You Eat What You Type or The Obligatory First Day of School Blog

Last night I started to type out this blog about how I was so excited about the boys starting school today.

I waxed all poetic-like about how I was being so selfless for not being depressed. I went on and on about how I was doing such an amazing favor to my children by making this whole experience all about them, instead of all about me.

Gee, what a good mother I am, I raved, teaching my kids how to focus on the present and not get caught up in the past or be intimidated by what the future holds. I gushed about how my kids were going to excel from here on out thanks to my fantastic attitude this morning on this very first day of school.

And then I went to bed. Shut my laptop, climbed the stairs and fell right to sleep.

Did I pack their backpacks full of all the brand new school supplies they needed for today? No.

Did I reread the drop-off instructions so I wouldn't have to search for them the next morning? Nah.

Did I bake the muffins and make the orange juice they requested for their first day breakfast? Nope.

Did I at least go to bed early, so waking up @ 5:45 AM to do all the above things wouldn't be so difficult? Of course not! After all it was midnight and dangit, I was tired!

Wow, I am good. Definitely, completely, selfless. So not 'all about me'.

I was so proud of me of my kids that I didn't even cry. Well, at least not until I got home and realized I was all out of laundry detergent.


We still love our mommy, regardless of how much she loves herself...

Wardrobe Woes

Tuesday I took the boys to be screened for Kindergarten Readiness [school speak for super-preK].
They were lucky enough to be screened by the teacher they'll start school with next week in the classroom they'll be in all year long.

They went in shy and a little apprehensive, and came out talkative and completely excited, visibly jazzed about the prospects of higher education.

As I signed the last few official pieces of paperwork, their teacher began to quiz me on how to tell them apart from each other. I gave her the usual rundown, "Hayden's face is long, Cash's is round, Hayden has a cowlick, Cash has a birthmark" while assuring her that before long she'll have no problem telling them apart, unless, of course, she's standing behind them.

She laughed, and then went on to express her gratitude that I did not dress them alike.

And then it hit me, all at once, like an overstuffed backpack landing on my head as I creaked open the imaginary locker door of my doomed reality.

My kids are about to start school 5 days a week, 6 hours a day.

Its going to be emotional. Our lives our going to change. And yes, I'm going to miss them. Of course I'm going to miss them. I'll miss them just like I'd miss my arms if they left me all day long to become smarter then they ever would staying at home attached to my shoulders.

But, OMG. What I'm really freaking out about?

I'm going to have to dress them.

Differently.

Every day of the week.

I'm going to actually have to use my brain when I walk into the closet.

I'm going to have treat my kids like the actual individuals they are, and dress them as if they were separate entities, instead of some adorable little freak show.

I'm going to have to like, plan ahead or something.

All this on top of getting them up unfortunately early AND making sure they're fed. And let's not even get started on that whole "Be on time, when on time is 7:30 AAAAAAAMMMMMMM" thing.

Woe. Is. Me.

Where's a uniform when I need one?

The Tooth Is A Metaphor

Over vacation a few weeks ago, my son Hayden lost his tooth.




One morning he simply announced "My tooth is loose!" and by lunch time, that little sucker was out of his mouth and stuck in the side of a burger.

He was ecstatic.
His brother was terrified: 'I'm never going to eat again'.
And me, I was depressed.

A tooth gone already?

Why this? Why now? WHY ME?

With our first taste of full-time school just around the corner for both my babies the last thing I needed was another reminder of how fast they were growing up. Let alone a reminder that was going to stare me in the face every dang day for the next few weeks or even months, as if to say " Today, Pre-k, Tomorrow, PRE-MED!" [or pre-backpacking across Europe, whatever you want, my children, just remember whose womb from whence you came...]

Not only was I in shock, but I was horrifically unprepared for such a milestone. In a matter of moments I went from agonizing over which arm to put sunscreen on first to OMG? The tooth fairy? Do we do the tooth fairy? Do boys even like fairies or does it need to be a giant tooth truck? How much money is this going to cost me? Do I even have any cash? Am I going to have to leave an IOU?

