The girls and I have been on Christmas Break for 6 days now, and of those 6 days, 4 of them have included dental appointments (1 for them and 3 for me.) We probably could have worked in 2 more if dentists were open on SATURDAYS & SUNDAYS!!! Not exactly how I'd envisioned my vacation, but whatev. (That's right. I just typed 'whatev', because that was hip and cool like 2 years ago. So go ahead and be jealous, yo.)
Alright, being December 19th, I figured I should maybe think about Christmas shopping. Not actual shopping, just the thinking part.
Bad idea, because hello??? Five more days. FIVE MORE DAYS. THAT IS ALL, and I have like 2 gifts.
It's not like I don't know what to buy. My daughters have been adding to their (you wish!) lists for the last few weeks, so I know what to get ... after I win the lottery, that is.
Seriously though, neither of the girls have any big ticket items they're wanting this year (praise GOD), but Meg has been quite vocal about one thing in particular, which she said she saw advertised at Walmart. So while I knew it was a risk to enter a Walmart this close to Christmas, I did it anyway this afternoon. I guess I'm just that dedicated desperate.
Oh Walmart. Today was a very bad-smelling day for your patrons. What was weird, was how that same smell kept slapping me in the face in different parts of the store. Definitely body odor of some kind. Not the armpit variety, but rather the, "I don't bathe regularly, but when I do, it certainly isn't thoroughly" kind. So sad, and nasty. Their scent probably saved me a ton of money though, because it kept me out of several aisles I thought I wanted to explore. THAT SAID, can we all give some kudos to Walmart for maintaining a store where all walks of life feel welcome?! Fantastic. For real.
ANYWAY ...
I couldn't find the thing Meg wanted, so I interrupted the conversation of two employees to ask if they even sold the item. The gal immediately stopped talking to her co-worker (without showing any irritation towards me) and said, "Yes we do. Right this way."
Rather than point me in the general direction, she lead me halfway across the store to where the item is usually on display. When she didn't find it, she said, "It looks like we're sold out. Is this a 'must have' item? If so, I can call another store to see if they have one." I told her that calling another store would be awesome. She said, "Sure, one moment." Then she whipped out her cell phone, dialed a number and got the 411 on Meg's dealy-bob. Before hanging up I heard her say, "Okay, great. Yeah. I'm leaving now. Okay, love you. Bye." She then looked at me and said smiling, "It helps to have your husband working at another store. He said they have one more in stock that he'll hold for you at customer service."
OH. MY. WORD. What kind of crazy good customer service is THAT?! I totally thought I was gonna cry, but held it together and said, "I gotta hug you." She laughed and said, "No, no, I smell like cigarettes." To which I said, "I don't care, we're hugging." So we hugged, wished each other a Merry Christmas, and went our separate ways.
I seriously felt like skipping, and Lord knows if there's ANY store where that would be acceptable, it's Walmart.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
Quite some time ago, the girls and I were playing a form of Pictionary on one of their handheld devices.
Amanda gave me a phrase to illustrate for Megan that I'd never heard before:
If it can't be cured, it must be endured.
Okay. Is this a common saying? And if so, why haven't I heard it before? Probably because it's lame. I mean, it's one of those sayings that goes WITHOUT SAYING. Am I right, or am I right? Whatever the case, I knew that if I'D never heard it, Meg CERTAINLY wouldn't have heard it.
Figuring it was a lost cause, I decided to draw a pill container with a big 'Rx' on it, and then cross it out, followed by an arrow.
Brilliant, I know.
Here's the work of art:
I'll admit that I had my doubts as to whether or not Meg would guess such an obscure saying, EVEN WITH my AMAZING art skills.
What I didn't anticipate, was an IMMEDIATE guess that seemed to be COMPLETELY out of left field.
Meg took one look at the drawing above and exclaimed,
"NO DANCING IN THE PARK!!!!"
Say what???
Yeah. I don't know what I find funnier, the fact that she guessed that from my sketch {All you dancer-types go thata way}, or that somewhere in her brain she's decided that dancing in a public park is illegal.
I love it, actually. It's so ... Megan.
In fact, I've decided that I may just have to yell it randomly
from time to time ...
