High standards

My Dylan is turning into quite the heart breaker.  He has love notes from little fourth grade girls to prove it.  Heartbroken girls who want him to "choose them". 

Oh my.

Fortunately he doesn't like girls yet, much to my delight.

I remember being a fourth grade girl and boys were very much on my mind. 

We had ways of ensuring a boy would like you.  If it were Wednesday, for example, and you said his name three times he was yours.  Never mind if the boy liked you back or even knew of our game, the Wednesday rule still applied.  Who were we to argue with that kind of logic?  Many a girl had come before and this little tradition had been passed down, so it had to be true.  Also if you touched him at any time on a Thursday, he again, was yours.  Accidentally bumped into him?  Yours!  Pass the Elmer's glue finger touch?  Yours!  Oh those silly boys were doomed. 

So I asked Dylan if he were to like someone what would he look for in a girl.  Someday. 

His criteria are as follows:

1. She has to be a Christian.
2. She has to be nice.
3. Has to play a sport.
4. Dress modestly.
5. Wear very little makeup. 

I immediately pulled up my shirt, dabbed my lips and casually asked him if I wear too much make up and does he think my top is too low.  {Holy crap}  He assured me that he doesn't think those things about me.  He apparently has a teacher who wears too much lipstick. 

I think I'm raising a 35 year old man in stead of a ten year old boy.

I can't wait to show him the list when he's 16.

I also plan on showing it to whoever he's dating.

This coming from the girl who met her future in laws rocking a half shirt, plaid low rise pants and purple hair.

Was my MIL freaking out behind that pleasant smile? 

She either saw something in me that put her at ease or secretly wished  his crush would fade.  I'll have to ask her.

Little would she know he was already mine.

It was a Wednesday.

You want a title? I'll give you a title. . .

I'm so glad spring is upon us because my mood is rather. . .dank. 

And yes, I know the sun always shines here so spring is just a matter of a date on the calendar but, seriously, I need something springy in my life and like now. 

I'm quite certain I'm annoying everyone around me with my unsavory mood but I can't seem to snap out of it. 

My mom came for spring break and it was eight days of couch-lounging-coffee-drinking, non-stop talking, laughing, playing fun. 

And then she went and left.  I know right? 

Now what am I supposed to do when I want someone to validate my jeans or hair or mod-podging skills?

Hubby doesn't really notice these things unless I ask and then it really just feels like grasping at compliments and that's just desperate and sad.  I should really stop doing that. 

So aside from pouting and moping around the house, which don't get me wrong, is loads of fun, I need something spring-ish.  Like highlights.  Or a cute colorful skirt perhaps?  Or this. 

Props to you my beautiful SIL, props. 

Your bold leap into spring is inspiring.  Although highlights come with a lot less poop.

I'm the neighborhood snack mom

That's right. 

But before you start thinking that I applied for this job or that I have keebler elves in my pantry, you should know that I sort of just stumbled into it.  Or rather, small people stumbled into my kitchen in dire need of fruit roll-ups and juice boxes and desperate times call for desperate measures. 

But because I didn't apply for it I will give the snacks I want to give. 

High fructose corn syrup and red dye #5 with a side of chocolate chip cookies are what you get here. 

Because guess what?  They like me. 

And before you start thinking, but Sheila, think of the children!  Give healthy snacks like celery and bark bits, I would just like to add that it's so much more fun being the cool mom that has the yummy snacks and brings all the kids to the yard, than become the one who passes out tooth brushes at Halloween and talks about how carob tastes just like chocolate. 

Because believe me that it does not.

And no wants to hang out at her house. 

So, yes, it may seem like bribery, but I know where my kids are. 

And I'm pretty sure no one will remember tooth brush mom when they're looking back on their childhood and recalling the wonder years. 

And yes, I do make my kids eat carrots and cheese and organic chicken, but I keep them all the time.  And they've met me before and hold no delusions about my coolness level. 

So when at my house you get awesome food because it's not my responsibility to make sure you get your daily doses of the food pyramid.  That's their parents job.

That is of course after the sugar high wears off.

You're welcome.

zoo

My mom is here from Colorado and we're having all kinds of fun!  There is nothing like having your mom.  No matter how old you get.

Didn't I just do this?

Okay.  So I might have mildly freaked out last year on my birthday. 

I'm trying really hard this year to take some deep breaths, relax and maybe not welcome this one, but at least accept it.  I'm getting light headed. 

Why are birthday's so hard for me? 

Perhaps because I don't have themes.  Dylan asked me once what my theme for my party would be.

Me:  oh, sweetie, mommy doesn't have birthdays.
Dylan: .....
Me: yeah, I just stay the same age.  Year after year.  After year.
Dylan: seriously, what's your theme?
Me: *sigh* can't you just play along?  Moms don't have themes like kids do.  We just get all haggardly and mis-shapen.
Dylan: maybe if you have a transformers party or something you would feel better.
He's right!  I do need a transformers party!  Or maybe something a little more glamorous, but dang it, I need a theme!  I know, "Diamonds are a girl's best friend" and everyone can bring me diamonds.  Too much? 

Well, a few years ago my best friend Tara and I decided that since our birthday's are only eleven days apart, we should celebrate this year by going on a girl's trip.  Just me and her.  Somewhere tropical.  Because it is a big birthday and no I will not tell you which one.  Rude.

We haven't quite decided where but we're looking at the Florida keys.  Sun, best friend, little umbrella drink.  Aaahhhhhh.  Sounds perfect.  And I'll save the hyperventilating about the bathing suit for when we get there. 
One freak out at a time.  It's important to pace these things.

UPDATE:
We will be postponing our trip until my grandfather, her dad, is doing better health wise.

You. . .ME. You. . .ME! Do you see the difference?

Eleven years ago I stumbled across the lawn in the early morning hours, barely able to hold on to my three month old baby girl.  My mom quickly rescued her from my precarious hold and led me to the car.  I was under the influence of Valium and being driven to the dentist to have all four wisdom teeth pulled. 
Even with the Valium and gas I could hear my teeth being yanked from my head in that awful resonating way that we hear when we're chewing on something crunchy.  The pressure was intense and it was an experience I'm sure many of you can relate with.  I was in pain for days and swollen and hardly remember taking care of my baby.  {Although I must have because she's hear today to torment me about my upcoming birthday.} 

But I digress.

I thought it was so much fun that I'm growing a FIFTH wisdom tooth.  In a very odd spot crazy close to my throat.  What. The. Heck. 

At first I thought I had scraped the area and blamed the pain on not chewing properly.  But then it broke through.  And it slices up my tongue when I talk.  And for those of you who know me, that's a lot of slicing. 

I think I'm some kind of mutant. 

What's next, an eleventh toe? 

Or this??? 

Eeewwwww.  Who puts nasty pictures like that on their blog.  I mean really. 

I just have the words of Brian Regan running through my head. 
"Do not ever tell a two wisdom teeth story or the four wisdom teeth people will parachute in and cut you off at the pass!"

 It's a classic you/me scenario.  You have more than four?  Bring it.

Always a silver lining.

Dylan was getting ready for school when I noticed this. 

His response: What??  I'm like the Hulk!
That's one way to look at it.