Trixie sent this message to me the other day:
Yes, you are reading this correctly:
- M&Ms can be customized.
- She wants to get me this for Christmas.
- All I need to do is pay for it.
Trixie sent this message to me the other day:
Yes, you are reading this correctly:
**** This is one of my favorite blog memories. It still cracks me up to the extent that I wanted to share it again. For what it’s worth, Trixie is now 10 and occasionally wakes up of her own volition. ****
I was dead serious when I posted last week that getting the children up-and-at-’em is akin to poking two bears.
Trixie (5) has taken to wearing sunglasses in the A.M, which overall channels a strong 1990s Courtney Love vibe.
Here she is enjoying a nutritious breakfast of Fruity Pebbles, which was immediately preceded by her barking, “Where are my Fruity Pebbles? I ordered Fruity Pebbles! And why isn’t anyone pouring the milk?”
Note that the picture quality is poor since I had to surreptitiously take them to avoid her wrath. Frankly, I’m scared of her.
Spouse has also worked out a whole backstory to her behavior that I find hilarious (and a helpful coping mechanism), namely that she’s an indulged, out-of-control socialite/actress/musician.
He’ll pretend to be Trixie (out of earshot, of course), and routinely provides bon mots like:
- The sun! It burns!
- I don’t get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day. And I don’t see any bags of cash in your hands.
- Get the G6 gassed up and ready to go! I’ll be at Teterboro in 20.
- See you in Ibiza.
- Where the hell is my agent Murray? He was supposed to be here 10 minutes ago! Murray! Get me Murray!
I’ll cut to the chase: the end of Mother’s Day found me in my too familiar spot, alone in a hotel room, preparing for a painfully early (6:15 AM) meeting that is a must attend situation.
I knew I had to go, but I procrastinated as much as possible to spend more time at home before packing up and hitting the road about 5 PM. An 11 mile stretch of road construction also padded my drive by an extra thirty minutes, which soured the experience even more.
The day leading up to that moment wasn’t too bad, though, despite MGM (9) waking me up at 5:45 AM to try and find a lost iPad.
With the crisis averted, I was able to successfully doze until about 8 AM.
Spouse made breakfast tacos while Trixie (8) and I read outside, coffee in hand (me).
Unfortunately, I tweaked a muscle in my left leg on Friday at Orangetheory Fitness, and running – normally a thing I love to do on Mother’s Day (see below) – was out of the question. After breakfast, the whole family went for a walk.
It was a beautiful day but both kids vociferously complained about being outside. The dog quit after about 10 minutes and had to be carried most of the way home.
For the past three years, I’ve spent Mother’s Day running my favorite race, the RunDisney Tinkerbell Half Marathon, which is held in and around Disneyland. I’ve typically gone out to California on a Thursday, checked into my hotel and gone to the race expo, then spent Friday by myself at Disneyland, completing a 10K race Saturday and the half on Sunday, then flying home – renewed and refreshed, plus with new bling – Sunday evening.
With all of the changes this year, being gone even more from the family seemed rude, and frankly, I couldn’t justify the expense of a solo trip to Cali when we are sitting with an unsold house (nearly 50 days on the market and no bites, huge sigh), moving expenses, etc.
Back at the Ranch: Trixie and I read outside some more, I took a nap on the sofa (!!!), we went for another walk, made gluten free chocolate chip cookies, and then I really had to go.
The kids made crafts at school for me, but Spouse also gifted me with this mantra band:
Nevertheless, she persisted.
While an obvious nod to current-ish events and Elizabeth Warren, I think this is also appropriate given everything we’ve got going on in our lives right now.
Happy Belated Mother’s Day to those who mother – in the broad verb sense of the word – in every possible way.
My daughter’s seven now, too old to be that tiny pirate, but she’s also still too young (I hope, oh god, I hope) to have internalized society’s messages about how she *should* look/act/feel/be.
There are so many things I wish for her: authenticity, strength, resiliency, kindness, bravery, intelligence and unwavering friendships.
And of course I still want her to be a kick-ass pirate.
This weekend also made me think of This Girl:
This Girl still struggles with all of the things on that list above, although she’s figuring it out with a little help from her friends.
What I just wish for my daughter is that she could find a like-minded tribe at seven, not at 41, because I think the key to survival is knowing that while You’ve Got This, your tribe Has Your Back in case you fall.
And that’s a message we can’t ever hear enough.
For now, Trixie just learned to ride her bike and I’m there – literally – in case she falls, but 99% of the time she doesn’t need me. It’s the other 1% that matters the most, though, so I’ll do my best to pick her up when she falls and find others to join her on the ride.
A couple of weeks ago, Trixie started asking us to play a game called “This Disney Character.”
The game is simple: one person gives clues to the identity of a Disney character and the others guess. The person who gets it right does the clues for the next round.
Sample: This Disney Character is a snowman who loves summer.
Please don’t make me answer that one for you.
However, last week the game took a dark turn.
She’s more like a mid-90s Courtney Love forced to meet a parole officer in the A.M.
Last week the two of us were alone in the kitchen and the usual morning scramble to get out the door was in full swing.
I can’t even recall the precipitating incident, but all of sudden she snarled, “This Disney character is chubby, sweaty, stinky and is standing next to the sink!”
Ok, I *was* next to the sink, but really, the rest of that is not true.
(Is it? Sniff. My self esteem is destroyed by a six year old).
Once I recovered I was able to come back with one for her:
This Disney character is about to lose iPad privileges for the rest of her life.
It only took one guess.
Both of my kids have taken to wearing makeup lately, but the reasons seem to be different.
MGM (now 8) reported that he saw a character use makeup “to disguise himself as a phantom on Scooby Doo,” and now he wants to trick our babysitter.
Spoiler alert: I think she’ll still know it’s you, MGM.
Trixie (6) just loves to borrow anything that’s mine, which is why my lipsticks are all mysteriously smushed into their caps and a David Yurman bracelet went AWOL for over a year.
In general, I’m fine with all of this as long as it doesn’t negatively impact me.
But I was distressed to discover a brand new makeup brush that had been thoroughly destroyed by one dual kid session:
The bristles used to be completely white, people.
I underestimated the saturation of the residual blush and when I went to put my own makeup on, I ended up looking something like this:
I lamented the outcome to our babysitter and she was sweet enough to surprise my by cleaning the brush back to snowy perfection with some mild soap and warm water. Merci!
P.S. Made me laugh:
MGM turned 8 last Friday.
[Cue Harry Chapin. Oh, the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon! Weep].
Another post, but we’ve been working with him lately on his behavior, which, at times, is not stellar.
To be fair, neither is mine.
We decided that on the occasion of his eighth birthday, we would not program a formulaic party, but rather would let him say what he wanted to do, and we’d do that.
He was thrilled.
We asked him what he wanted to do on his birthday, fearing the worst. Trip to Disney World? Personal introduction to Han Solo? A Pokemon as a pet?
It was simple.
Now this list, I’ve got.
The four of us went bowling.
Spouse used his preferred moniker:
We played laser tag, Boys versus Girls.
We ordered pizza.
We opened presents.
He declared it the best birthday ever.
I’m so glad I let him choose his destiny on this one.
I only get a fraction of things right as a parent, but this was one of them.
P.S. The next morning, we kept the party going by letting him choose two donuts from the local convenience store for breakfast. His mind exploded. This was also a great reminder to me about how simple pleasures matter.