When I tell people that Ky isn’t getting married until next September their first reaction is to laugh. Is it because people in Utah don’t know how to wait that long to get married? Do they think that her hormonal urge to give up her virginity is going to move the wedding date up? That is why most engagements in Utah only last a couple of months. The poor little return missionaries return home with blue balls that need to be tended to. The normal Mormon wedding day is to get married at 7:30 in the morning. Run from the Temple to the nearest hotel, usually The Anniversary Inn, and ruin the bride’s up do. Then to show up to the reception, stand in the line, like nothing happened. Do they realize that people know her hair is different than it was earlier in the day? A little muffled? And that he is smiling more than normal? I can’t even imagine staying at The Anniversary Inn. First, because it is themed. Second, I can only imagine how many young return missionary Tarzans have swung from the vines in the jungle room to de-virginize their Jane. Or perhaps I should imagine how many Juliets have jumped from the balcony to jump their Romeo. No matter what scenario I come up with, all I can think of is how bright those mattresses must glow under black light.
My kid isn’t Mormon. I’m not saying that I know what is going on in her bedroom . . . but I know what was going on in mine when I was that age and I’m not thinking that is the reason she might move up the wedding date. I know for a fact that the earliest she would move the wedding date up would be late June. Why do I know this? She wants to party and she won’t turn 21 until June 15, 2010.
At least I thought I was safe with this reasoning until my friend got her the perfect fake ID. Ky has tried for a few years to get a coveted fake ID. But do you realize how hard it is to find another girl that is 6’0” tall and resembles you? She used to think she could get away with my little sis’s. The only problem is Colie is only 5’4”. That would never fly with a good bouncer – maybe only with one that was blind! I honestly thought I would be safe until Ky decided to cross dress as one of Kris’s smaller football players. I was hoping that her tall stature would finally work in my favor. Dammit, it owed me after all those hours of looking for prom dresses that were long enough! For finding pants that were not floods. Not to mention how I used to have to dry her cotton pants weighted down so they would stretch beyond their wanted length. Leave it to my friend Kris – the sports trainer who works with female athletes on a daily basis. Not only does she work with female athletes, she works at the University where they are all a little older than Ky. It took some time, but the perfect opportunity finally showed up on the softball team. At least Kris learned from her own experience and got the actual ID from her student rather than her birth certificate. That plan landed her in cuffs and the backseat of a cop car. She learned from her mistake and Ky benefits from her wisdom. Woo hoo!
Ky has tried out the new laminated toy a few times and it works beautifully. She, Kris and Stretch partied at the Top Gun bar in San Diego while I headed back to the hotel with the kiddos. I felt old. She drank beer at the bowling alley with Stretch – she should have felt old. Who hangs out at the bowling alley bar these days?! Worst of all, she got a beer band at the Brad Paisley concert, right after they put mine on! What is that Utah Department of Alcohol Beverage Control campaign? The one where the mom has a string attached to the beer bottle and reels her kid in like a big mouth bass? The bright yellow tags that are all over the liquor stores warning us against letting our underage kids drink? They obviously have not made an impression on me!
It’s true . . . I encourage or rather support her drinking habit. I buy her cheerleader beer, the beercicles, and all those other wine coolers of 2010. I am under the belief that if you are old enough to fight for our country and vote for our leader, you should be responsible enough to buy a beer. How can you encourage someone to vote for your future if you can’t entrust them to buy a cocktail? It is ridiculous. So yes, I buy my underage daughter booze. I let her drink at my house. I let her come to my parties. I don’t let her get out of control. I’m hoping that she is responsible and she is. The problem is I might not be!
At the concert, I was the one sneaking in the booze in my wine bra. Yes, a wine bra. The greatest flask ever invented. It is a simple booze bladder that hides inside of a regular sports bra. It has made many an airline flight, movie, and concert more enjoyable. Sometimes you need more than beer! Sometimes a movie needs something other than a $5 soda. Pirates of the Caribbean with a rum and coke – doesn’t that sound good? Sex in the City with a Cosmo? How Carrie! OK, those ice cold drinks were not the best idea! Thank you Mr. Leno for introducing me to this marvel. Plus it makes my boobs huge! I never have cleavage without a little wine rack.
Kel smuggled in a box of wine in her chair. The bag that is hidden inside of those boxes can easily be mistaken for a cath bag. Besides, who is going to question her?
The best smuggling had to be Jeffries. The tiny little hundred pound girl had not one, but two flasks shoved down her tight jeans just so she could enjoy an Appletini.
Not one of us got caught at security. We weren’t white trash. We weren’t being cheap. We just wanted our favorite drinks. OK, we were a little white trash.
