the doll is trying to kill me…

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Have you ever watched a television program where a “bomb” of information is dropped and in the accompanying background you hear either a record skip or a car making skid marks? That’s what I heard in my head when the doll dropped her little nugget of information….

“Yesterday at lunch, my friends and I were talking about how our parents would feel and react if we came home pregnant….” The doll said while riding in the car. We were on our way to her volleyball game and had just finished talking about the appropriate way to feel toward certain things. “Are you seriously trying to get us killed?” I asked and she guffawed before starting again, “Stephanie said her parents would disown her and kick her to the curb. I’m not sure how you would react… ” She said. Not giving her a chance to finish her thought I offered, “I don’t think it’s me you would have to worry about darlin’…” Looking back at me oddly I added, “The one you should be worried about is your dad.…” I emphasized. The word “dad” hung between us for a moment and her eyes grew very large at the implication. “Oh, I forgot about him…” She said just above a whisper and then became mute for a minute. 

I watched as the wheels in her head turned for a minute or so before she continued on “Nancy said her parents would literally kill her….”  “How many of you were talking about this lovely prospect?” I wondered. “Stephanie, Nancy, Twin, and Emily. Anyway, Twin thought her parents (mostly her dad) would be very upset with her for a very long time and Emily thought that while her mom and dad would be mad they probably wouldn’t throw her out.” She finished. “Do you girls always have such interesting conversations at lunch?” I asked and she laughed.

Okay…in an effort to keep our talk from sounding like a lecture, I tried my best to keep the tone conversational in hopes that she might actually hear/listen to what I was saying.

“In response first let me say, knowing Stephanie’s parents, they would never disown or throw her out. They are too nice and compassionate type of people to ever do that. However I’m sure like the rest of us, they would be very unhappy and disappointed by your choices. Here’s the thing doll, even though you can physically conceive a baby, does not mean you are emotionally equipped to handle the responsibilities involved with having one”. “I know mom…” She said in a tone which sounded as if she were sorry she had opened this can of worms. “You would have to make some very difficult “adult” decisions concerning the welfare of this child and you haven’t matured enough to handle them. In addition, consider as fact you just postponed your future by ten very hard years–if you’re lucky. “But you and dad would help me out right?” She asked. “Doll who’s to say we would be around?” I said, which made her look very hard at me. “”You’re dad is always worried about his A-Fib, I worry about my Asthma…” I trailed off as she nodded her head in understanding. “There are so many variables out there…you can’t trust the future to turn out like you plan”.

Looking back at me she said, “You don’t have anything to worry about mom….I’m not seeing babies in my future until I’m married…in fact, right now, boys are big red flags for me…” “Good…” I replied and then turned into the volleyball venue, essentially ending our conversation.

As we entered the gym and she joined her team mates, I sat down next to Nancy’s father and said, “The doll and I just had a very interesting discussion about what they were discussing at lunch yesterday”. “Oh yeah, what’s that?” He asked. “They talked about what their parents would do if they came home pregnant.” Another parent who was seated behind us replied, “Oh dear God!” Nancy’s dad replied, “I’d be going to jail for murder…” I couldn’t help but laugh saying, “Evidently your child knows you…that’s what she said you would do”. “Well good…maybe the ploy to keep her dad out of prison will prevent that from ever happening” he said shaking his head.

Before the volleyball game began, I recalled the conversation the doll and I had just shared and realized how much I enjoyed hearing her say “boys are a red flag to me” statement….

Even though I don’t necessarily believe her.

Oy Ve

 

feelings nothing more than feelings….

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Saturday morning as the doll and I made our way to her round robin volleyball tournament she surprised me with an interesting conversation. As we were about to enter the expressway she said, “Mom, when you were my age, did you understand your feelings?” “In what way?” I asked. “You know, like feelings…” she said muddying the water. “Doll, give me an example about what you’re talking about” I asked. “Okay, like when two of my friends are arguing with one another, I”m not sure how I should feel about that…or if I’m supposed to feel anything about them? And then there’s like Mrs. Krempa. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about her. I mean I’m sad she died and I wish I had talked to her more before so, but am I supposed to feel something more?”

For a brief moment I longed for the time when the doll would sit in the back seat and ask me questions that had more to do with her changing needs than her changing hormonal feelings.

