Whose Kid Is That?

I'm still trying to decide if I'm proud or embarrassed.... Proud, I think.

As I dropped LM off at school this morning, we spotted his little "nemesis" being escorted to class by her really super intimidating dad. (Towering with tattoos and piercings.) I've been hearing a lot about this little girl lately. Apparently she and LM share a mutual friend and Bully Girl doesn't want him to have anything to do with her. She'll even shout taunts at him on the playground and then try to run him off. Sometimes it's rough being a kid....

So LM stopped in his tracks at the sight of her, and I could practically see the wheels spinning in his head about what his next step of action would be. Being aware that LM has no filter on his mouth whatsoever, I leaned over and whispered, "LM, don't say anything to her right now, she's with her dad and it might hurt his feelings." Oh, LM, please, we don't want to hurt his feelings! But apparently this gave him an idea. He marched directly over to the girl and her father. Oh. No.

"I gotta talk to you about somefin," LM said, poking the man in the arm to get his attention. The man crouched down to be at eye level with LM. I braced myself. "Your daughter is kinda mean to me," he went on. I laughed nervously and was about to retrieve my boy and shuffle him off to his class, but the dad said, "oh?" clearly wanting to hear more. I braced myself again.

"Yeah, she teases me on the playground and says that I want Auna to be my girlfriend, and it makes me sad!" He then plastered a magnificent frown on his face that warned of impending tears. It was an incredibly heart-wrenching performance. I waited. The dad said, "well I'm going to talk to her about that!" and proceeded to have a mini-conference with his daughter right then and there. I could hear her small squeaky protests as he spoke firmly to her. LM just walked away and got in line for class, the whole thing already behind him.

I stared at him for a moment. The boy has no inhibitions whatsoever. And while this fact terrifies me in ways words can't describe, I also have to admire the little dude. Would I have the guts to do what he just did? Heck no! Anyone who knows me could tell you that. I would have written her a scathing anonymous letter-- take that! But I could learn a few things about boldness from LM. Maybe, just maybe, he'll start to rub off on me someday.

Reflections

Have you ever walked by a mirror (without realizing it was a mirror) and seen yourself (without realizing it was you)?

That's a trip.

I just did it the other day, and you know what I thought to myself? I thought, "Gee, there's a chick with big ol' hips like mine!" Oh wait, that's me! (I may have also mused about her needing a haircut as well, but I can't exactly remember.....)

Ah, there's nothing quite like catching an unintentional glimpse of yourself to re-calibrate your self-image. Excuse me while I go grab a stick of celery and call my hair stylist....

Not My Cashmere Sweater!

She really is sweet....

Our Brasileira decided to be brave and try her hand at laundry. Wishfully thinking, I had conveniently posted instructions on the side of the washing machine just for such an occasion. (I never really expected them to get used, however.) On second thought, I don't think she actually did use them....

I discovered detergent in the fabric softener cup (which gets dispensed in the rinse cycle), and saw that she'd selected the heavy-duty hot/warm wash and rinse option for all her colors. Hey, whatever floats her boat! At least, that's how I felt until she informed me she'd thrown some of my laundry in with her own in order to make a complete load. Say what? Oh please, oh please say none of my delicates are in there! (Turns out it was the kids' clothes, not mine-- phew!)

Then she decided to hang all of her laundry up. All of it. Socks included. (I admit I hang most of my shirts and pants, but socks? What a pain in the buttsky!) She had so much of it she began to hang it in some very interesting places. Like, I couldn't even walk to the bathroom without getting hit in the head with a shirt or a coat. So I laughed at her as I politely moved it to the appropriate laundry-drying section I have set aside. (Laughing being my gentle way of letting her know she did it wrong.)

Clearly the little laundry tutorial I gave her early on has not been committed to memory yet. I think I will kindly point out the instructions that I so lovingly wrote out. And if that doesn't help, then I think it's time for a laundry intervention. (And in the meantime I'm going to make sure I never have my laundry lying out-- just in case she gets all "helpful" again.)

I Just Might Be Naked

So, remember when I mentioned that our darling exchange student walked into our bedroom one night? Just so you know, there have been repeat performances. Like, lots.

Sometimes I just ignore her. Sometimes I pull the sheets up a little higher to try and clue her in. Sometimes I smile and wave-- goodbye.

The sweet thing is, she's obviously about as clueless as to what happens in married couples' bedrooms as is my 9-year old daughter. (Okay, I'm not stupid-- she's not that clueless.) Or perhaps she's just very aware that not a lot of action happens between a man and his sickly wife-- it's pretty safe to invade our bedroom at any and all hours these days. (Bummer....) Either way, what I find unsettling is the fact that one of these times she'll walk in and I'll be in some state of undress. Sure, I'm not often naked, but it happens periodically, and she might see. Actually, that might cure her of her little habit right quick. (Ah, but it's just too damaging to my pride.)