"Mom, what's for dinner?"
"NO DANCING IN THE PARK!!!"
"Mom, can I have a sleepover tonight?"
"NO DANCING IN THE PARK!!!"
"Mom, are you okay?"
"NO DANCING IN THE PARK!!!"
Oh yes. Definitely yes.
I'm a pessimist, which may go without saying, but there it is anyway.
I often run the worst case scenario in my head, because that way I won't be caught off guard. And more importantly, I won't waste precious time being happy and worry-free!!
Seriously though, I often jump to the wrong, and often inappropriate, conclusion when it comes to my girls comments or questions.
Today was a perfect example of just that.
A sandwich was delivered to our office after school. The delivery guy came to my desk for a signature, and as he was walking out, Megan ran over to me with a look of COMPLETE SHOCK. Of course, I interpreted it as a look of complete HORROR.
Meg: Mom! That guy had A DUCK through THE DOORWAY!!
My mind immediately jumped to the phrase, "Your barn door is open." Why, you ask? Probably BECAUSE I'M ODD!!! I mean, who can explain such a mental catapult?!
So because my mind jumped to the barn door (aka: Your fly is down.) I thought Meg had seen something of the delivery guy that she shouldn't have seen! So I asked for clarification, with fingers crossed.
Me: He had a WHAT?
And that's when she snapped me back into the reality of a 10 year old girl ...
Meg: He had TO DUCK through the DOORWAY, because he was SO TALL.
Me: Oh, right. That.
SERIOUSLY!! What is WRONG WITH ME?! As if "He's got a duck through the doorway" is reeeeally gonna be a new catch phrase for some indecent exposure from a regular run-of-the-mill sandwich delivery guy.
I so need therapy.
Meg, like most women, does not like shopping for jeans. This can be a problem when all of your jeans from the year before are too tight. Thankfully, her aunt and uncle took her clothes shopping last July for her birthday - right before school started. Somehow they were able to get her to try on clothes at Justice, and walk out with several items INCLUDING one pair of jeans. Woo hoo!
Call me crazy, but as a mom I had some lofty idea of her starting school with more than one pair of jeans, so I took her shopping at another store. After much frustration, she found a pair she said she liked. That's all I needed to hear. Purchase made. Mom happy.
Fast forward 8-10 weeks, and I can't get her to wear ANY other jeans, except the birthday pair from Justice. I asked her why she doesn't wear the other pair I bought for her, and she said, "They're not as comfortable as these." UGH. And since I only do laundry on the weekends, they're pretty much walking around by themselves come Friday.
Last weekend, out of desperation, I made her go with me to Justice to buy a few more pairs of these magical jeans, because you KNOW the current pair is going to fall apart during some stretch exercise in PE, and THEN what?! She'll have no choice but to go to school half naked, and I know for a fact THAT is not in dress code.
We went to the rack, found the EXACT same style and size that she currently sports 24/7, and THEY DIDN'T FIT. Are you EVEN KIDDING ME?! That's right, they were too tight. So we went UP a size, and they were too big. SERIOUSLY?! Where's the JUSTICE in THAT, I ask you?!
Sadly, we left without new jeans. The problem now, because I think she's actually starting to outgrow them, is that they're too tight after coming out of the dryer.
This morning ...
Me: Have your jeans stretched out a little after wearing them yesterday?
She replied in a tone that demanded the snapping of a "Z" afterwards, and made me wonder if she was somehow part African-American ...
Meg: Yeah. Yesterday they were squeezing things that SHOULD NOT be SQUEEZED.
And all I could think (after throwing my head back laughing) was, "Girl, I hear THAT."
It's not easy raising girls, and I will most likely pull the majority of my hair out in the process, but at least there will be times like this morning when we can just laugh about how absurd womanhood can be.
I will start by stating this: My weight fluctuates. Hopefully I have some empathizers out there in blogger land.
Women: You know how you can judge your weight by your jeans? Like that pair fits if I weigh ____, and that pair fits if I weigh _____, and THAT pair will probably NEVER fit again, but just in case I ever get lucky and ingest a tapeworm, I better keep em!
