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.
On Sunday my dear, beloved husband convinced me to pack up the kids and head out to the annual Topanga Canyon Banjo and Fiddle Contest & Folk Festival. In theory, a fabulous idea…if we hadn’t driven 3 hours the day before out to Simi Valley or didn’t have 2 children under the age of 3. But we did and we do.
The park location itself was a lovely surprise. The old Paramount Ranch is where they used to shoot western movies back in the day and from the Saucy Saloon to the Dirty Bug Motel, it was perfect even if you don’t like westerns. Dusty, dirty, and full of music – the kids and I followed Sam around the old town from one jam session to the next. Musicians were aplenty and everywhere we went we saw bassists, mandolinists, guitarists, fiddlists, banjoists, harmonicaists (I’m definitely making up words by this point), violinists, what have you. Between the music, the ranch, and the fashion – it was very stimulating.
And then we got back in the car.
Dear heavens – what were we thinking? Crying. Kicking. Yelling. Screaming. And that was just Sam. But the kids…yeesh. I needed a tranq gun and martini. By the time we got home for dinner, bath, and bed I was ready to jump out of the car and take my chances. Luckily, that was the exact moment we pulled in the driveway so I didn’t have far to fall.
Here’s what I learned: no more road trips unless we pack an iPad. Mommy just can’t take it.
Thank goodness for Netflix. About a week ago, stuck awake and wondering why my aching eyes wouldn’t just close themselves and be done with it, I stumbled upon a new show – The Inbetweeners. A British sitcom from 2008 to 2010, The Inbetweeners focuses on the life of 4 teenage boys who are utterly
retarded obsessed with sex uncool. As a woman, I might not be supposed to enjoy something as rude as The Inbetweeners, but as I’ve said before…although I might look like a 34-year-old mum on the outside, on the inside I’m pure 13-year-old boy. The Inbetweeners is like Superbad except it’s only 30 minutes per episode and the boys are English not American. Otherwise though, the idiocy is the same.
The show is centered around Will, a nerdy private school boy whose parents divorce and due to lack of funds, is thus forced to go to a crappy public school. Briefcase boy, I mean Will, befriends cute, but awkwardly timid Simon and his two chums, dumb-as-a-rug Neil and liar-liar-pants-on-fire Jay. The hilarity ensues as the 4 chums land in one hot pickle after another as they try to lose their virginity and navigate high school (in that order). You can see full episodes on YouTube if you don’t have Netflix.
In addition to terribly ridiculous high school drama, the show also lends itself to British teenage slang like, fit and bent and poof.
Fit (sexy): “She’s so fit I want to touch her boobs.” Bent (gay): “Your dad’s bent, Neil.” And Poof (short for poofter, also meaning gay): “Are you a poof then?”
Due to its success, the powers-that-be even made a movie about the 4 once school has let out. As you can see, it’s utter cretinism and therefore wonderful for nights you can’t sleep. The Inbetweeners, just what your average 13-year-old boy/34-year-old mum needs.