Some kids come to school in Tea brand clothes, other Gap or J.Crew or my favorite, little Mini Boden. Regardless of the label, the children look groomed and coiffed and put together as only amply fed and much-loved children can. But I’m bucking the trend. To hell with that preppy, adorable look. Today, I’m sending the kids to school in something different.
My daughter is wearing a moth-eaten dress that used to be my mother’s. It’s been around since the dinosaurs and some might say it looks…worn.
My son is wearing his pajamas. The same ones he’s worn since Friday and won’t take off.
In the past I’ve cajoled. I’ve pleaded. I’ve demanded sternly with consequences. And all it results in is tears and chaos. So I’m going with the flow.
Bring on the random clothes, the weird outfits, the strange and the marvelous…I’m down with it. It’s just not worth the fight.
Valentine’s came and went this year with all the usual fanfare. The kids showed great enthusiasm for ye old day o’ love, which was sweet. Sam treated me royally, which was also sweet. And I didn’t get another ticket from Officer Friendly, which was super sweet. Oh…did I not tell you about that?
Earlier last week, my 1.5 year-old caught his sister’s cold. When Master Princeling catches a cold, sailors beware. I drove to school on Monday morning amidst high decibel whining and shouting. And by shouting, I mean the repeated screaming of a single word until I lose my mind. Examples include, “Down!” (he wants the window down), “Aqua!” (he’s dropped his water and wants me to climb back and get it for him while I’m driving), and “Mine” (usually refers to an object that he was holding, but has now lost to his sister). It’s exhausting.
Quickly I pulled up to school in the yellow zone and handed off my daughter to some hapless parent who was walking in at the same time. My darling older child gave me a hug and a kiss and marched in for all the world a woman of her own. Yes, I nodded to myself, that one’s going to be just fine. And then like a whirling dervish, I was off again. The backseat was noisy. Master Princeling wanted home. I drove like the wind. My one coherent thought in the insane chaos was simple: get baby to bed, get baby to bed. And then Officer Friendly joined the circus.
Of course, the flashing lights and strobe party quieted the Princeling right down. Please, Officer Friendly, I begged – a warning will suffice. The Princeling has me losing my mind and I need to get home to take my tonic. Two shots of wart hog makes the medicine go down, Guinness is brown, put that gun on the ground…
Officer Friendly was not swayed by the crazy in my eyes nor my melodious singing voice. I am now the proud owner of my very own traffic citation. Whoo Hoo!
It’s hard out there for a pimp.
It’s been hot here in Los Angeles. Like end of days hot. I can’t remember a winter where January meant 80+ degrees and sunny. Where is the rain, the gray skies, the chilly wind? Stuck in summer’s pocket I guess because that’s what this winter feels like…a hot, long summer.
I’m not the only one who feels a little crazy in this way-too-tropical January. My kids are also starting to go a little loopy. A little off-kilter. A little ow-ow-awooooo at the moon, if you know what I mean.
And speaking of moons, tonight you’ll see one. The smallest little moon of our new 2014. Scientists call it a Minimoon (remember that Supermoon everyone went bananas about a few years ago?), but obviously it just means that the moon is farthest from our planet. Like a skyscraper in the distance, we can pinch it in our little fingers. Come on, I can’t be the only one who remembers this stuff from school?
In the meantime, I’m holding down the fort, barely. These werewolf children are enough to make even one of those Kumbaya moms stop their Kumbaya nonsense.
- Shopped for an hour.
- Negotiated with a terrorist (my 3 yr old) who wanted to purchase everything she saw.
- Stood in line for sliced bread, coffee grinding, pizza cooking, deli slicing, and fresh salmon.
- Waited forever and then some at the meat counter.
- Waited in line at the checkout counter.
- Bagged up all the groceries and…I had forgotten my credit card.
- Begged the girl at the customer service counter to let me rattle off my Mastercard number so she could enter it by hand into the charge machine.
- Waited another 15 minutes for the manger to come out and approve it. He said he was too busy.
- Left my carefully selected bags of groceries at the front door and went home.
Whole Foods…I am not happy. Not happy at all. What happened to your great customer service? My mistake, but yours too.
My 3 year old daughter wants to be a big, scary wolf for Halloween. (her words, not mine) That or a pirate, she can’t decide. But the wolf seems to be winning the race and I found myself late last night Googling “wolf toddler costume.” The findings were not plentiful. Looks like there aren’t a lot of children who want to be wolves. Fairies? Batmen? Firefighters? Ladybugs? Yes, yes, yes, and yes. Wolves? Eh, not so much.
What I did find however, was Pottery Barn Kids and dear me, are those costumes darling!!! Not that I would ever ever ever in a million years spend $100 on something she’ll only wear once…. Okay maybe if I were Beyonce I would, but as plain old me? No way, Jose. And even though they don’t exactly have a wolf (they call theirs a werewolf) costume, I’m still liking it. Except for the fact that we live in Southern California and that much costume is jut too much for a balmy October night. But maybe she could just wear the onesie and the wolf head. Hmmmm…..
So here they are in all their cuteness glory. Folks, I give you my favorites of the 2013 Pottery Barn Kids collection:
This is the wolf “werewolf” costume I found for my little one. And the baby could wear this wolf costume. And Sam could wear this wolf costume, ’cause you know what they say… The wolf family who trick or treats together, hits the streets together. Ow-Ow-Owhooooooo!!!
I just got back from orientation at my daughter’s new preschool where I signed up for…(wait for it)…HOMEROOM MOTHER! I know, I know.
I remember the homeroom mother from when I went to school; a roundish, matronly thing named Barbara who stayed at home and baked fresh cookies and cupcakes for our class. Her daughter, Erin arrived at school every day with perfectly curled hair and an ironed uniform. I on the other hand, didn’t even brush my hair and often could be seen wearing one blue and one black sock. I marveled at these people who had so much time.
And now here we are. Me, classroom mother. Except the parents are so cool. Hip, fit, funny, friendly, young, fashionable – these are not the parents I knew and scoffed at when I was at school.
I have to say, I am very excited about going back to preschool.
On Project Runway last week, the contestants went Glamping. For those not in the know, Glamping = Gamour + Camping. Glam-ping. Get it? And glamour camping it was; big white tents a’la Out of Africa, oriental carpets on the floor, silver platter meals, and beds that were real beds instead of god-awful sleeping bags on the ground.
Four or five years ago Sam took me camping. Up north somewhere. With roads that seemed to have been carved into the mountains and forgotten about. Long, twisty roads made of packed dirt and potholes the size of our Prius. Just me, Sam, and our 2 dogs in nature…except not so much.
It happened to be deer hunting season.
Just me, Sam, the dogs, and 7,000 armed men in nature.
We packed up camp the next morning. It was Sam’s idea. I said nothing.
And here we are again, facing the idea of camping. But this time it will be in our backyard. Just me, Sam, 1 dog, and two babies in nature.
Just me, Sam, 1 dog, and two babies in nature.
Blah blah blah – two babies in nature.
I can already tell this is going to be deer season camping all over again.