Ky and her beer band got me a pale ale. It was sweet. I’m not going to lie. I liked staying on my blanket while she went on the beer run. Then suddenly the thought crossed my mind . . . she doesn’t have to wait until JUNE! How the hell am I going to pull this wedding bill off before then!?
Relax, have another beer mama. Remember, you put a deposit on Snowbird yesterday. She is stuck with September no matter how good her fake ID is.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Wait! Wait! There's Still Room on my Dance Card!
Ky read the last post and has made a special request for that dance montage. What would her young life have been without some of the crazies I dated! She rarely met any of them. I kept them hidden at their houses. Most didn't even know where I lived. I wasn't some hormonal raging slut that just snuck out to get some. I just didn't see the need of introducing her to everyone that I might go to dinner and a movie with. I was very protective of her when she was little. Now that she is old enough she has heard all the insane stories. Well, they might still be a little edited for her little ears.
Her first request was Stan the Mountain Man. I dated Stan when I was 20, he was 40 something. That drove my mother nuts to say the very least. Stan only cut his hair once a year and he never trimmed his mustache. He also believed bathing on a daily basis was not a necessity, just a waste of water. He donned tie dyed shirts, shorts and Birkenstock complete with wool socks. He really wished he had been born an Indian. He spent his weekends naked in sweat lodges with Medicine men, Indians with beautiful long hair, as well as other white wannabes. His favorite movie had to be Dances With Wolves. We had to go see it several times. Each time he would tell me the history of the Indians and the old west. I never reminded him that I did score a 5 on my American AP test and that I was thinking about majoring in History. I let him tell me about musket guns and scalping while we ate the pizza that he would smuggle in. You're thinking how classy right? It gets better! One day Stay showed up to work with a little leather pouch hanging from his neck. Yep, broke that golden rule of not sleeping where you work more than once! He was always doing strange things so it didn't really alarm me. Then at lunch he did it, he finally shocked me! Dinners on the floor drinking out of oyster shells didn't do it. Having him sweep smoke over me with an eagle feather didn't do it. Flesh hanging in a pouch around his neck did it! Over the weekend he had cleansed himself in the sweat lodge. Part of that cleansing was to remove the venom from yourself by cutting away a piece of your flesh then carrying it with you to remind you of your sins. My boyfriend had a piece of his own flesh around his neck as a piece of jewelry!
How about Bren. He was my pot smoking college boyfriend who asked me to marry him at the end of every date. We met because we were the two bored people at a New Year's Eve party. We ended up getting kicked out of the bathroom a couple of hours later. Bren was fun. He played baseball at the U so he had great forearms. Oh, and did I mention he was a pool boy? He never smoked pot in front of me or asked me join. Hanging out with him was pleasurable, a mindless few hours that I could spend away from home. No need for deep conversation, he couldn't follow it. No need to find a great restaurant for dinner, we just ate junk food to fill his munchy cravings. He left me cute little notes on my car at school that made me laugh. Like the one where he informed me that my coveted A parking sticker at the U didn't stand for Anywhere. This is the day he found my car parked on a snowbank. I was running late! Most importantly he saved me from a crazy stalker just by intimidating him with his mere size. Once I even let him meet my dad. Not sure what I was thinking that day! Luckily he had red hair that kind of distracted dad from his bloodshot eyes.
I would add Bren to the dance card but he is in prison in Alaska. They allowed him home for his Grandma's funeral with an ankle monitor, but not sure that is the look Ky wants at her wedding.
Check . . . Everyone needs a prisoner on their list of boyfriends right?
How about Dan? The tall, dark and handsome OB/GYN from Chicago that I met in Vegas. Oh the trouble that Dr. Bobs at the NYNY Piano Bar can get you into. Girls weekend in Vegas. OK, so we were really staying in Mesquite. Have you ever been to Mesquite? We survived one night only to see Kip Attaway then we had to escape the land of the retirement casinos and white hairs and drive the hundred miles to Vegas! Let's just say we made the most of it. Right off my flirty friend Nik had hooked a cute guy. A doctor and she was so proud. My other friend Les snagged his twin brother! My night was quickly plummeting. I'm not outgoing. I don't really flirt. Luckily, neither did their friend. We were a perfect match. He said hello. I said hi. He asked if I wanted to leave. I answered yes. Wow! I was an easy catch that night! I snagged a doc! I got my first taste of truffles that night and they were decadent. I got my first naughty limo ride up and down the Vegas strip. Complete with neon lights, a disco ball , zebra print carpet and a very discreet driver. When the doc found out we had to drive back to Mesquite he quickly got us a suite at the Monte Carlo but I graciously declined. I wanted to stay so badly but felt guilty taking advantage of his drunken credit card usage. Instead, I just went to his room to wait for my friends. We broke a rule. We didn't make a meeting plan before going our separate ways. Just then my phone starting vibrating with a text message. It was from Nik. "Meet us in Dan's room in 15." I looked at my doc and said, hey, we're supposed to meet my friends in Dan's room. He said great, I'm Dan! Oh, I just realized I never asked his name. The perfect one night stand.