“Well doll…” I began, “Welcome to being twelve years old. Quite honestly, your feelings are supposed to be all over the map right now….because you’re still trying to figure out who you are…” I said. “Does this make me a bad person?” She wondered. “No, more of an honest one. Listen, when you have two friends who are arguing you may want to step in and help them resolve their differences…” I started but was interrupted, “Mom, I don’t want to get in the middle of their argument. But I don’t know if I’m supposed to feel anything”. “You mean feel bad they are having the argument or feel bad for whomever started the argument? “Yes” she replied. “Doll, you’re all sussing out who you are. You’ll know when it’s appropriate to feel or not…” I said.

“As for Mrs. Krempa, you’re sad she’s gone right?” “Yes. But I’m not horribly sad. I mean there were some kids who were really crying at her service. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that…” She expressed. “Were you two super close. I mean did you spend your entire recess hanging out with her?” I asked. “No, that would be the boy” The doll replied. “I was more of the type who said hello to her when I’d see her and I think I’ll miss seeing her, but I’m not sure if I’m supposed to feel more…” She explained. “Doll you are over thinking things again. The fact of the matter is your grieving her passing. You know, funerals are not for the dead–they are for the living who now have to face the world without their loved ones and everybody grieves differently. Your reaction is perfectly normal” I concluded.

There was a pause in the conversation while she thought about what I had said. After a minute or so she turned to me and said, “Wow mom those were some good answers. When my daughter asks me some tough questions, I’m not sure I’ll have the answers for her”. Surprised I replied, “Well there is something to be said for experience. Life is one big learning curve….and thankfully I’m able cull those lessons on occasion. When you have kids…you’ll have life lessons to look back on to help you too…” I suggested.

‘That reminds me…” the doll began, “Yesterday at lunch, my friends and I talked about how our parents would feel if we got pregnant while in school….”

 

October bliss….

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I was going through my wedding photos this morning, because I’ve been  invited to bring them with me  to a pre-wedding party, my sister Carol and her family are throwing for their daughter Meg; following the rehearsal dinner tonight. I laughed at many of the photographs contained therein, most coming from viewing male family members with full heads of hair. Then came the usual critique of myself–look how thin and beautiful I was…heavy emphasis on “was”. What’s more, I was prettier on that day than I ever believed at the time. I know in my heart beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but sometimes my mirror is flawed.

While I flipped through the album, I found myself hoping to find a nice picture of just my parents all dressed to the nines that day. I miss not having a framed photo of them to rest upon my mantle.  But only the picture I found contained the four of us together in a “parents of the bride” styled photograph.  It’s funny you know, looking at these old photographs and seeing how much of a blur my past really is. My husband and I were married 8 years before the boy finally came into our lives. But trying to remember our lives before him are difficult-not impossible, but difficult just the same.

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While in college, I used to babysit for my sister Carol’s three girls, Carrin, Lauren and Meghan. Her eldest Carrin is my God daughter, which made watching her rather easy-she could do almost no wrong. Her sister Lauren on the other hand would butt heads with me often. Her easy-going personality hid her determination. In truth we were a lot alike-though I probably talked more. Which brings me to Meg; now this girl was (is) determined. She refused to wear slacks, preferring only to wear dresses and tights. One of my favorite memories with her, is going to a park to swing on the swing set, dressed as if she were going to an afternoon tea wearing a beautiful royal blue dress, with white trim; white tights and white patent leather shoes. She looked far too beautiful to be hanging around in a dirty old park. But that was Meg.

Tomorrow Meg is getting married appropriately on her parents 40th wedding anniversary…which also would have been my parents 67th wedding anniversary. In addition…Today marks what would have been my mother’s parents wedding anniversary too. Nothing says I want to spend the rest of my life with you quite like marrying someone upon the same foundation which was poured out four generations back.

When Meg was three or four, she and I held a Barbie wedding using their home’s piano as the backdrop. Moving the bench aside, we propped up her legless Ken doll to act as the priest. Standing off to the side was another Ken bridegroom wearing a tuxedo. Meg was in charge of walking her Wedding Dress Barbie doll down the “aisle” while I made sure the theme from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast played in the background. To this day I wish we had recorded the event. When all was said and done I looked back at Meg and said, that was simply beautiful. She smiled in agreement and then said, let’s do it again!!”

Something tells me that beautiful Barbie wedding, which lives so rich in our memories, will pale in comparison to the wedding she produces tomorrow….considering she only wants to do this the one time….

…and that her priest will have both legs.