So, me thinks that the little lock on our door is going to start getting some more use. See, I'm not as dumb as I look!

Great, Just Great!

There's this little side-effect I've discovered from being sick and house-bound-- it's called Pacman addiction. Is anyone really surprised to hear that I've become addicted to yet another worthless, mind-dumbing internet activity? Well, at least I've moved beyond Webkinz World....

Let's Talk About Phlegm, Baby!

I used to always wonder why very elderly people constantly talk about their own (and others') health problems. It always seemed so...morbid. I remember visiting hubby's great-great aunt in a nursing home and nodding my head sympathetically as she recounted her recent bowel issues. Secretly I was aghast that we were speaking about bowels out loud (I have since lost my reservations in that area). Of course, when we were done discussing the ins and outs (literally) of her own troubles, we moved on to which of her friends had recently died and/or would die soon. Not topics a 20-something could really wrap her brain around. Oh, what a silly goose I was!

But, you see, having Pneumonia has changed me. (Oh, I didn't mention that little sweetheart? Well, let's talk about it, shall we?) I now find myself bringing up subjects of great interest to me, like sputum and diarrhea. I like to tell anyone who'll listen about the amount of phlegm I contend with on a daily basis, and exactly what the antibiotics are doing to my digestive tract. (Not a pretty sight, that.) I never fail to comment about the fact that simply walking up the stairs winds me, or that my ribs ache like a mother.

Oh, I try to control myself, I really do. Whenever I begin a monologue about how utterly painful it is to cough, I stop myself and ask, "is this the first time I've mentioned this particular problem to this particular person? Or is this the fifth time I've brought it up in the last hour?" Usually it's the latter. I'm sure many of you are nodding your heads right now, recounting the last time you spoke with me and which of my symptoms I made you more aware of than you cared to know.

Heck, this whole post was just an excuse to talk more about how stinkin' sick I am. But y'all don't mind, right? You like hearing me describe what my lungs sound like when I attempt to breathe in deeply (I sound like an un-oiled machine). You're dying to know that I've been told not to jog-- or walk-- for several weeks. (No problem there-- I can barely make it up my driveway without having to catch my breath.) You want to hear, just one more time, about how much my ribs hurt (like a mother!). I know you, people. These are the things your inquiring minds want to know! Right? Right??

On second thought.... Maybe I should just drag myself on over to a nursing home and have a good ol' fashioned pow-wow with the residents there. We can talk all day about every ache and pain we have. And not only that, we'll love every single minute of it! Hmmmm, not a bad idea.....

Ode To Hair (Part 2)

Okay, so here's the deal; they didn't cut one teeny-weeny bit off my ridiculously long hair at the hair show today. I walked into the show room this morning and was told, "remember what we said about cutting all your hair off and donating it to Locks of Love? Well, we're not going to do that anymore. We're leaving it long. But we'll put some really fun layers in it." Fine. I was a little freaked out about losing over a foot of hair in one fell swoop anyway. It's better to do these things gradually, right? But, through the course of the morning everyone got busy and guess who was forgotten? That's right; me.

So I didn't even get so much as a trim. What I did get was pee-pee hair. And maybe pee-pee face, too. What? What did I just say? Oh, you heard me. Pee-pee. You see, after my part in the show (which involved the Redken colorist painting conditioner on my hair to simulate a highlighting technique) I was whisked away to a bathroom to get the conditioner removed and my hair restyled. Well, one of the stylists working on my hair decided she needed to wee in front of us, because apparently she couldn't be bothered to find one of the many other hotel bathrooms. So we averted our gazes as she tinkled away. When she was done, she went directly to her post at my hair and started running her little fingers all through it. Ummmmm...? Are you really touching my hair with your pee-pee hands? And did you really do my make-up this morning, too? I thought back to every part of my body she'd touched that day and I just barely avoided the urge to hurl.

So, not only do I have long, dark hair (just in time for my Elvira Halloween costume!), I have a special pee-pee styling product in it as well. Wonderful. Just wonderful! I can't get enough of salon divas running their unwashed hands through my hair. Oh, and making comments like, "you have enough hair for 12 villages" and "take a look at Rapunzel!" and sweet little sentiments like that. It's awesome.

But my favorite part of the whole ordeal was being made to wear clothes that only a twenty-year old should attempt to cram themselves into. I mean, I've had two babies and there are certain aspects of my body that should remain a mystery to everyone but my husband and my doctor, ya know? But today I found myself wearing a dress so short my panties showed when I sat down. Yes, this 31-year old mama was showing her goods off to a room full of hair stylists-- I'm sure they all appreciated the view. I know I enjoy getting an eye-full of someone's granny panties. I just can't get enough, in fact!

And do you think I'll sign-up for this again next year? Heck yes I will! Did I say anything that might imply the experience isn't worth it or something? What blog post were you reading anyway?