Well, I tried on a pair of those jeans just now, and took a look in the mirror. They looked fine from the front, but the back looked ... odd. The denim in the very middle of my backside was darker than the rest. At first I thought it was a shadow, but another mirror told the same story. "How did this happen?" I wondered. "Do clothes fade in the closet? And if they DO, do they fade in a 3 inch vertical line like that?!" I couldn't figure it out. All I knew was that it made me look like I had either sweat profusely in between my cheeks, or worse ... had expelled some kind of bodily fluid from my lower region.
Of course, I still couldn't bring myself to discard them, so I figured I'd get a second opinion from one of my GIRLS. Yes, God knew what he was doing when he gave us girls. Even though their drama puts me right on the doorstep of INSANE 'R' US many a time, I really am thankful that Henry is the only male in our house. (Sorry Henry.)
I walked into Meg's room. She was looking at her iPad ...
Me: You're not facetiming anyone right now, are you?
I have learned to ask this FIRST, before proceeding with a possibly embarrassing or misunderstood conversation.
Meg: No, why?
Me: I need you to do something for me.
Meg: What?
Me: Look at my rear end, and tell me if my jeans look darker in the middle of my butt.
Meg: Okaaaay.
She looks. Bless her heart.
Meg: Yeah, it is.
Me: Does it look okay, or like I peed my pants?
Meg: It looks weird. Yeah, like you peed.
ME apparently STILL not wanting to let go: Soooo I shouldn't wear them then?
Meg: NO!!!
Me: Okay, okay. Thanks ... and ... sorry, I know that was awkward.
Meg: It was.
So yeah, thankful I have girls. Brutally honest girls perhaps, but girls nonetheless.
Now here's the kicker: I didn't throw out the jeans. I KNOW!!! I actually hung them BACK UP IN THE CLOSET!!!
Oh my WORD. WHAT is WRONG WITH ME?!?!?!?!?
I need some serious help.
OR ... someone's Bedazzler, so I can cover up the dark stripe with RHINESTONES!!! Come on!! Who's with me?!
How can a child who makes you laugh so hard one minute, turn you into a raving lunatic the next? I'm beginning to think it's a gift. Just not for me.
Megan is being stretched this year to read one book every month. Approximately 10 pages per day during the school week is what's expected. Each month there's a different genre to read, and this month is Mystery, so naturally I suggested a Nancy Drew book.
Um ... mistake? Let me go ahead and solve that mystery for you: YES. HUGE.
When is the last time YOU read a Nancy Drew book? They're worded so ... so ... old fashioned, for lack of a better term. I never thought anything of it back when I read them, and Amanda didn't seem to be bothered by the 1940's vernacular, but Megan isn't feeling it. AT ALL.
So that means that we (Henry and myself), have been reading with her every night, to make sure she understands what she's reading.
Last night did NOT go well. (Sometimes I wish I were a truck driver or drunken sailor {no offense} so that I could use some more colorful words to convey just how NOT WELL it went.)
The evening started off fine enough, but after "dinner" (Do microwaved chicken nuggets count as dinner? Don't answer that.) I asked Meg if she wanted dessert before or after we read? She stated that she didn't want dessert, because she was still hungry for regular food and therefore wanted a snack.
Me: Okay, what would you like?
Meg: Peaches. PLEASE tell me you bought PEACHES.
Me: Sorry, I bought produce at WalMart last night, and they didn't have any peaches. We have apples, pears or frozen berries.
This was not what she wanted to hear. So I listed half a dozen other snack suggestions, all of which were shot down because, "You never buy anything good!" And on and on she went.
Guess who was in NO MOOD to be criticized by a 10 year old after a long day at work?! THAT'S RIGHT. So I told her I'd heard enough, and that she could go find something herself.
From there things went from bad to worse at ludicrous speed. Since there was nothing good, in her opinion, to eat in the house, and she was done putting me in my place as far as grocery shopping is concerned, she decided we might as well get to reading. Only there was a tiny problem with that: I NO LONGER WANTED TO READ WITH HER. EVER. She'd successfully pushed every one of my buttons, not once, but TWICE, and I WAS DONE.
I told her I wouldn't be reading with her, because she'd made me too mad and I had no interest in reading while I was so upset.
She didn't get it.
