Monthly Archives: November 2010

support system

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“Mom, do you have to say that word so loud?” the doll asked perturbed with me for not taking special care of her predicament.  The “word” in question was “B-R-A”  “Sorry, um, how does that support thing feel on:  Too tight?  Just right?  How?”  “Shhhh, you are talking too loud.  Geeze the other people in the store probably know what we’re buying now too”. Her voice sounded embarrassed and giddy all at the same time.

Over the weekend, I had the opportunity to talk with more parents of pre-teen girls about when they first began purchasing the dreaded “bra” for their girls.  Seems we’re right on schedule.  “Mom, how old was you when you got your first training bra? She asked with her arms crossed in front of her.  “I don’t know, maybe ten” I said.  “Well, that’s not too much older than I am now, ’cause I am 8 and a half…” she said with much emphasis on the “and a half”; “and that’s not very far away from ten.” she said in way that made me wonder who she was trying to convince, me or her?

“Let’s try on this sports styled bra…”  “MOM, do you have to keep saying ((bra))?” she whispered, still embarrassed by the task at hand.  “Sorry doll, it’s just habit.” I said in return.  When all was said and done, we left the store with four new bras and a nice top for the doll.  On the way home she asked, “Mom, why do they call them bras anyways?  You would think they would be called something else.”  “Bra is short for Brassiere”.  “Oh so like in the olden days you called them brassieres?  That’s a funny name.”  Um, in my olden days we called them bras too.  But brassiere is where the word is derived from”.  I said.

Once home she asked her father, “Daddy, do you notice anything different about me?” When he responded “No”, she lifted her shirt to show him. “Doll…” I began, but she cut me off, “I know Mom, I just wanted to show Daddy the first time I weared one.”  Then perhaps to show off her special purchase some more, she approached the boy and asked, “Boy, do you notice anything different about me….”  Fortunately the boy responded “Sorry doll, not interested in seeing your thing under your shirt”.

Later, following her shower she asked, “Um Mom, am I supposed to wear this ((bra)) (still whispering) to bed each night?”  “Nope, you are free at night” I said.  “Good, that thing was starting to get itchy.” she said as she turned toward bed.

Sorry to tell ya doll, I thought to myself, it’s only the beginning…..

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being thankful…

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Every year around Thanksgiving we all stop to pause, perhaps to impress upon our children the importance of being thankful for what they have.  “Mom, I’m thankful that Uncle Bill brought me this cool hula girl Barbie back from Hawaii.” the doll said.  “I don’t think it’s fair” Mary announced, as she watched the doll open the package.  “Well Mary, He is my godfather.  It wouldn’t be fair if he got you something too.”  My poor brother, with a look of regret on his face deferred to his wife before making a quick exit from the room.

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“Momma, do you know what I’m most thankful for?” the boy asked as I tucked them into bed.  “What?”  “You and daddy, giving me and the doll the most wonderful life a boy could ask for…”  Smiling, I said, “What do you want?”  “No, mom, it’s not like that, I really am thankful…”
“Uh huh, but you don’t want anything?”  “No, well, I mean I want Christmas presents of course, but no, I’m just thankful I have the prettiest mom and coolest Dad.”  Backing out of his bedroom, I shook my head in disbelief.  I kept waiting for that other shoe to drop–the one that always hangs onto the compliments.  As I paused in the hallway between both bedrooms, I thought to myself, maybe he does mean just that.  But before I could finish the thought he added, “Oh and Mom, could you take me to Game Stop in the morning so you can get me some more games for the Playstation 2?

Standard mom stock answer:  We’ll see.

 

Dear God, I have a girl….

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I walked around my brother’s house yesterday shaking my head.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, hearing or being forced to believe.  See, I know I have an eight year old daughter.  I just can’t believe at age 8, she needs a training bra.  But that is exactly what I was being told.  Everywhere I turned to find support (no pun intended) to my side of thinking, I was met with the opposite.  “Marsh, she needs a bra”. I heard over and over again.

UGH!  SHE’S ONLY EIGHT!!! I wanted to shout over the drones of those telling me otherwise.  “Well, with all the hormones being injected into meats and poultry, they say the kids will begin developing quicker” my husband said;  MY HUSBAND!!  He’s supposed to be on my side.  Then my sister in law added, “Have you noticed how she’s carrying herself?”  as we both turned to watch her walk past.  “See how she’s appears to be protecting that area?”.  Dear god, what?  Are we sure she’ s not just, you know in great need of a growth spurt and those are fat rolls?”  I felt like this was my last ditch effort to convince everyone including myself.

