror!) Instead, she was wearing (scandalous, I know) CLIP ON EARRINGS!!!

Girls, girls, girls.

My BigGirl, not the type to brush something off without hurt feelings, nor the type to say to her classmate, "I know. These are clip-on. Not everyone has pierced ears." and let that be the end of it, was crushed. She refused to go to school. She came down with a headache and possibly a fever. She needed FireDaddy to come A.S.A.P. to pick her up.

Unfortunately for her...and my officemate who had to listen to the wailing...AND BigGirl's crying, I threatened an embargo on all television privileges if she did not hightail her hiny out of my office chair and march that bootie downstairs to her class. She went reluctantly (and still in tears). Funny, the Motrin didn't seem to help the headache and "fever"...but, with an apology, she was cured.

Why am I rambling about this, you ask? What is it I'm REALLY trying to say?

I am SO not looking forward to the day the hormones start to kick in. Dear God, someone may need to take me out back and put me out of my misery before then.

Scratch that.

I can't leave them alone with FireDaddy.

Dear God, someone is REALLY going to need to get me some stronger pills before then.

Rainy Days & Mondays

This notorious Carpenters song has been circling in my head all day like a plane waiting for clearance to land. Even though Karen obviously didn't have EVERYTHING figured out...she definitely knew what she was talking about when she sang this song.

I'm not looking forward to the climatic changes that will occur in my part of the world in a few months. (Hey, it's Florida. Our kids sweat their booties off on Halloween night, even when they have smart, beautiful mommies who tirelessly hunt down a costume that breathes...which is next to impossible to find, by the way.) Over the past few years, I've learned the power of the weather over my psyche. It's stronger than Prozac.

On the bright side, I shine with optimism throughout the summer and spring. I'm energetic and yearn to be outdoors doing things completely out of my nature...like, plant flowers and weed. This year (and you may want to sit down for this one), I actually came close to asking my husband to teach me how to start the lawn mower. Yeah! Thank God I came to my senses! Whew!! I'm positive I would have lived to regret that one very quickly...

On the flip side, what a bummer a rainy day can be. What's even more depressing, I tend to carry this sort of depression through the fall and winter, as well. Last year, I started to come to some conclusions as to WHY my emotions seem to be so hypersensitive to weather....I'm lazy.

Really. I am.

The bottom line is, I can't stand having to work harder because of the weather. I do NOT like having to tote an umbrella. I despise wet feet and pant legs, not to mention frizzy hair. (The bane of my existence.) I cannot stand having to dawn jackets, hats, gloves, and skarves just to step outside. I don't like real shoes...or socks...or, for that matter, TIGHTS. I also do not enjoy having to add layer upon layer of clothing to a body that really needs to shed a layer or two to begin with.

But alas, I have not yet taken up permanent residence in my own castle in the sky. I "get it" that I can't have my lovely summer soul year round...nor can I enjoy that elusive money tree that continually evades my capture. So, for now, I'll suck it up and cover up.

Until, that is, I move to Bali.

Getting Back Into the Swing

Unfortunately, that's not the swing to which I'm referring. This is more like the swing I'm climbing back into...

My glorious spring break has come to an end, as all good things must do. This week, I've had to get back into the swing of things - which, fortunately, includes this blog! (You know how it is, you are more willing to get started on the things you look forward to first.)

So, with that, there's a few things that have been burning on my mind that I feel the need to share with you.

Item: I have found a miracle pill - and it isn't Prozac. Recently, after hearing about the benefits of B vitamins, I strolled down the vitamin aisle in Target. I intended to casually read the labels and generally scope out the B Market, when a little bottle called my name.

Stress B-Complex? Um, Hello??? I GOT stress, baby!

Needless to say, it didn't take much thought before that bottle hopped into my red cart and I popped one before I even hit the sack that night.

Wow. I felt it immediately. I have been more energized and "peppy" everyday that I've taken them. They may possibly be my little miracle pill.

Side effect not noted on the bottle: neon yellow-green pee. But it's worth it! (And nobody has to know...except everyone who reads my blog.)

Item: I'm thirty-two (almost) and can still (more like finally) do a cartwheel. My darling eldest daughter has this problem with stress and being really hard on herself...I have no idea where she gets it from. She's currently struggling with learning to do a cartwheel in her jazz/acro class. So, being the loving, supportive mommy that I am, I realized the best thing I could do is "tutor" her in tumbling at home. She just needs a little more practice and confidence and I'm sure she'll get the hang of it.

We tried practicing indoors and giving verbal feedback. We tried using our hands to support and guide her legs and body so she could feel the right form. (A method which failed miserably, by the way. Apparently, at the mere touch of our hand, she expects to be carried through the motions and turns every muscle to mush.) So, to what did this crafty teacher resort? Well, every good teacher knows you need to model first. And away I went!

I discovered a number of things...