If I only knew Dan's last name, I would add him to Ky's dance card.
Check, check, check . . . everyone needs a great, nameless one night stand.
I haven't seen Stan since he got married in a tee pee and moved to Durango. I still have a healing stone that he brought me from a hike. It reminded him of me and I was to carry it on me at all times to keep me safe. It is in my jewelry box.
I saw Bren a few years ago. He looked just the same - good. And still smelled like pot. I thank him for being so enamored with me. I needed it.
Dan, well, he is a great story to tell friends about. Luckily Nik and Les were there to prove he was real and not a liquor induced dream.
Her first request was Stan the Mountain Man. I dated Stan when I was 20, he was 40 something. That drove my mother nuts to say the very least. Stan only cut his hair once a year and he never trimmed his mustache. He also believed bathing on a daily basis was not a necessity, just a waste of water. He donned tie dyed shirts, shorts and Birkenstock complete with wool socks. He really wished he had been born an Indian. He spent his weekends naked in sweat lodges with Medicine men, Indians with beautiful long hair, as well as other white wannabes. His favorite movie had to be Dances With Wolves. We had to go see it several times. Each time he would tell me the history of the Indians and the old west. I never reminded him that I did score a 5 on my American AP test and that I was thinking about majoring in History. I let him tell me about musket guns and scalping while we ate the pizza that he would smuggle in. You're thinking how classy right? It gets better! One day Stay showed up to work with a little leather pouch hanging from his neck. Yep, broke that golden rule of not sleeping where you work more than once! He was always doing strange things so it didn't really alarm me. Then at lunch he did it, he finally shocked me! Dinners on the floor drinking out of oyster shells didn't do it. Having him sweep smoke over me with an eagle feather didn't do it. Flesh hanging in a pouch around his neck did it! Over the weekend he had cleansed himself in the sweat lodge. Part of that cleansing was to remove the venom from yourself by cutting away a piece of your flesh then carrying it with you to remind you of your sins. My boyfriend had a piece of his own flesh around his neck as a piece of jewelry!
Check . . . dated the older man.
How about Bren. He was my pot smoking college boyfriend who asked me to marry him at the end of every date. We met because we were the two bored people at a New Year's Eve party. We ended up getting kicked out of the bathroom a couple of hours later. Bren was fun. He played baseball at the U so he had great forearms. Oh, and did I mention he was a pool boy? He never smoked pot in front of me or asked me join. Hanging out with him was pleasurable, a mindless few hours that I could spend away from home. No need for deep conversation, he couldn't follow it. No need to find a great restaurant for dinner, we just ate junk food to fill his munchy cravings. He left me cute little notes on my car at school that made me laugh. Like the one where he informed me that my coveted A parking sticker at the U didn't stand for Anywhere. This is the day he found my car parked on a snowbank. I was running late! Most importantly he saved me from a crazy stalker just by intimidating him with his mere size. Once I even let him meet my dad. Not sure what I was thinking that day! Luckily he had red hair that kind of distracted dad from his bloodshot eyes.
I would add Bren to the dance card but he is in prison in Alaska. They allowed him home for his Grandma's funeral with an ankle monitor, but not sure that is the look Ky wants at her wedding.
Check . . . Everyone needs a prisoner on their list of boyfriends right?
How about Dan? The tall, dark and handsome OB/GYN from Chicago that I met in Vegas. Oh the trouble that Dr. Bobs at the NYNY Piano Bar can get you into. Girls weekend in Vegas. OK, so we were really staying in Mesquite. Have you ever been to Mesquite? We survived one night only to see Kip Attaway then we had to escape the land of the retirement casinos and white hairs and drive the hundred miles to Vegas! Let's just say we made the most of it. Right off my flirty friend Nik had hooked a cute guy. A doctor and she was so proud. My other friend Les snagged his twin brother! My night was quickly plummeting. I'm not outgoing. I don't really flirt. Luckily, neither did their friend. We were a perfect match. He said hello. I said hi. He asked if I wanted to leave. I answered yes. Wow! I was an easy catch that night! I snagged a doc! I got my first taste of truffles that night and they were decadent. I got my first naughty limo ride up and down the Vegas strip. Complete with neon lights, a disco ball , zebra print carpet and a very discreet driver. When the doc found out we had to drive back to Mesquite he quickly got us a suite at the Monte Carlo but I graciously declined. I wanted to stay so badly but felt guilty taking advantage of his drunken credit card usage. Instead, I just went to his room to wait for my friends. We broke a rule. We didn't make a meeting plan before going our separate ways. Just then my phone starting vibrating with a text message. It was from Nik. "Meet us in Dan's room in 15." I looked at my doc and said, hey, we're supposed to meet my friends in Dan's room. He said great, I'm Dan! Oh, I just realized I never asked his name. The perfect one night stand.