So she proceeded to hound me until I actually heard myself say, "You need to STOP. I am NOT going to read with you. If you continue to bug me about this, I'm going to start YELLING at you." Seemed like a fair warning to me.
She continued.
So I YELLED. A LOT.
She continued. SERIOUSLY?!
So I yelled another warning, "YOU NEED TO STOP AND LEAVE ME ALONE OR I AM GOING TO PHYSICALLY HURT YOU!!"
CLEARLY this child has never had a severe enough spanking to be concerned about such a threat, because she KEPT ON BADGERING ME TO READ WITH HER!!!
It was then that I fled (read: power-walked) from her and into the laundry room where I locked myself in and texted Henry that he best be home ASAP if he wanted to remain a family of FOUR.
It was a VERY LONG 25 minutes in that laundry room, because the ENTIRE TIME I was there, Meg was texting me:
And after about 40 of these texts, I received the grand finale.
Are you ready?
BEHOLD:
That's right. Just when I thought the night couldn't be salvaged, and that I'd be in that foul mood for all eternity, she texted me a photo of MYSELF with the words, "WORST MOM WHO WOULD NEVER READ TO ME!!!!"
Oh my WORD. Is that not PRICELESS?! What a KEEPSAKE!!
I fully expect to see it hanging in our Post Office by the weekend.
GO ME!!
A few weeks ago, Henry made baked tacos for dinner. Have you ever? Well you need to. They're AH-MA-ZING. The girls LOVED them, ESPECIALLY Megan. (Click here for the recipe. You're WELCOME.)
After tasting them, I was convinced I'd never be able to make them myself, because I don't cook, remember? But Henry thought I could, because I've actually browned ground beef before (a miracle in and of itself, I'm aware.) Then you just add a few things to the browned ground, sprinkle cheese and bake.
Tonight I thought I'd give it a whirl. I told Megan of my intentions, and she was majorly on board. Amanda, on the other hand, reminded me that they already had Mexican food a couple nights ago, which hello? What kind of totally awesome-sauce of a week is it when you have MEXICAN food TWICE?! Anyway, it was Taco Bell, to be exact, because Henry & I went out for dinner ALONE to celebrate 19 years of mawidge (ala Princess Bride). I know. NINETEEN!!! Crazy.
Alright, so since Henry was working late, and Amanda was gonna have some microwavable fare, it was just me & the Megster for baked tacos, which was fine with me.
I made them. Let me say that again. I. MADE. THEM. Aaaaand they were FABULOUS. I'm not even kidding. The baker in me, who's most comfortable working with the likes of BUTTER, SUGAR and CHOCOLATE in the kitchen, actually COOKED tonight. WITH MEAT.
As Meg got down to her last 3 bites ...
Meg: Why are these so runny? Dad's weren't this runny.
Me: Well I used DAD'S recipe, so they MUST have been this runny.
Meg: They weren't. What's in these?
Me: It might be the tomato sauce.
Meg then proceeded to gag on the food that was in her mouth, which 2 seconds ago was perfectly yummy.
Meg: GROSS!!!
Me: There's nothing gross about tomato sauce! You were FINE with them when DAD made 'em.
Meg: Blech. I'm done.
Me: So I guess this means I NEVER have to make THESE again, huh?
She shook her head and walked away.
Me: FINE! GOOD! This is why I NEVER COOK!!
They can eat cold cereal for dinner the rest of their live long days for all I care. As if cooking every night isn't lame enough, cooking for KIDS is just STUPID.
I am officially on strike.
Why is it so hard to just come right out and tell our kids where babies come from?
For the longest time my answer was, "Well, sometimes the baby has to be cut out of the mommy's tummy."
As if being CUT OPEN WITH A KNIFE sounds BETTER to a child than natural childbirth!!
PSYCHO.
A couple weeks ago ...
Meg: So where do babies come out? I know down here somewhere, but where exactly? Is it where you pee or where you poo?
Me: Uh, closer to where you pee, I guess.
Meg: EW!! I'm NEVER having a baby!! I'm gonna ADOPT.
Me: Sounds good.
I figured that was the end of it, and started looking forward to having a Chinese grandchild someday.
Then yesterday in the car ...
Meg: Remember how I said I was gonna adopt because ... you know?
