Showing posts from April, 2012

That's the Pits!

Today, I watched my seven year old daughter execute the wardrobe-change-while-riding-in-a-car maneuver. We left her soccer game, where she displayed 2 scissor moves, one fake, one thigh trap, five right footed-goals, 1 left-footed goal, and 1 left-footed shot on goal, and she had to do a quick transformation before getting to her next destination, a birthday party.  Before we pulled away from the curb, she had changed out of her soccer shorts and into her cute little cut-off jean shorts.  Next, the sweaty soccer jersey was whipped off, replaced by a sassy little pink t-shirt, complete with rhinestone doohickeys on the front.  She topped it off with a black half-length vest, and then set about brushing her hair as the van careened down the hill towards the party. I kept sneaking glances at her in the rearview mirror.  She was "doing herself up," as much as a 7 year old  can, transforming herself from rabid athlete to bounce-house party girl.  It was poignant.  I pictured h

7 Quick Takes: Volume 54

7 works of art, all made on this lovely Friday. * * *

7 Quick Takes: Volume 53

Let's be quick about this shall we?  Here are my 7 Quick Takes for today.  Actually 14, because today, I bring you 2 lists of seven things that reveal a little bit about me and my family. List #1: The other day, I was lying down on my bed with my daughter.  She looked down at my feet, looked back up at me, gave me a little sly smile and said:  " Look at you, wearing the matching socks!" I organized my desk piles yesterday.  I found a Netflix DVD we have not returned.  From December.  Of 2010. My kids sometimes lament: " We're the Heck's, aren't we? "   Related: One of my kids, surveying the scene after we stayed at grandma and poppa's house for three days and were about to begin the process of putting it back together, said: " I know what happened here.  We Alatorre-ed up the place. " I had to dry a school uniform shirt with a hair blow-dryer this morning. Every day, it takes about 3.4 seconds for the car ride home from school

It Only Took Me 9.75 Years

My daughters are rough and tumble.  They are hard on clothes, hair accessories, and their own bodies.  I try to dress them up, I try to "do" their hair.  It usually takes mere minutes for them to revert back to their natural state: unkempt, with holes at the knees.  Cute hair bands unravel at their touch.  Pretty blouses are christened with paint or mud or both within days.  I've used more bandaids on my three daughters in nine years than I have on my two boys in thirteen. I had a realization this morning as I was searching for a non-shredded pair of tights for Thing One to wear.  All this time I've thought I was buying tights for my daughters, pondering which ones to buy, trying to keep them organized in a cute and tidy little stocking basket, I haven't actually been buying tights.  I've been buying disposable socks. It stops now.  No more wasted money.  No more standing and staring in the Target aisle.  I'm taking a stand against tights.  No more ti

Fun With Sharpees

Give my kids a relatively free afternoon and a couple of sharpees, and there's no end to the fun they can have. * * *

It Takes A Village To Keep Me From Whacking You Upside the Head

Monday morning is challenging enough without parent-child clashes, right?  Unfortunately, my Monday morning featured all the usual challenges, plus a side of Teen Drama. You see, when we arrived at school, my teenager discovered he had left his lunch at home.  I reacted with all the grace of a grumpy mother bear whose cub has spilled honey all over the cave.  He got defensive and teenager-y on me, and somehow, magically, it was my fault that he hadn't grabbed his lunch. So the two of us are walking up the hill to school hissing disgruntled comments back and forth, each of us unhappy with the other, I because he'd forgotten his lunch and he because I was on his case and in his business again .  We walked about 20 or 30 paces this way, essentially bickering.  Let me be a cautionary tale: do not bicker with your own child.  It's pointless and soul-sucking.  For both of you.  But bicker we did, right up to the school steps. But then, we encountered two other people, anoth