My Morning as a Stage Mom

Today was picture day at school. When I received the email and the flier to prep us, there was a silent prayer along with it that said, "In this, the several days you have, please teach your child how to sit and smile at the camera without bugging out their eyes, sticking out their tongue or screaming to see what they look like a second after the picture is taken."

Last night, I had Baby Boy choose from his three (very wrinkled) dress shirts. He picked a nice red one. Done.

This morning, he yanked at the shirt hollering that it was too tight (none of the buttons were done yet), flipped out when I couldn't find the belt "that my friend gave me," (???), and rolled on the disgusting dog bed. Then he put on Crocs (one cantaloupe one navy) and threw his toothbrush in the plant.

It was 7:20.

Pictures were at 8:30 sharp.

We live an hour away.

When we got to school, the preschoolers lined up on a bench (like herding cats) and the photographer sweetly began her art. I quickly licked my fingers and tried to flatten BB's hair and pushed him into the crowd.

Distracted by cars, bugs, the person licking their back, air and a forgotten Cheerio the kids looked everywhere but at the camera.

I, the only parent that actually stayed in hope they would tuck my disheveled son behind the biggest kids to hide his now ripped and extra wrinkled (but on!) shirt, tried to get the kids to focus.

Or at least my kid.

"Look at me! Buddy, whoo hoo, over here! Nope, here. Wait, take your hands out of your mouth. What? No, we aren't done! Get back over there and SMILE!...ooo there a bird on my head!" and so forth.

The photographer had the idea to have all the kids close their eyes and when she said "THREE" they would pop them open right at her. Most kids pushed their palms into the eyes and others scrunched them so tightly that when they opened them they were bloodshot, teary, had deep wrinkle lines or were blind.

"What are all these blue spots?!!"

I understand now why they make you pay for the packages upfront. I can't wait for my Super Delux Package of a bunch of little kids who looked super stoned.

She Wears it Well...for a Boy

Baby Boy and I are both lacking in cute shirts. Since upping his wardrobe is much easier (and less expensive) to do from the couch at 11pm, I found myself shopping last week. Half-asleep, I found him a few cute things, like a bright green shirt with a huge insect across the front that is screaming, "Beetle Mania!" It really isn't his color and it is a size too big, but for $3.99, it is good enough.

I washed the shirts when they came and forgot about them until it was time to pack up for a trip to the fair. Beetle Mania got dirty very quickly, so I grabbed "Elvis Had Left the Building."

It wasn't how skin tight it looked. It wasn't the pretty robin's egg blue. It wasn't the cap sleeves. It wasn't the look of horror on my husband's face.

It was a cross between the gold accents and how BB squealed with glee, "I sparkle like a STAR!" as he twirled around that lead me to believe it was a girl's shirt.

Thankfully, the dress code at the fair does include people sporting clothes that are way too small, so he was all in style.

The Petition

It's getting dark at about 5:30 pm these days. This throws off the circadian rhythms in our house. 8 pm? 2 am? There is no difference.

DH and I were half asleep on the couch tonight when the doorbell rang.

We stared at each other with a half-panicked look that can only mean, "Who did you forget to tell me you invited over?"

I threw the blanket over my head, defaulting him to answer the impatient visitor.

DINGDINGDINGDINGDINGKNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCK

There better be a fire somewhere, I thought.

Rather, it was the 7-year old from across the street.

"Why, you are certainly up late for a school night," DH said into the pitch black night.

"Uh, it's only 7:15." the boy said. He went on to explain that he was gathering signatures to get the "No ATV's" rule scrapped from the association guide.

I imagine this rule exists for a reason, like to keep 7-year old boys with extended bedtimes from cruising by our house on their ATV's looking for trouble.

DH quickly signed his clipboard so he could get back to his midnight snack and go to bed.

I would have yelled at him not to sign, but I have a feeling this kid will come in handy when I want to build a tennis court or raise chickens in my yard.

Scrappin' and Stampin' at the Post Office

DH wanted me to mail a "certified letter." For $19.00 I would have driven it there myself...at these rates I cannot comprehend why the UPS is having financial troubles.

(Ironic side note: my friend Jess just texted to make sure we got her son's birthday invite. Seems over 50% got lost in the mail.)

