dreaming dreams

I dream a dream

I dream a dream where my desk will forever always be as uncluttered as I wish my mind would be.

Because this literally took me all day to do. Of course given the fact that my mind is such a cluttered mess, it is likely that it took all day to clean and organize this entire workspace because my mind is such a distracted cluttered mess.

Ugh!

I dream a dream where I would not find myself so excited over my latest purchase.

Best $4 I have ever spent ever because menopause is stupid and the fact that hot flashes can literally go on and on for years…YEARS post menopause is just stupid and dumb and quite possibly causes me to question my belief that it is great to be a girl.

I dream a dream where one can sit in a waiting room, a coffee shop, at a bus stop, in an airport, in a restaurant and not be forced to enjoy the music, video, game, podcast, whatever loud noises coming from an individual’s smart phone, tablet or laptop because, believe it or not, we really aren’t as into that new music video on YouTube or movie or book on tape game or whatever else you or your precious snowflake might be enjoying while sitting next to us in a waiting room, coffee shop, bus stop, airport, restaurant or any public place where we are sharing the same oxygen.

Really.

Truly.

I dream a dream where ear buds and headphones are available for all god’s children…especially you and your precious snowflake.

And then I dream some more…

be warned

When you are out and about anywhere in the Central Valley and you happen to see this beautiful child,

DON’T...I repeat, DO NOT call her a boy. She is going to throw some serious shade your way and will call you out.

But I’m a girl, Mom!, she loudly proclaims as you pass by.

BURN!

Seriously people! A ruffled blouse, jeggings, pink loafers with glitter?!

Oh well! Random strangers can say the stupidest things, I guess.

I’m sorry, Fallon. For what it’s worth, your mommy and aunties often were mistaken for adorable boys too…even when they were three years old and sometimes wearing the most feminine of dresses.. Except for Abby. For some reason, your Auntie Abby was rarely mistaken as a little boy. Abby had curly eyelashes and everyone knows little girls have curly eyelashes. Then again, Daniel has curly eyelashes too…and people often commented that he was a beautiful baby girl. Yeah, random strangers make stupid observations sometimes.

You keep giving them the side eye, fancy girl.

 

 

videotaping and photography is strictly prohibited

At most dance competitions this is the norm and, unlike SOME parents, I respect the rule. It really is for the privacy and protection of our children. Thankfully professional videos and photographs are available at the venues for us to purchase. Sometimes they are even kind of affordable like at this weekend’s competition.

Um…

Yeah, I paid for this picture.

How could I not?

JoAnn summed it up perfectly saying you can tell that all her hard work has paid off with this picture right here. Thankfully, that shot (and the fact that I paid for it) was the only fail of the weekend.

There was nothing but platinums at the end of this Rainbow Dance Competition for my favorite Dance Star.

 

the inconvenience of awesome

Aw, growth spurts! So much fun…said no parent who JUST bought their kid those out-grown athletic shoes or three pairs of must-have skinny jeans ever.

When I was a girl I discovered just how awful growth spurts could be as in Mommy-Dearest just bought me those shoes or those pants or just let out the hem of those dresses and pantsuits (we wore pantsuits back in the day, don’t judge) with no more material left to hem. She’d be frustrated and angry that I was growing like a weed and I would feel bad because I clearly should have better control of this growing thing…at least that was my perspective as a 12 year old kid not understanding the inconvenience of your kid growing like a weed when there are bills to pay and groceries to buy to feed your ravenous, growing weed.

Then I became a mother; a mother of kids that grew and grew like weeds. Often growing like crazy at the most inconvenient of times like when I had bills to pay or groceries to buy to feed those ravenous little weeds of mine.

I could not seem to keep Zoë in jeans that were soon too small or impossibly too short literally a month after I bought them. And replacing Jodie’s split sole, black tap shoes that were scarcely worn for only two dance competitions really sucked sometimes as did emergency alterations of custom made costumes that were custom made to allow for grow room.  I mean…how rude…how inconvenient…these kids are growing much too fast!