Me: Yeah?
Meg: I changed my mind, because I want my baby to look like ME!!
Me: Sounds good.
Can't say that I blame her. :)
I am a woman. I love shoe shopping. The two always go hand in hand, or so I thought.
Once Megan was old enough to pick out her own shoes, I knew something wasn't right. I mean, she likes trying on women's super high stilettos that are usually only worn by strippers and tiny Asian gals. No offense. She HATES trying on real shoes for herself.
This is a problem when a new school year is about to start, and the only tennis shoes in the closet are too tight with holes in the soles.
Knowing what a chore it would be to find her new tennis shoes for school by August 12th, we started back in June while on vacation. We spent an hour at an outlet mall on our way down south, with high hopes that she'd find something at one of the 3 tennis shoe stores.
Yeah right.
The Nike tennis shoes all came up too high on the ankle.
This crushed me. I mean, LOOK at how DARLING those black and hot pink shoes are!!! I should have bought a pair for myself just out of spite. How were we able to walk away from those? I'm still shaking my head, which is bad, because it's been 3 months and people are starting to think I have a tick.
On to the Sketchers store where NOTHING worked. Not even the to-the-knee-high-tops with like 6 rhinestone buckles, which would have been PERFECTLY PRACTICAL for outdoor PE in 110 degree weather. Of course, just when I thought all hope was lost, she spotted a $65 style containing some kind of magical memory foam inserts. Praise GOD they didn't have her size, because I would have been willing to skip several meals or hitchhiked the rest of the way to San Diego if it meant that the shoe shopping torment would come to an end.
The last stop was the Vans store.
Here's the deal with Vans: Megan has wanted a pair for a long time, but apparently all the surfers and skaters who WEAR Vans have wide feet. Like WIDE feet. Unfortunately, Megan inherited my narrow arrows. Not that that stopped her from dragging us to 3 different stores in the mall several months ago, convinced that one store would carry different widths of Vans than another store.
Alright, so with that Vans history, I was fairly confident that searching the Vans outlet store was a major waste of time as well as a meltdown waiting to happen.
Shocker: I was right.
Not sure if she tried on 3 or 300 pairs, all I know is that they all "slipped" in the back where her narrow heels tried their best to be all wide and stuff. Make no mistake, Vans cannot be fooled.
So we headed back to the car before her frustration could boil over and ruin our then 2 hour old vacation.
A few days later, being gluttons for punishment, we took her to the mall on a quest for new sneakers. Um, let's just say BAD IDEA. The meltdown began as soon as we walked into the first store and announced that we were there to find her some shoes.
At this point I seriously started to consider homeschooling, because I'm pretty sure that's the only school where a 5th grader can go all day BAREFOOT. Grrrrr.
Fast forward to August 10th. Two days before the new school year starts. The girls and I returned to the outlet mall with friends to finish up our back-to-school shopping. I will admit that I was somewhat panicked regarding the whole Meg shoe situation. So when she announced that she wanted to go to the Vans store first, I bit my tongue, HARD.
In a total and complete act of mercy, God allowed Meg to find her dream shoes, in her dream color, and IN HER NON-DREAM-FOR-REAL-DEAL SIZE!!! When she tried them on and said those blessed words, "They fit," it was all I could do to not hug the crap out of every person in that store. I even texted a photo to Henry of the Miracle Shoes:
A sight to behold, I know.
"Too good to be true," you say?
Uh, yeah, PRETTY MUCH.
That's right. After wearing them to school a few days, she broke the news to me that they kinda slipped on the heel.
Thinking back, she really should have just switched out my contact lens cleaner with jalapeno juice. I'm pretty sure that would have been less painful.
Sooo after purchasing two different types of heel inserts, and being told that they felt weird and still slipped, I gave up. Forever and ever amen, because I was SO DONE with her uncooperative mini-me feet!!
Then, just like His mercies being new every morning, the next day she put the Vans on and headed out the door!?
Me: Wait! What about your shoes?
Meg: What about 'em?
Me: I thought they slipped in the back and stuff?
Meg: Well, I thought they were slipping, but I guess they weren't. They just felt like they were.
And that's the last thing I remember before waking up in a padded cell.