Baby Boy was beside himself that he got to accompany me on this trip, figuring like the bank, dry cleaner and hardware store, there would be lollipops involved. The Mail Gal started the hard sell as to wether we required stamps but I refuse to spend more than $20 on something that I can't eat or wear. Then she went evil on me and pulled out a sheet, winked at BB and said, "I know which ones you will like."

They were a whole Pixar themed set of Cars, UP and Toy Story (and two others I have not idea of).

Seriously? His screams of joy were such I made a mental note for a future stocking stuffer.

Before I got arrested for disturbing the peace, I got the darn stamps.

Want to know where $8.80 worth of stamps are? Stuck all over his pants and the fridge.

I am ready to put him in the mailbox.

Speaking of Boys...

We went to a wonderful music festival yesterday. There were about 100 kids there having a ball--they were all playing together, running, yelping with glee...except for Baby Boy who was quite content eating apples. Or should I say, rummaging through the bins donated from local farmers, taking one bite from each and putting it back in a weird variation of "Slobbering for Apples."

As I dragged him away carrying enough half-eaten specimens to make 45 pies, I commented on a group of little girls who were all playing very well together even though they had just met five seconds ago.

I said as much to the moms as BB bolted away from the girls and back to the apple bins.

"Maybe it is a boy thing," I explained as to why my kid was acting like theirs had fleas. "But he can be around a ton of kids and he is just happy to sit there and play with himself. He just rolls around on the rug, flopping around. He can spend hours just playing with himself."

It wasn't until a while later I could translate the uncomfortable looks from all the moms-of-daughters.

Note to self: Next time, say "Play BY himself..."

Becoming Unstuck on Stickies

What does it mean that although I have a Smart Phone and an iPad, my house is covered in yellow sticky notes?

I have never gotten into the habit of putting everything into a gadget, because I a) never look at the calendar or b) usually forget to "save" my entry or c) leave them uncharged in a heap on the counter.

My phone died a few weeks ago and, since I never back anything up, I lost everything anyhow. (I had JUST beat the whole first level of Angry Birds, so that was a huge bummer to have to start over.)

I really like the idea of having everything nicely packaged in one tight place, but I think Sticky Notes are my fail-proof plan. Although, Darling Husband recently pointed out that both his 73-year old mother as well as Baby Boy slather post-its on every welcoming surface.

That definitely explains why I went to the store for and "E" made with 17 lines and a prescription for vertigo.

Green Thumb on Vacation

We took a lovely Labor Day vacation. Thanks to some well-timed flirting with the desk gal during check-in, Darling Husband got us upgraded to the Penthouse.

As I was trying to relax in the room, all I could see were the wilting plants that filled every corner of the massive space.

After two days of watering them, with no more perkiness on their side, I decided it was SUN that they needed to thrive. So I dragged all of the plants out on the deck.

The maids moved them all back. This plant dance went on for sometime. I finally caught the poor lady who was pulling them back to their proper spot.

"I just thought the plants would be healthier if they got a dose of sun," I explained as she mopped up the water spilling from the pots.

"But baby," she said in her Jamaican accent, "these plants are silk."

Guess my Green Thumb was on vacation as well...

Man vs Wild

I just overhead Darling Husband tell Baby Boy that "seals are fish."

This makes me second guess every "nature walk" they have ever taken together.

Eddie Says What?

We were at a dinner party last night. The topic of conversation for 99% of the night was, "When are you going to have another baby?"

My answers started innocently,"Whenever I can find a drug strong enough for Darling Husband, hahaha."

After a few glass of wine, "Geeeeeeerl, I am on my back with my legs in the air waiting for the stork to notice! guffawsnorthonk."

Certainly, DH was nowhere near these conversations as talking about more kids is as appealing to him as watching the debt counter tick up.

Toward the end of the night, a good friend of DH's, as well as a father to two gorgeous girls, was saying how much we neeeeeed to have a daughter.

"Well, you tell him then," I said. "I swore I wouldn't bring it up again until November."

I watched Ed talk seriously to DH, as DH (surprisingly) nodded to whatever his friend said.

Later I approached Ed and he gave me a big high-five. "He'sssssss in!!"

"Wow, I cannot believe that. What did you say?"

"Just that now is the best time to be looking for retirement homes and the Bahamas is the place so he is totally in to buying a house there! High five!"

I am not sure how "another baby" turned into a "beach house" but I feel I may be onto some leveraging points.