“Doll, why are you walking like that?” I asked her.  “Like what?”  Never mind.  You know, I love having a little girl.  I’m just not happy about her becoming a young woman at the age of eight.

I’M BLINDED!!!

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I discovered quite recently that some of the best movies to rent are comedies from the ’80’s and ’90’s.  Movies my children have never seen; movies which are considered tame, by today’s standard.   A few weeks back I came home from the library with “Young Frankenstein” and not a day goes by around here where somebody will say “Braucha” followed by horses whinnying and laughs that follow.  These delights of my youth, showering upon my children, with much the same result.

Last night I rented Airplane.  It has been several years since I’ve watched the full, uncut movie and most of what I remembered was just laughing.  I had forgotten there were some sight gags, the kids were better off not seeing, but, overall they thought it was funny.  As I explained, “This movie makes fun of a lot of different movies…so pay attention.”   Asking children to “pay attention” though is like asking a square peg to fit in a round hole.  “Boy, would you please stop talking and just watch?” the doll asked over and over again.  The boy was busy playing  bionicles, with his buddy KLR, who was spending the night.

“Bobby, do you watch Gladiator movies?” the captain asks the boy in the cockpit….”What’s a gladiator?” the doll asked.  “A Gladiator is the name given to a Roman warrior…” the boy begins. “That’s enough, we don’t need a full explanation” KLR injects.  The doll smiled.   “Mom, why did that spear just get thrown into the wall?”  The boy asked.  “Because it’s funny…watch the movie.”  “Mom, why is there a horse in bed with that woman?”  “They’re making fun of the movie The Godfather and because it’s funny”.  “Why are they all lining up to slap that woman?”  UGH!  Finally exasperated, KLR looks at the boy and says, “Stop being who you usually are and just watch the movie!”  Laughing, the boy responds, “I can’t help it, I’m naturally inquisitive”.

The only really bad moment for them came when anarchy hits the plane when the passengers realize a passenger is going to land the plane.  Everyone gets out of their seats and is crazy.  All of a sudden a naked female breast came into focus, front and center, moving up and down in quick gyrations.  The scene lasts only about five seconds, but their response went on for minutes.  “EEEWWWW MY EYES ARE BURNED!!!  MY EYES HAVE BEEN BURNED!!!  I’M BLINDED!!!”  The kids rolled around on the ground, all covering their eyes, laughing hysterically as if really blinded by the few jiggles they saw.  “Why did they have to show that?” KLR asked to no one in particular.

Because it’s funny…lol

eat tar Mom!

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The last few weeks have been rough.  When the boy arrived home with six homework notifications in one day, we knew action needed to be taken.  Afraid he was going to get yelled at, he prepared himself for a night with no television, computer or DSi.  What he wasn’t prepared for was when I told him he could not read his book that night either.  Instead, after he finished all his homework he could do chores around the house.  “What?” he said in an exasperated tone.  “You heard me; no pleasure books tonight.  My kitchen floor needs to be swept; your bedroom needs to be cleaned.  There are plenty of things for you to do.”  My intention was not to turn off his love for reading, but to make him see we really mean business.

Watching the steam come off someone’s head can be quite fascinating; as can watching their eyes become little daggers.  “WHY DON’T YOU EAT TAR!!  He yelled at me.  “No thank you, I gave up cigarette smoking when I became pregnant with you.” I said, proud my comeback was quick and made sense.  “Why do you hate me so?” he replied.  “I think we both know the answer to that one boy.  Now get started on your homework…”

Much like doing his homework, he’s equally averse to doing any kind house chore.  As a way to get around the punishment issue, he grabbed a book he thought I’d have no problem with him reading:  A bible. Smiling at his ingenuity, I let him slide.  Besides, I’m pretty sure there is a passage in there somewhere about honoring your parents–instead of asking them to eat tar.

life of a neurotic dog

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I suppose anyone with a pet can claim to have either the best animal on the planet, or the oddest.  I think we own the most neurotic.  She has OCD and unless you’re a squirrel, she really wants nothing to do with you–unless you have a leash, flashlight or treat in your hand.  She’s bossy.  If she wants to go outside she starts out with a gentle nudge, by sitting on you.  If that doesn’t work, she begins barking and heading toward the door, as if encouraging you to do the same.  But, once outside and all the squirrels have been driven back into their trees, she finds a way to get out and goes on a walkabout in the neighborhood.