Now that Amanda's in Junior High, the individual school photos are taken by a more up-scale photographer. I knew we were in a different photographic league when I perused the pricing.
Back when I was in school, the ONLY photo package that mattered, was the one with THE most WALLETS. Remember that?! You HAD to have a ton of wallet-sized photos to trade with all your friends!! Man, those were the days.
So get this: When I asked Amanda how many wallet-sized photos she wanted me to order, she replied, "Wallets? Who cares about wallets?"
WHO CARES about WALLETS?! I was floored. So much so that I mentioned it to a friend of mine who pointed out that there's no longer a need for wallet photos now that there's Instagram and Facebook.
Does anyone find this as sad as I do? Let's pause for a moment of silence for the now unappreciated wallet-size school photo.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Okay, so the students were given a helpful hint sheet from the photographer to ensure a good picture. I read the tips to Amanda:
* Avoid patterned shirts
* Avoid bright colored shirts
* Avoid sleeveless shirts
* Go to bed early the night before and wake up early to minimize bags under the eyes.
Amanda: You should do that.
Me: Do what?
Amanda: The bags under the eyes thing.
Me: Gee thanks.
This self-esteem-boosting conversation reminded me of something that happened on our summer vacation.
We were walking an outdoor mall when a very exotic middle-eastern kiosk lady with to-die-for curly hair that hung perfectly across one eye, called me over. She was selling some scrubbing salts from the Dead Sea, as well as some anti-aging serum. To make a long story short, she wanted me to buy treatment for my under eye bags as well as for my crow's feet. Yeah. Nothing makes you feel better about yourself than having a complete stranger point out all your facial flaws.
I explained that I couldn't afford ALL of the product she was pushing, so she said, "Let me ask you dis, Temi: would you rather geet rid of de bags or de wrinkles?"
I froze. How does one choose between 2 such hideous imperfections as those? Bags or wrinkles? Wrinkles or bags? AAACCCKKKK!!!! I'm on VACATION!!! No Pop Quizzes are allowed on VACATION!!!
I turned to my daughters for help: "Bags or wrinkles?! BAGS OR WRINKLES?"
Amanda: Wrinkles, duh!
Wow, really? She didn't even skip a beat, just yelled out WRINKLES like it was an answer to her prayers or something.
Apparently aging in front of Amanda will be nothing short of humbling.
Pray for me.
Or send donations so I can go back and get that stuff for my atrocious bags.
I am NOT, I repeat, NOT a MORNING PERSON. Forgive me if I've mentioned this 500 times before. After this morning, it bears repeating.
I've always been in awe of the woman described in Proverbs 31. Especially verse 15 which reads, "She gets up while it is still night ..." At least, I USED to be in awe of that verse ... until I had children. Then I realized, that the only way to get ANYTHING done for yourself, or have any ALONE time, is to GET UP WHILE IT IS STILL NIGHT!!
This is why I hobble out of bed at 4:45 in the A stinkin' M. It gives me time to do what I need to do in the bathroom, then exercise, then shower and so on. As much as I despise mornings, it's something I've just had to accept.
So today, after removing my pajamas, but before putting on my workout clothes, I stepped on the scale.
Now. Please tell me I'm not the only woman (or man?) in this country who weighs themselves in their sweet nothings first thing in the morning?! Everyone does this, RIGHT??? I'm going to assume you're all nodding your heads with me and yelling, "You bet your sweet bippy!"
Okay. I believe I've also mentioned before that our bathroom door does not lock, so if I ever want complete privacy, I have to remember to lock the BEDROOM door.
Of course, I pretty much felt like I was safe leaving it unlocked at 4:45 in the morning!!
I'm stupid.
Don'tcha know, RIGHT as I looked down at the number on the scale to see that I was actually down a pound (woo hoo!) HERE COMES MEGAN. SERIOUSLY?!?!?!?
She was quite nonchalant about the whole thing ...
Megan: Hi Mom.
Me: Uh, hi?
Megan stares.
Me: Thanks for knocking.
Megan: Huh?
I motion to my nakedness.
Megan: Oh sorry.