And then I understood.

Oh.

So now that Spring has really sprung, Daniel is ready to break out the shorts. But the shorts are much, much too small. Two sizes too small. Shorts he has worn for the last two years of Spring and Summer…perhaps more. Shorts that are clearly much, much too small.

Oh happy day!!!

Human growth hormones, I love you so much…except for the fact that this is a helluva time for the kid to have outgrown his clothes because there are bills to pay…too many bills…and these kids seem to be hungry all the time…especially that kid who is finally GROWING!!!

So inconvenient but so freaking awesome!!!

Don’t worry, the mom of the 8 year old who apparently is wearing shorts two sizes bigger than Daniel’s new shorts tempered my excitement and frustration by pointing out the fact that her 8 year old is two sizes bigger than my 12 year old….as moms of kids who are not growth hormone deficient do.

Thanks!

Us moms of kids well below the growth curve their entire life, with non-functioning pituitary glands, love to hear about the burden of your overgrown child. It’s so…encouraging. Thanks.

Still, it is pretty damn awesome to pack away forever the shorts your son has worn every Spring, Summer and Fall season since second grade as his fifth grade year is winding down because this is normal. This is what “normal” parents do with their kids as they grow. This is just more “normal” for us to celebrate as parents of this mighty, former micro-preemie of ours, as parents of micro-preemies do…celebrating the normal.

So damn awesome!

Now to figure out what Peter to rob to pay Paul for the new shorts, the shorts that fit. Hey, at least they were on sale!

 

 

the waiting

And the question on Facebitch, er, Facebook today is: how many people will you get behind in the drive thru at Starbuck’s instead of parking and going in?

We all been there at one time or another. We all have found ourselves stuck in what seems to us to be an ENDLESS line in a drive-thru.

OMG! The waiting! It just might kill some of us I am sure…like my facebitching friend.

So do you have a limit? Three cars? Six? Twelve?

On Facebook it would seem that six is just too much…and fodder for judge-y shaking of one’s head as they park their car and get out to go inside to get their latte. Twelve or more is just absolutely, positively ridiculous. Ain’t no one got time for that.

Right?!

But then again parking and getting out with two or maybe three or, oh dear god, FIVE kids to go inside might give one pause; especially if kids in car seats are involved. It also will guarantee that the family-size police will jump all over that…extra points when it is the vice principal of one your kids’ schools because he’s like the captain of the family-size police.

Or perhaps the weather outside is frightful and the seat warmer in your car is so delightful.

Maybe you just finished a 5 mile run and , well, you’d rather not share that sweaty, stinky, hot messiness with anyone…that is if you sweat so bad running five miles or more that you look like a salt lick. It’s a public service you are performing. You are welcome Starbucks’ customers!

You just might be THAT mom who drops the kids off at school while you are STILL in your jammies. No one needs to see that…except your favorite barista. Y’all know they can see all of you in the car as they hand you your order? The former baristas I birthed have told me stories. Oh dear glob! And my favorite barista loves to tease me when I do manage to put on clothes.

Oh, and then there is  my favorite barista. He handles that twelve-plus car line like nobody’s business while the counter guy is still trying to figure out how to spell your name on the damn cup. Just in case you were wondering, counter guy never spells my name right. But my favorite barista knows what my favorite drinks are and will often just ask if I want it hot or cold. I pull up to the window and it is there ready for me. Counter guy, on the other hand, would be asking me to repeat my drink order to him…for the third time…because a non-fat white mocha, no whip, two pumps raspberry can so freakin’ complicated.

Then there are the times where I just enjoy sitting in the long drive thru line. I have come to appreciate the time in the line to just be still, not be in such a hurry and to just get lost in my quiet thoughts and meditations.

I’m thankful for the waiting sometimes.

Bonus when everyone is paying it forward…okay except when the guy behind me ordered four drinks and pastries.