mommyhood

Tree Climber.

We like to call this classic, "Math Homework."

 

And the best part?  Somewhere, deep in the depths of Mimi's photo albums, there exists a smiliar picture of my dad and I ... at the same counter ... same expressions... same fractions.

There's one born every generation.

Sarah Beth just discovered my DVD collection of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series.

Nothing like a little bit of campy television to keep you honest.

Phone Conversations with a Middle Schooler.

Today on my voicemail.

"MAMA! Call me back immediately. I just handled something VERY MATURELY.  And I need to tell you all the details."

I didn't realize my child knew the meaning of "very maturely." 

She's been doing CRAZY things lately like you know - cleaning without being asked and all.

ANd NOW this MATURELY thing?

Sheesh!

She Who Never Gets Any Attention on This Blog. (x2)

I hear lots of whining lately about how She is never featured on this blog.  It's all Landon, Landon, Landon.  Or, Jackson, Jackson, Jackson.

Marsha, Marsha, MARSHA.   (sorry - couldn't resist)

Part of the problem with featuring Her on this blog is the usual middle-school-preteen-attitude we have suddenly encountered on a daily - make that hourly - basis.  It makes for little inspiration.

However.  Today.  She was the Girl I Remember.  The one I like hanging out with. 

 

There She is.  In her element.  I think she is practicing her barrel racing capabilities around Mimi's lawn chairs. 

 

Boots. Shorts.  A fashion DO.  Those legs, by the way, are a product of good genes.  Specifically, mine.

 

Sundance is pretending to be all delicate and ladylike here.  See?  What she's not telling you? Oh, yeah - she pitched a hissy fit the other day, and ended up with a rope burn on her leg.  But.. shhh... we aren't supposed to talk about it. LADIES, you see, DON'T freak out and give themselves rope burns for no apparent reason other than stupidity.  No ma'am.  Especially not "ladies" like Sundance. 

 

"HEY! ARE YOU TALKIN' ABOUT ME?!?!"

Anyway.  Two of my favorite pain in the patooshies.  In more ways than one, I find them to be similiar creatures.   Attitude and beauty.

Wild America III

Last night, while laying down with Jordin, after having asked SB to cut off the living room light about two million times, to no avail....

Jordin : MOMMY.  She's in SIXTH GRADE NOW.  She's not gonna do what you want.

After checking my very own copy of the Middle Schooler Field Guide, I learned, sadly, that she was right.

The Saga Continues...

She rode the bus this morning.  For the very. first. time.

Naturally, this required three (count em', three) nervous breakdowns between the hours of 9:30 p.m. (last night) and 8:00 a.m. (this morning).  THREE.

She barely ate any breakfast.   

Waited for almost twenty minutes on the bus, despite the fact that we were already certain of the ten minute window in which the Big Yellow would appear.  In her world, it is better to be SURE of YOURSELF than to trust your mother and grandmother.  What do we know, anyway?  Nothing. Nothing at all.

So. The bus came. She got on. Sat down with a friend. 

And I cried.  Sorry.  But I did.  Partly because she's growing up, and also partly because I realized I had given her my last $6.00.  No, really.  I did. I watched her float away, in her little almost-grown-up-world, with my lunch money.

Middle Schooler.

She started middle school today.  Sixth grade.  Where did the time go?

Surprisingly, our morning went... swimmingly.  You know, except for the standard hang-ups like waffles for breakfast with no syrup.   That's okay in our house, because, my children, they can adapt.  Peanut Butter instead of syrup?  Ohhhh yessss.  HEY! It's protein, people... PRO -TEIN.

Yesterday, however, was the day you just "had to be there."  I know my kid well enough to know when she's a basket case about something.  There's the nervous laughter, the constant fidgeting, and the 4.8 million questions, which is really only two questions, asked about 2 million times each.  I throw the .8 in, because, at some point during the end of the day, I stop her before she can finish at least once. 

Questions with SB are just a part of life.  Prepare yourself for them.  Come up with witty answers that make her think for herself.  Ignore them.  Think about laundry or the dishes or balancing the Federal budget instead of listening.  Trust me. You learn to cope.   She has a hard time with change, and most especially with the dreaded "unknown."

So. Yesterday. What a joy.  Funny that it's not the DAY school starts back that I dread; but the day before.

There were the pressing dilemnas such as :

1. Should I go with the white notebook or the blue stripes? 
2. Do you think the 1" width is enough, or should I go with 2"?
3. 24 lead pencils or 12?
4. Wide rule paper?
5. College rule paper?
6. This shirt, or THIS shirt?
7. Are you sure you don't like the first shirt?
8. What about these blue jeans? 
9. Does this little frayed seam count as a rip?
10. Will they send me home if I have ripped jeans?
11. Do you think these jeans are ripped?
12. Prepay for lunch or just take it day to day?
13. Should I ride the bus tomorrow? 
14. What if I miss the bus?
15. What if the bus comes, and thinks I am Shawn (lives next door) and goes right past me?

(oh yes, I am serious - she really wondered about that last one for a while)

The list goes on and on and on.  I stopped jotting down individual questions after thirty.

At some point, I began to wonder if I had suddenly, unannounced to myself, started speaking Chinese.  Maybe she wasn't understanding my answers because I was answering everything in a foreign language I didn't know about.  OMG!  What if it lasted forever? What if it SOUNDED like I was answered in English, but REALLY - it was Mandarin? 

And then. I realized where she gets it from.  And I gladly answered all 4.8 million one more time. 

SBT

Many of you have been wondering if I really was serious about allowing SB to live through the duration of our Disney trip together... you know, because, she hasn't been seen much around these parts lately.  It's been all Jordin, Jordin, Jordin (channeling Jan Brady).

Rest assured, SB is still around.  In her glorious, glowing, brooding pre-adolescent mood.

This is about the only place you can find her.

And even then, you best be quick. 

Because, before you know it - she's gone again.

So - as you can see - no need to call the authorities or even Mimi; she's still alive and kicking.

Currently, she is screaming MAMA! from the inside of the shower.  You can see how very quickly I am responding. 

 

Because generosity is my middle name, yo....

... I allowed her to survive our Disney Extraaaavaaaganza.  Though, on several occasions, I considered giving her away to a Lucky Family of my choosing... these occasions were most often paired with MOMMA! WHEN ARE WE GOING TO THE POOL?!?! WHEN!? NOW?!?! WAIT, WHAT ABOUT NOW?!

And then there was the one time I looked up plane fares to Atlanta - when she lost her prepaid Disney DIning Card.

And then there was the other time that I asked if maybe she could sleep at the pool, when, at 11:00 p.m. she was mortified that I told her to get OUT of the pool and dry off.

But really, it was only a few times.  And, in the end, she came home in one piece.  Barely.