Best wishes Meg and Kirk.

 

changing seasons…

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The other day, word came that a long time parishioner and friend to the school community had passed away. She was a poor woman financially speaking, but very rich in friends and loved ones. Someone very much admired for her open heart and devotion to her faith. As the school’s playground monitor she had the unique perspective to see our kids in all phases of development–good, bad, competitive, lonely etc. and loved them all regardless. Several years earlier, while attending a retreat with her, I made the point of thanking her for befriending the boy. In all honesty, at the time I wasn’t happy she didn’t encourage him more to hang out with kids his own age or to stop talking with her completely. “Marsha I really do enjoy his company, he’s so informative. He’s such a smart boy. He will come into his own, when he’s ready. I’m sure of it!” She told me. “I know but waiting for that to happen is difficult” I replied. She laughed and said “That’s where prayer and faith come in…”

When I arrived home from work the day she died, I made a point of pulling the boy over to the side to talk with him about her. “Bay, listen, I know you cared very much for Mrs. Krempa…” “She was a wonderful lady and friend to me” He replied as the news sank in. “Yes she was. But you understand she’s no longer suffering and is in a much better place right?” He agreed with a head nod and then gave me a hug, visibly saddened by the news. “Mom, our entire school is going to her funeral” the doll chimed in. “Yeah? That seems appropriate” I said making sure both kids were okay before moving on with the evening.

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“Mom Mrs. Krempa’s funeral was really beautiful and moving. I kind of cried” the doll explained last night. “What’s does “kind of cried” mean?” I asked. “Well I looked over at Stephanie and she was really crying, which helped push me over the edge, you know seeing her and I became choked up and a few tears escaped from the corner of my eyes. But then she noticed that I was looking at her and she began to laugh which made me laugh”. “Ah, she was embarrassed you caught her crying…” I replied. I watched as the doll turned her head to the side, mulling over what I said. “Do you remember when you were reading that book about the kids who were all dead and you started crying at the end, but then laughed when you saw me looking at you?” I asked. “Oh yeah…” she replied with a laugh. “Yep you were embarrassed…as was Stephanie earlier. Were there other kids crying?” I wondered. “Yep. I think they’re going to miss her” She said quietly.

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“Mom, did you know leaves are naturally red or orange during their entire life cycle, except the trees mask their color with chlorophyll?” The doll asked while driving home the other night. Our neighborhood trees are in varying forms of change-some still exhibiting green leaves while others have lost all their leaves entirely. “Really? That’s pretty cool” I replied. “Yep…” she said rather contemplatively. “Wow look at that tree…” I noted, pointing at a beautiful maple ahead of us. “They really are beautiful; all that color hiding under the surface until the very end” she added. “Funny isn’t it? Brilliance shouldn’t be hidden…” I said as the doll sat silent. A minute later I asked, “Don’t you think?”

“Were you talking to me?” She asked.

Sigh, “Apparently not…” I replied.

 

the doll creative…

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IMG_1397While cleaning up the kitchen the other night, the doll entered the room and handed me a small menacing box cutting knife saying, “This should be kept out of the hands of children!” Lifting up her left thumb to my eye level she added,  “Look what it’s done!” Looking between the knife and her bleeding thumb I said “Where the hell did you get that?” “Its mine” Uttered the boy, seated at the kitchen table. “It’s the box cutting knife he bought at the county fair” His father explained. “Why were you using it?” I replied to the doll  in a mad/concerned tone while ushering her over to the sink so she could clean the wound. “Because the doll asked me if she could borrow it. I can’t be held responsible for her inability to control the knife” The boy replied defensively. “Mom, I was using the box cutter to make my quiver-you know for the Hunter of Artemis costume and well I kind of cut more than I intended” She explained while holding her thumb under a cold water stream. “Does it hurt?” The boy asked. Shrugging her shoulder she said, “Yeah, but it’s funny how things don’t hurt as much when you hurt yourself…you know?” Taking a closer look her father remarked, “This is going to take a long time for your nail to heal…” The doll nodded in reply. “Well things could be worse…” the boy began, “If she weren’t so inept, she could have cut off her whole thumb”. “You know you’re not helping right?” I said to him. Laughing he said, “That’s my job momma”.

