Parenting Makeover

We're preparing for a slumber party for Miss L's birthday on Tuesday.  This year she wants a makeover party.  With makeup.  And a flatiron for her hair.  Last year we did a desert scavenger hunt;  how can all these girls have changed so much in 12 months? And it's more than just makeup.  Since she is turning 11, which her mother tells us is the age that all the women of her family got their periods, we stopped at the drugstore and bought supplies to keep on hand.  Just in case.

I used to think 11 was crazy-young for all this stuff, but then I adjusted for the millennium maturity curve.  I think an 11-year old in 2009 is the equivalent of a 14-year-old in 1989.  At least that's how I'm trying to rationalize it to myself.  Right now it's kinda fun, talking about wings vs. no wings.  On the other hand, no one's actually using the pantiliners yet... only hiding them in the bathroom cabinet.  Waaay in the back.  We might all feel differently when it's not a giggling novelty trip to the drugstore, and instead our once-little girls are hollering "We're outta tampons!" down the hall.

Dan remains remarkably calm about the whole thing.  And I'm more excited than traumatized... I guess.  Mostly I'm excited to get back into an age where I enjoy parenting again.  I reveled in my child from age birth through about 6.  There's been a definite decline in my commitment level over the past few years, which my sister and I have dubbed The Age of Yick.  This spans the ages of having to tell them to shower because they actually smell rank, the ages of noticing greasy, nasty-looking hair and having the kids insist they "just" washed it.  Clothes are worn for god knows how many days in a row without washing, teeth are brushed for approximately 3 and a half seconds (only when prompted) and fingernails are constantly dirty, ragged, and too long.  All this, when they are old enough to know better and practice reasonable personal hygiene... but choose not to.  Yick.  

But now I'm heading into an age where I'm less grossed out and getting enthusiastic again.  The kids are being more proactive about their physical appearances, FINally.  They're getting old enough so I can share anecdotes and give advice, instead of dishing out lectures and rules.  Er-- well, in addition to the lectures and rules.  I can totally gossip about boys and give lessons on applying makeup. I'd much rather be meeting new boyfriends than helping collect snakes for the terrarium.  (I know, I know... be careful what you wish for...)  I'm ready.  Bring on the makeover.


The Honeymoon

The Honeymoon:
A Play by Miss G and Miss L

Narrator/Cop:  Miss L
Robber: Miss G
Dan:  Dan
Wife:  Mz M

We now join a newly married couple in their honeymoon sweet, when a robber barges in.

All right gimme the mony and no one will get hurt!
(Start putting the money in a bag.)

Wwwow llets take aa minet to calm down.

Shutup!  Put your hands up were I can see um!

Oh look honey it's a robber!  I'll go get the granades.  OH by the way I did you a big favore and locked the windows and doors from the outside and replaced the glass with rubber.

Oh ok...WHAT?!!!

Would you like to use the phone to call the police before we do?

No thanks I'll just... oof, hey watch where you're-- oh! sorry officer! I was just...

Yes?  Oh, thats right you don't have an excuse do you!
(Cop binds robber with rope)

Your going to jail Bub

(happily ever after)

Reproduced with permission.  All rights reserved.


"Spring" Cleaning

Every spring and every fall, I feel really inspired to clean out closets and drawers, unload and re-prioritize.  But I rarely get around to actually doing any of that in spring or in fall.  Instead, the Great Purge lands right around Christmas time.

I think it's the by-product of holiday exasperation.  I'm looking around the house at the piles of unused stuff lying around, looking at the kids' rooms and the total disregard they have for their belongings, and contemplating purchasing yet more crap that will end up in one of those two categories-- useless or abandoned-- and it makes me just snap.  Everything useless or cluttered or old or unworn or irritating has to go.  Immediately.  Today.

You know that magazine, Real Simple?  Everything in it is so clean and zen, so calming and peaceful.  I love the idea of being that crisp, clean lines with everything in its place. Although I am just not that person, and I don't think I could live somewhere that sterile, there is a world of middle ground in between Real Simple and my disaster area of a house.  I know I could be doing better. 

I can only blame the constant remodeling for a small portion of my disaster.  I categorize the rest of it under mental columns like "poor priorities" or "working too many hours" or sometimes "just screw it."  I dream about the day that I will get everything organized and then just be able to maintain.  That's possible... right?