In other words, she’s a pain.  The doll works with her, in hopes one day the dog might like her.  Yesterday, she nipped her in the face as if to say, stop trying.  The boy, with his large frame just scares the heck out of dog.  Every time the boy walks in the room, she runs to hide under the love seat–her favorite spot in the house.  She loves the hubby, as he doesn’t mind if she tries to snuggle up with him.  As for me, I’m just a means to an end….someone who will feed her, walk her in the mornings and open the back door so she can chase squirrels.

Yesterday morning, when I rolled over, something under my covers moved with me.  By god that darn dog, whom I am allergic to, decided to come in for some added warmth.  As a result my “like” for her yesterday was almost nonexistent.  But today is a new day.  This morning the doll asked over breakfast, “Mom what happened to Sweet Pea after she got her final shot?”  (Three years ago, I put our 15 year old dog to sleep)  “Um, she went to sleep, forever” I said.  “No, I mean what happened to her body?”  The boy, through a mouthful of cheerios responded, “Cremation”.  “What’s that?” she asked.  Honestly, not really understanding why this came up, I said, “Doll, cremation is where they dispose of the body in a furnace.”  “While she was asleep?”  “No, doll, the final shot stopped Sweet Pea’s heart.  She was no longer alive. But I think she’s up in heaven playing catch with Papaw, or licking my mom’s elbow trying to get a treat from her”.  Both kids smiled and agreed and I changed the subject.

When I arrived home after my workout this morning, the rain prevented the dog from getting in a walk.  As such, she followed me down the steps to try and encourage me to venture out in the rain anyway.  Instead, I sat at the computer, trying to remember what I was going to write about; making sure to stop at MySpace so I could kill, shoot and maim others on Mafia Wars.  The dog followed me down the steps and looked for something she could cuddle up in.  After a minute or so, I heard a noise that was followed by heavy breathing.  Looking over my shoulder, I found her much to my delight, caught in the boy’s old OSU winter coat.  Knowing I am a Mean Mommy, I couldn’t resist the temptation to snap a few pix, to show the family later.  I have to say, she really gave me a good smile to start the day.  I guess today is a “like” day for her.

Once freed from her confinement, she’s taken off to parts unknown in the house.  I guess she’d prefer to hide in her embarrassment.

Whoomp There It Is….

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“Aunt Marsha, you’re funny” they said  while watching me dance to Flo-rida’s “Low” in my kitchen yesterday.  “What? I didn’t get a chance to walk today, so I got to get my exercise some way” I said, as I continued to dance in a weird, exaggerated way.  AK  looked at me with a disturbed look on her face. Handing me her MP3 she asked, “Is there any way you could play this on your Idock?” “Looking at her player I said, “No, wrong connector”.  Just then the doll grabbed her player and said, “Maybe not there, but you can on our stereo” and with that they were out of the kitchen and into the living room preparing to blast little girl music throughout my house.

The boy, arriving home from school a few minutes later, stood in the living room looking appalled and lost.  Turning to me he asked, “Have I died and gone to hell?”  Laughing I said, “Unfortunately no, but the good news is you can hang out in your bedroom listening to who you would like to listen to (Jethro Tull, Jimmy Buffett, Gordon Lightfoot–his father’s son alright)”.  “Mom, can I just go on the computer instead?”  Seeing that the girls would most likely drive him over the edge, I agreed.

While booting up the computer I heard a loud series of thuds.  The music the girls were playing was too loud; shaking the house while they jumped all around my living room.  “Girls, you don’t need to listen to this music that loud” I said, thinking how my mother used to say the same thing to me, back in the day.  “Mrs. L, do you know this song?” AK asked.  Yes, old school–“Whoomp There It Is” an annoying song from the ’90’s.  All of a sudden AK and her brother, the popcorn man, became break dancers.  The other kids stood in amazement around them asking, “How do you do that?” “You need to swing your legs, like this” AK responded.

As I stood in the doorway watching AK swinging one way, then the next, I couldn’t help but remember what it was like to be in third grade and finding cool music to dance to in my parent’s basement.  “Hey I got a great idea…” the doll began “How about the four of us, do a dance together for this years’ talent show?”  In truth the doll has been thinking about this for a while. The other girls screamed with delight; particularly Mary, at the thought of performing in front of the entire school.  “Let’s find the right song though…” said AK and the dancing and jumping around came to an end while the search for the best song began…

I’ll keep you posted….