My daughter takes after my father in that when she gets ahold of an idea, she doesn’t easily let go. So what if she almost cut off her thumb? She was determined to get this part of her costume finished as soon as possible, so she could work on the fun part: What to wear. As such, the entire time she held her thumb under the cold stream of water she asked me repeatedly, “Will you take me to the hobby store tonight?” “Aren’t you injured?” I asked. “Mom, I’m okay…can you take me to the hobby store tonight?” 

Once the band-aid was properly affixed to her thumb, the doll and I ventured out to the local hobby center, looking to purchase materials needed to make a bow and some arrows. However, when we arrived, the hobby store was closing for the night. Not to be deterred, we stopped at Target hoping they would have something she could use. While we walked around the store, picking up some odds, ends and must haves; we stumbled into the seasonal Halloween section. There in a nice package sat a plastic bow, some arrows and a quiver for $10. “Ooh doll grab that…” I said. Looking down at her bandaged thumb she looked back at me and said, “That means I almost cut off my thumb for no reason…” “True…but this saves you from almost cutting off your other fingers while making the bow and arrows…” I said. Grabbing the bow and arrow set, she placed the package in our cart and semi pouted all the way to the checkout.

IMG_1399When we arrived home the doll showed off her newly acquired bow, arrow and quiver set to her father and once again quipped “I almost cut off my thumb for no reason…” “Well at least you won’t be cutting off any others…” He offered. “That’s what mom said…” she returned and we smiled. “Mom the only thing wrong with this bow is that it’s the wrong color…it won’t match my outfit”. “When does a bow have to match an outfit?” I asked incredulously. “This time”. She happily replied. A short time later she proudly held up her new silver “dolled” up bow saying, “See mom, this even looks like me now.” “If you say so doll…” I said happy no fingers were almost cut off while coloring the bow and arrow.

 

 

A likely story…

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“I’m tired of you looking like a patient from the mental ward…” I explained to the boy when he asked why I was making him go clothes shopping with me Monday night. The hubby who was supposed to come and offer backup, remained home-something about helping the doll with a homework assignment (A likely story!). “Mom I don’t see the need to buy new clothes. I feel quite comfortable in what I’m wearing”  He tried to reason. Sizing up the young man before me, his shoulders slouched, wearing an oversized T-shirt with loose fitting draw stringed sweat pants I replied, “Perhaps they’re useful as  Saturday morning clothes, but not for going to church or out in public. Look dude, I realize you hate clothes shopping-maybe even as much as I do. But you need a new pair of jeans along with something nice to wear to the wedding on Saturday” Which ended his attempts at getting out of the shopping expedition.

IMG_1459When we arrived at the store, the first article of clothing I grabbed were a pair of jeans. Walking further into the department, we came upon dress shirts and slacks. Once I had found a general idea of clothing for him to try on, we entered the dressing room. Fortunate for me at the time, no other men were in the vacinity–which made it easier for me to walk in and out of the dressing area-adding new things for him to try on and retrieving those which did not fit. “Try this one too” I said handing him a new pair of slacks. “What? No Mom, I don’t want to” came his response. “Too bad, as your mom, you don’t have a choice. I want you to look as good as possible” I explained. “But I don’t want to look good. I only want to look passable” He replied. “Passable? What are you some super sleuth who wants to blend into the background?” I asked. “Yes..I don’t want to be noticed” He replied. “Too bad, so sorry for you! As your mother, it’s my responsibility  to show everyone what a handsome young man you are. Now stand up straight, shoulders back.” “I can’t” He said. “Bay, C’mon, pull your gut in and push your shoulders back and stand up straight” I instructed by grabbing his shoulders and pushing them back. “It’s virtually impossible to do both” he said. “You are so full of s-h-i… you know that? If you stand up straight with your shoulders back your gut will automatically pull in. Right now you’re so rounded…you look like a little old man-not an almost 16 yr old boy”. “Mom if I put my shoulders back I get shooting pains down my back…” “Really shooting? Or just discomfort from standing up straight?” I wondered. “Same thing!!” he replied. “Bay, C’mon. Can you lift your arms in this shirt? How do the pants feel?” I switched subjects. “Mom, this one looks perfect, let’s get them and go…please?” He said after every shirt I had him try on.IMG_1465

After awhile, we settled on a nice pair of black slacks, a black base with electric blue and green kriss/cross striped shirt an a pair of relaxed fit jeans to take to the check out. “Now all we need to do is find you a tie…” I said as we entered another department. “While you’re doing that, I’m going to go look at the hats”. The boy said and walked into the next department. A short time later he reappeared wearing a nice hat saying, “Can you get me this hat please?” Grabbing the hat from his head and spying the price I replied, “Maybe, but first I want to see what the other hats look like first…”

IMG_1477Finally the boy and I had some fun. Every hat I made him put on was shot down, save one. His excuses ran from his head being too large-which was the case on more than one hat; to the hat not really being his style.