If I only knew Dan's last name, I would add him to Ky's dance card.
Check, check, check . . . everyone needs a great, nameless one night stand.
I haven't seen Stan since he got married in a tee pee and moved to Durango. I still have a healing stone that he brought me from a hike. It reminded him of me and I was to carry it on me at all times to keep me safe. It is in my jewelry box.
I saw Bren a few years ago. He looked just the same - good. And still smelled like pot. I thank him for being so enamored with me. I needed it.
Dan, well, he is a great story to tell friends about. Luckily Nik and Les were there to prove he was real and not a liquor induced dream.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Sperm.com Didn't Have the Answer
Some parental jobs are defined by gender. Moms are supposed to soothe the owies, do their hair, cook them dinner. Dads teach them to ride bikes, enforce curfew and give them that evil eye that let's them know they are in trouble. Mothers of the Bride get to wear tacky dresses and corsages, fret over meetings with florists and close a gazillion buttons while looking for the perfect dress. Fathers of the Bride get to grant permission to marry their daughter, walk them down the aisle and have a daddy daughter dance.
So what happens in our nontraditional family? Our family where Kyky gives me both Mother's Day and Father's Day gifts because I am both to her.
I taught her how to ride a bike and I enforced curfew. I never was able to give that evil look though. I always ended up giggling which became contagious and then we would forget what naughty deed started the entire hysteria. I also bandaged the scrapes, fixed her hair and made sure she was fed.
I can guarantee I'm not going to wear a tacky dress. Let's not forget the dream of the MOB being a MILF. My dress will be sexy, well, appropriately sexy. I can't be embarrassing. It won't be red. I've already had meetings that make me fret over this entire event and I am dreading the task of finding the perfect dress all the while looking forward to doing up the gazillion buttons.
But what about that granting permission? The walk down the aisle? The daddy daughter dance?
That's where her sperm donor was supposed to come in. But Spermy has just recently made an appearance in her life. He hasn't yet earned the rights to these traditions has he?
I made it through the first task when Stretch came over that night to ask me to marry my daughter. Once I got over the initial embarrassment of what I had done to him just days before I bucked up and took on the role of the fatherly figure. I thought about what my dad had said to my brother-in-law when he came with the same question. I got as serious as I could. Asked about their future plans, talked about the importance of finishing school and not rushing into things. I think I did OK. We had a good talk and he had a plan and good answers to all my questions. I felt successful. I went to bed thinking I couldn't believe I just had that conversation! It wasn't supposed to be my job but in our little family, all the jobs are mine.
Would Spermy have been tougher on Stretch the Suitor? Asked tougher more pertinent questions? I don't think so. He didn't get to grant permission. He didn't get to answer the all important question in his daughter's life. I did and I was proud to be breaking the gender barrier.
The aisle -- I'm not walking her down it. I think that would look stupid. Some traditions need to be kept. A bride needs to be on the arm of a man. A man that loves her and has watched her grow into a woman. Not on the arm of a mom. Two dresses, two up dos, too many flowers are not a good thing. Plus is kind of lesi. It isn't the right picture. The picture is supposed to be a beautiful white dress accompanied by a dashing black tuxedo. Maybe she'll walk down alone. After all she does like to think she is independent. That seems lonely. Do you really want to make the longest and most watched walk of your life all by yourself? All eyes on just you. No one to steady your nervous steps towards the altar and your future husband? No one there to push you forward, to cue you to take Stretch's hand? The last option is to find that special man. She says Spermy hasn't earned the right to lend his elbow and give her away. Gpa is her other choice. He would be proud and the GOB (grandma of the bride, divorced from the Gpa) would be so envious. That might make the decision for Kyky right there. She loves to piss off the GOB. I know this is a tough decision for her. Ky doesn't want to offend anyone. If Spermy hadn't entered her life I think she would have already asked Gpa. A way to repay him for all the tractor rides, mac n' cheese, pool parties and trips to the dump. For her love of the Red Sox, corn and her natural ease at finding klutzy accidents! But then I think there is that part of her that wants her "dad" to walk her down the aisle. I don't think she is worried about offending Gpa or Spermy, but me. Would I be hurt if Spermy were to walk her down the aisle? I think if the wedding were soon, my answer is yes. But I have a year to get used to the idea. I don't know that he has earned the right yet, but he has time to redeem himself, to earn the right. Plus I keep reminding myself that I truly loved him and because of that love I have Ky. Maybe it is me that owes that walk to him. He gave me a great give with that sperm donation twenty years ago. Maybe this is my gift to him . . . letting him revel in the pride and love that that donation created. Obviously I'm going to have to start thinking of him as more than sperm.com. Mama will be going to the bar to get used to having him around again! Don't think he gets to answer the question of "who gives this woman in marriage?" I am answering that! Whoever the hell walks her down the damned aisle!