It was then I realized that she was there to stay, so as quickly as I could, I frantically began stuffing my 43 year old body into the same workout shorts and sports bra I wore in my 20's. Sadly, I'm not even kidding, because why buy new exercise stuff when we all KNOW I'm gonna' be back to a size 4 in a few weeks? Clearly I'm all about attainable goals.
Me: Did you NEED something?
Megan: My alarm went off and it was all, "EEE-oh-EEE-oh-EEE-oh."
Me: Yes, I heard it. Were you gonna' shower in here or what?
Megan: Oh yeah.
Me: Then why don't you get yourself a towel?
Megan: Okay.
For the rest of the morning, I couldn't stop thinking about her expression as I clumsily stepped off the scale, all uncovered and stuff. I'm guessing she was looking at me, just like I looked at my mom so many years ago when I thought, "I will never look like that when I'm a mom."
I might as well break the news to her now. It happens to the best of us. We think it never will, but then one day you're shopping at a thrift store and the only jeans that fit your current body type, are from Coldwater Creek. And that's when you know ... you're all mom ... and you must ALWAYS LOCK THE DOOR.
You know how when you go to the doctor for a check-up, and they ask you if you exercise regularly and eat healthy how you tend to fudge the truth a little bit? You DO do that, right? Unless, of course, you're one of those people who actually DO eat healthy and exercise regularly.
In my defense, my annual check-up is always right after the holidays, so while I might eat sort of good during the rest of the year and exercise 4-5 times a week as well, by the time February hits, I've pretty much partaken of every holiday treat offered to me as well as use every excuse in the book for living in a vegetative state.
Not that it even matters, because the doctor scale and cholesterol tests always rat me out. Although, MY doctor's scale is exactly 10 pounds more than my home scale. And I'm not trying to be funny here. I believe it's a total and complete conspiracy: They weigh you FIRST, and THEN take your blood pressure. That's a sure fire way to put someone on meds for hypertension if I ever saw one.
Alright, so my eldest had to have a check-up the other day before starting junior high (JUNIOR HIGH?!?! AAAAAAHHHH!!!!) The medical assistant took her stats, and then started asking her about her diet.
I went numb. Someone should have warned me that kids have to answer these questions too! I mean, I had NO time to coach her on her answers before the appointment!! This meant that she might actually (gulp) tell the gal what she's been eating while mom and dad are away at work!!
I held my breath.
Medical Assistant: So what did you have for breakfast yesterday?
Daughter: A waffle with Nutella!
Okay, now the Nutella commercials claim that this is a good source of ... of ... something, right? Protein maybe? Or was that the sugar they were praising? Ugh.
M.A.: And for lunch?
Daughter: Red Vines and Gummy Bears.
M.A. repeating what she just heard - overly enunciated: RED. VINES. AND. GUMMY. BEARS. Okaaaay, how about dinner?
Daughter: Taco Bell!!!
M.A. looking at me with mild distain: And what did you have at Taco Bell?
Daughter: A Doritos' Taco & Mt. Dew Baja Blast Freeze!! Oh yeah!
At this point, I should have just run.
M.A.: Alright, the nurse will be in for the exam and to talk to you about NUTRITION.
Which is exactly what happened. She talked about the need for more protein, fruits and vegetables, and I acted like this was the first time I'd heard anything about the concept of healthy eating. Seemed like the right thing to do.
The best part came later while she was performing the exam and my daughter exclaimed: This is WEIRD.
Oh. My. Word. I wanted to hug her and shout: THANK YOU!! Thank you for declaring what the rest of us women only dare to think! IT IS WEIRD!! There's nothing natural about having a perfect stranger exam all that stuff!! YES!! Three cheers for just saying it like it is, honey!! Ha!!
At least the nurse acknowledged that the exam was, in fact, WEIRD.
After that, she received 3 shots without shedding one tear, and we were on our way ... to Jamba Juice for a Strawberry Surf Rider smoothie.
Hey ... there's fruit in those. I think.
Seriously though, neither of the girls have any big ticket items they're wanting this year (praise GOD), but Meg has been quite vocal about one thing in particular, which she said she saw advertised at Walmart. So while I knew it was a risk to enter a Walmart this close to Christmas, I did it anyway this afternoon. I guess I'm just that 