1. Cartwheels are 90% psychological. It's freaking scary when you've never done it before (or haven't in a really long time) to throw your hind end over your head, relying on the strength of two feeble girly (soft and squishy) arms to prevent you from crashing to the ground and breaking something important.

2. Landing gracefully is much harder than it looks.

3. I look really bad in yoga pants with a t-shirt tucked in. (I had to protect my modesty in front of my father and any of my parents' neighbors that may have glanced out their windows!)

Long story short, I wowed myself and my daughter improved slightly (after she beat herself up after watching video of her own cartwheels). We've got many more tutoring sessions ahead of us, but I'm sure she'll get it.

Item: I'm no good at waiting in lines. All it takes is a few lovely days at theme parks to discover this personal truth.

However, the icing on the cake came as I waited in line at the Kodak machine in Target to print 9 measly photos for Big Girl's school project behind two insanely rude and inconsiderate women for 40 minutes as they scanned and printed copies of an ENTIRE photo album! They kicked my personal torture into high gear with a particularly vicious below-the-belt assault to my afternoon schedule as they turned away from the machine and chatted with an old friend who was, apparently, so close and important to them that he was completely unaware that she had divorced her husband FIVE FREAKING YEARS AGO and is now dating a new guy who is "a big boy" whatever that was supposed to mean.

At this point, I refrained from my vain attempts to silence my tired daughter's whines. Let her whine. Go ahead, baby. Tell them how tired you are.

"What was that, Honey? This is taking FOREVER? You're hungry? I know, Sweetie. Let me see, I think I found a stale fruit loop in the bottom of my purse. Suck on this until we finally get a turn to use this machine. I just hope it is before the preschool closes. It would be awful if the school called the Department of Children and Families because I never made it to pick up your baby sister. Poor baby girl, she's probably going to be the last one there tonight. I hope she knows that we'll come EVENTUALLY for her. Surely her teacher will take her home eventually, right? They won't call a foster home yet, will they?"

It took me a good...24 hours?...for my blood to stop boiling. Actually, I'm not sure it ever really stopped. I hate waiting in lines.

A Dash of Bitterness, Tempered With a Sprinkle of Gratitude

I shared an engaging conversation with my Big Brother (we'll call him Abner) last night. (By the way, this is someone whom I hope to, one day, invite to write a guest post.) Our conversation ranged from hopeful gratitude to resigned bitterness. This conversation was on my mind for a while afterwards, and still today. So much so, in fact, that I've decided to take a few moments to wallow in a bit of bitterness and gratitude.



Bitter To the Bitter End




I'm not bitter about much, but there are a few things that really chafe me, a few things of which I just cannot let go. Here are three off the top of my head.




1. Badly behaved stars who STILL make millions of dollars on each movie/album. (Side note: I have no idea if it is appropriate to refer to them as "albums", since NO ONE that I know of produces vinyl anymore. I considered calling it a CD, but then I realized that many people skip those now and download straight to the iPod. So, forgive my ignorance and insert whatever it is you call a collection of songs nowadays.) I mean, please, people. Think about Tom Cruise's embarrassing behavior towards sweet, cute, smart and simply wonderful Matt Lauer a while back. Doesn't he deserve to be dropped down a notch on the Pay Scale o'Super Stars after that embarrassing display? Or, for another example, Brittany Spears. What a disaster! Don't you agree her "albums" should be placed in the Bargain Bin after such a rediculous series of events? Russell Crow's repeated outbursts and anger fits. Lindsay Lohan's drunken and drugged escapades. Naomi Campbell's temper tantrum and cell phone throwing. Come on, people...are there no consequences in this world?




** I'm sure you can understand why Tom Cruise, in particular, ticked me off in this clip. As a former sufferer of post-partum depression..and currently require said psychiatric drugs to function in life, I beg to differ with his opinions. Besides the fact, Brooke Shields is my girl.


2. Calories in chocolate. PLEASE, PEOPLE! Chocolate should be considered PHARMACEUTICAL and, therefore, CALORIE FREE! I mean, scientists can clone sheep, concoct triple cocktails to sustain life with HIV, make seedless watermelons...but you can't muster up the brainpower to take the calories out of chocolate??? I feel certain there is a demand for it. Perhaps I should start selling brown, magnetic ribbons to put on the back of our cars in support of Calorie Free Chocolate Research. (Please note, I do NOT in ANYWAY intend to belittle the need for supporting other, very valid and important causes, such as Breast Cancer or Autism. I just think the Calorie Free Chocolate Movement deserves respect, too.)