 

“What this isn’t mental patient chic?” I asked. “No…no it is not” He replied with a smirk. “What about this one?” I asked. After trying it on and discovering ear flaps which tuck into the hat he admitted, “This is actually a really nice hat…” “You know, I should just buy two of these as you’re going to make your dad jealous…” I remarked and the boy smiled saying, “Please don’t. I’d rather he be jealous of me…”

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PS. When we arrived home to show dad, not only the boy’s new hat (the boy so enjoyed his father’s jealousy over that one) but his new dress shirt as well. After trying on the shirt himself, his father asked the boy “Doesn’t this shirt feel a bit snug around your arms and shoulders? The boy replied, “I told mom it fit fine. I mean dad, she was killing me with all the shirts she had me try on…”

Guess what we’re doing tonight?

SMH.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hunters of Artemis….

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IMG_1455As I’ve written previously, the doll began reading the Blood of Olympus; the final book in Rick Riordan’s Heroes of Olympus series, on Tuesday. Before finishing the book Thursday afternoon she complained “It’s not fair that school, volleyball and homework had to take up so much of my free time!” “Are you going to go back and re-read it again to see if you missed anything; considering you read it so darn fast?” I asked her. Giving me the “That’s a dumb question to ask” look, she replied, “Mom, this is how fast I read all the books in the series…” “Oh, I just wondered if you wanted to go back and savor the book a little more…” I said as I exited the room. Not wanting me to have the last word, she followed me into the kitchen “Mom, you don’t understand. Look what Rick (author) did to me!!” She said lifting her right arm to reveal a series of odd markings. “What are those?” I asked. “That’s a list of all the characters he’s killed off and I’m at least twenty characters short! In addition, the Hunter of Artemis character that I’m going as for Halloween–he killed her off too–and she was the only one with red hair like me!!” Amused I replied, “Writer’s prerogative doll…an oddly appropriate for Halloween…”  “Your not funny mom!” She replied before exiting the room.

Later, after taking her shower she sat down on the couch, grabbed a black pen and began writing on her arm again. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Some of the marks came off in the shower…” She said. “Stop right there. Seriously?  Are those fictional deaths like a badge of honor or a tattoo?” I asked. “Mom, you wouldn’t understand….” she replied. For a moment I looked at my own wrist and tried to think back to the last time I wrote something on them relating to characters from a book and could not. “Be that as it may doll…don’t write on your arm anymore…” I replied in my typical mean mommy fashion.

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Since I have not read any of the books in the Percy Jackson series, I decided to peruse the internet looking for information about the “Hunters of Artemis” so I had an idea what the doll’s Halloween costume would entail.  Love this description:

The Hunters of Artemis are gifted with excellent ranged capabilities and hunting skills, possess eternal youth as long as they don’t die in battle or break their vows of rejecting boys, and immensely enjoy hunting at Artemis’s side. They hunt monsters and whatever else they see fit. They are her maidservants, her companions, and her sisters in arms. They are however sworn to be a Hunter forever and to be an eternal maiden. Because of this, many of the Hunters have a great hatred for males and dread even traveling with them (as seen in The Titan’s Curse and The Last Olympian).

If a Hunter falls in love, Artemis will remove their immortality and may turn them into an animal, depending on her discretion. The other possible way to lose immortality is to die in battle. They are often mistaken for Amazons, only the Amazons are allowed to fall in love and do not worship a certain goddess individually. Source:http://camphalfblood.wikia.com/wiki/Hunters_of_Artemis

“Um Doll…why did you and your friends decide to be Hunters of Artemis for Halloween? I asked. “Mom, Hunters of Artemis is a large group of girls in the books-and since we’re a large group of girls we thought this would be perfect”. Nodding my head at her logic I added  “So tell me…as a requisite, do all you girls hate boys too?” Slightly embarrassed she began to giggle. “No”. “Are you sure…?” I asked laughing. “Mom…Stephanie is going with us and you know she really likes boys…” she said in an effort to qualify her response.

Thank goodness for Stephanie…right?

smh

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