I'll admit, I still thought I had a least a good year before we got into the tooth business. But no. Of course, not. How silly of me to assume so. I mean, I should really know better, because it was just like that time I thought I was just going to have one baby.....and then found out there was two.

Later that night, we wrote the tooth fairy a note and slipped Hayden's tooth under the pillow. As the three of us [Hayden, Cash & I] giggled over my totally awesome tooth caricatures, I slowly started to get to get over it.

After all, it was high time I learned to revel in the fact that we'd all made it to such a milestone in one piece [if you're not counting the tooth] instead of whining about getting left in the dust by my own children. Why not throw on a party hat, pour a sippy cup on the sidewalk, and celebrate how far we've come! I'm so ready to quit wasting time mourning me.

Even though it was kind of sad the tooth fairy had to borrow a dollar from her mother-in-law.

This Blog Was Supposed To Be About Lollapalooza

Growing up, I ALWAYS wanted to be with the band. I think it started somewhere around oh, I don't know, here?

I loved music [yes, I know, Poison doesn't really count as music, but that's a whole other blog, ok? Leave me alone. But, please. Keep reading], l lived music, and I wanted to be music. I wasn't very musically inclined as far as actually playing something or singing [even though I TOTALLY am now ], so like any, um, respectable young woman, I simply switched aspirations from band member to band groupie. Yes. How intelligent of me.

I soon discovered, however, that fulfilling such a dream 'job' required a lot of primping, not a lot of clothing, and a lot of backstage passes. And frankly, I was just a little too lazy to accomplish such a feat. It was the early 90's after all, when my most awesome outfit was an over sized t-shirt with a eco-conscious drawing of a fish tied to a baby chick, a pair of unflattering baggy jeans and some purple Chucks. Always worn with pigtails and gloriously unplucked eyebrows too. Add to that the fact that my mom usually refused to drive me to most of the concerts I wanted to go to and things start to look pretty pathetic.

Fast forward with me if you please to me meeting my husband. Fast forward even further to my husband starting his own record label and management company . Fast forward just one more time to me finally coming to the conclusion its a just whole lot easier to marry someone in the music business then to even begin to attempt trying my hand at throwing myself at musicians. After all, I still get just as many backstage passes AND I get to keep my clothes on. Well, sort-of, um. nevermind.

So yeah, where the hell was I going with this story? Oh yes. That's right. This past weekend.

We spent this past weekend in Chicago with these guys at this festival. A grand time was had by all and many great bands were seen.

But my entire life [and the point of the first three paragraphs} came full circle in one shining moment, when, as I was totally engrossed in my green beans, mashed potatoes and virtually unchewable piece of meat, SLASH walked right by. To say I nearly choked is an understatement. I sprinted, actually [which has nothing to do with choking, but whatever] almost knocking over my husband, and the two hot coffees he was carrying. He says I then yelled something incomprehensible that went something like "OMGZOMGOMFGsquealscreechsquealSLASH!!!!!"; after which I completely froze in excitement as I watched he and his family climb into their car. Yes, thats right, there he goes and there he went, and I didn't even touch him. Or even tell him to pass on to Duff that I said hi.

*Sigh* I'm ok with that, though. Merely breathing the same air, or eating the same catered food, or sharing the same names of our children is good enough for me.

So yeah, that's where I was going with this story. Slash. SLASH.

My grandkids will be hearing about this one. But I'm sure by then the story we have evolved into the two of us having tea together. Because that totally would have happened...

Today Was a Good Hair Day

My children got a haircut today.

And for the first time, I didn't freak.

I didn't pass out.

I didn't hyperventilate.

I didn't throw a tantrum.

I didn't even place a voodoo curse over the stylist after I returned home.

Instead, I tipped her.




Can you imagine? Me?

The same mom who used to shed a tear with every strand of hair that fell to the floor? The same mom who would spend weeks researching haircuts, salons and stylists? The same mom who still cringes, just a little, whenever she hears the familiar click and whirr of the razor?

Yes, its true. It's really me. Be proud, dear reader[s]. I've turned a really big corner.

Or maybe rolled a really big roller? No. That's not even funny....