3. The Fall of 80's Dance Moves. I know you've heard the phrase "white men can't dance". HELLO??? In the 80's, EVERYONE COULD DANCE! Now, don't get intimidated, folks. I'm not necessarily referring to the slightly more tricky moves, such as the Roger Rabbit, the Running Man, or the Robot. Nor am I referring to the complex, specialized form of dance referred to as "Break Dancing". That stands alone in a class of its own. I'm talking about the classic bounce, clap, side-step combo that allowed every man, woman and child acceptance on a dance floor. If we can just bring those moves back into popularity, Fire Daddy may actually dance with me in public (without having a pitcher of a certain brewed adult beverage first).


Gratitude: It's a Good Thing.


Readers, I know we all have stress in our lives. You don't want to read a blog filled with such depressing negativity. In an effort to leave you on a positive note today (I couldn't bear to lose one of my eleven, precious followers) I feel compelled to demonstrate my gratitude for the good things in life. Of course, I could go on for days about how grateful I am for my family, friends, children, home, country, blah blah blah...but that's a given, right? You already know how eternally grateful I am for the Pink Lady, the Hornet, Starbucks workers, and my drug-induced sanity, so I won't bore you with those details again. Here, though, are a few items I think you might appreciate.




1. Completely immature comedies. I admit it. I am a BIG FAN of stupidity on the silver screen. I mean, one of the movies that made me laugh more than any other I can recall is Waiting (not to mention the fact that cute, adorable, funny Ryan Reynolds played one of the main characters). You would be hard-pressed to find more grotesque and inappropriate humor than that found in this movie. I also simply ADORE nearly any movie that Will Ferrell, Ben Stiller and/or Adam Sandler make. I am not so proper that I cannot laugh at bodily functions and embarrassing mishaps (that may, or may not, involve indecent exposure). For those of you who are, I say - get over yourself, lighten up, and live a little.





2. Music videos on the gym televisions. Are you ready for another confession? I do not yet own an iPod, or even a generic MP3 player. Yes. Me. Twitterer, blogger, Blackberry-addicted ME. I recently bought an 8 gig chip for my Blackberry, in hopes of using it as an MP3 player, but I've been experiencing some technical difficulties and haven't had a chance to drag my busy bootie into the phone store for technical support. So, in the meantime, I rely solely on Bailey's Gym TV. Thank goodness for that! Without this, albeit predictable, mix of Madonna, Avril Lavigne, Gwen Stefani, Olivia Newton John, and various other artists that I do not know by name (I'm horrible with names of famous people...until they're badly behaved and they make it to the black list), I would be stuck. Alone on the treadmill with muted Fox News, ESPN, CNN, infomercials (at 4 AM), reruns of X-Files, and various versions of cheesy law enforcement reality shows. I wouldn't make it past the first mile. Ever.


3. Mrs. Paul's, Tyson, Campbell's, and cereal. Aaaaah...how I love thee, let me count the ways. 'Tis better to serve junk than serve nothing at all, right? As a working mother, I cannot count the nights when I have been without resources, energy, or withitness to plan a proper meal for my pretty princesses. However, thanks to Mrs. Paul's, they can eat fish (in the form of a stick). Thanks to Tyson, let them eat chicken (nuggets). A hearty bowl of Disney Princess or Dora soup, on occasion, courtesy of Campbell's. And, when all else fails, Froot Loops it is.



I suppose I should have included Nabisco, as well, in appreciation of their breakfast options. Is it bad that my two year-old refers to Fig Newtons as "breakfast cookies"? They're filled with 100% real fruit....



4. Uniforms and Foreign Accents. Need I say much about this? Isn't it fairly self-explanatory? Either of these two attributes is enough to make nearly any man or woman a god/goddess of love in the eyes of the opposite sex. Let's just say...if I keep practicing my Mary Poppins accent with the Little Princesses, and happen to take up volunteering at a local hospital, I'd be beating them off with a stick!

Prozac, Take Me Away!

Long ago and far away, women used to wash their worries away in a relaxing bubble bath. A leisurely soak in a hot, steamy bathroom, shut away from the world, screaming children and barking husbands. Aaaaah. A calm, thirty or so minutes to yourself and you come out with soft skin, a sweet aroma, and a new attitude.

That sounds nice, doesn't it? That would be nice if I HAD thirty minutes to spend DOING NOTHING! That would be nice if I could shut the bathroom door! That would be nice if my husband could put pajamas on the girls without an assistant!

Today, I needed a bubble bath. Wait...scratch that. Monday, I needed a bubble bath. By last night, I needed a forty-eight hour spa retreat! Today? I took a Prozac.

Aaaaaaah. I know they say it takes a few weeks to feel the effects, but they lie. I felt them, baby. You may say it was a placebo effect...who cares, is what I say! Amazingly, amidst the insanity of my afternoon, my blood pressure remained below 150 today! My blood remained below the boiling point. No steam whistled from my ears. My nostrils did not morph into the nostrils of a charging bull.

I love Prozac. I love Prozac so much, I think I'm going to take a hot bath.

Anybody care for some vino?

To Do Tomorrow:
1. Call for Rx renewal.