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.