Now for the dance. What is a wedding with dancing and no daddy daughter dance? Spermy has earned that by finally contacting Kyky. Not to mention with the cash that he is giving for this bash! Or maybe it should just be a montage of the men I have involved in her life. My dad, who helped me raise her. My first real boyfriend after Spermy, T, who helped drive carpool to Challenger School, introduced her to her love of country music, and loved her as his own. Or maybe Otis, my best friends x-husband and my x-boyfriend who has known Ky since she was one. He has been there through everything until this last chapter. Breaking up with someone can do that. He isn't aware that Spermy is back in the picture and he isn't in the loop of the wedding. But he has seen her grow into a woman and he has loved her as his "oldest" kid for a long time. We'll leave out the losers that we all want to forget!
When it comes down to it . . . the decisions are Ky's. Walk with who you want to. Steady yourself and proudly take that step towards Stretch all on your own. Or have the arm of Gpa or Spermy to guide you into your future. It is your choice. Dance with everyone who has loved you as a daughter and enjoy every beat. The night is yours and your decisions will be right.
So what happens in our nontraditional family? Our family where Kyky gives me both Mother's Day and Father's Day gifts because I am both to her.
I taught her how to ride a bike and I enforced curfew. I never was able to give that evil look though. I always ended up giggling which became contagious and then we would forget what naughty deed started the entire hysteria. I also bandaged the scrapes, fixed her hair and made sure she was fed.
I can guarantee I'm not going to wear a tacky dress. Let's not forget the dream of the MOB being a MILF. My dress will be sexy, well, appropriately sexy. I can't be embarrassing. It won't be red. I've already had meetings that make me fret over this entire event and I am dreading the task of finding the perfect dress all the while looking forward to doing up the gazillion buttons.
But what about that granting permission? The walk down the aisle? The daddy daughter dance?
That's where her sperm donor was supposed to come in. But Spermy has just recently made an appearance in her life. He hasn't yet earned the rights to these traditions has he?
I made it through the first task when Stretch came over that night to ask me to marry my daughter. Once I got over the initial embarrassment of what I had done to him just days before I bucked up and took on the role of the fatherly figure. I thought about what my dad had said to my brother-in-law when he came with the same question. I got as serious as I could. Asked about their future plans, talked about the importance of finishing school and not rushing into things. I think I did OK. We had a good talk and he had a plan and good answers to all my questions. I felt successful. I went to bed thinking I couldn't believe I just had that conversation! It wasn't supposed to be my job but in our little family, all the jobs are mine.
Would Spermy have been tougher on Stretch the Suitor? Asked tougher more pertinent questions? I don't think so. He didn't get to grant permission. He didn't get to answer the all important question in his daughter's life. I did and I was proud to be breaking the gender barrier.
The aisle -- I'm not walking her down it. I think that would look stupid. Some traditions need to be kept. A bride needs to be on the arm of a man. A man that loves her and has watched her grow into a woman. Not on the arm of a mom. Two dresses, two up dos, too many flowers are not a good thing. Plus is kind of lesi. It isn't the right picture. The picture is supposed to be a beautiful white dress accompanied by a dashing black tuxedo. Maybe she'll walk down alone. After all she does like to think she is independent. That seems lonely. Do you really want to make the longest and most watched walk of your life all by yourself? All eyes on just you. No one to steady your nervous steps towards the altar and your future husband? No one there to push you forward, to cue you to take Stretch's hand? The last option is to find that special man. She says Spermy hasn't earned the right to lend his elbow and give her away. Gpa is her other choice. He would be proud and the GOB (grandma of the bride, divorced from the Gpa) would be so envious. That might make the decision for Kyky right there. She loves to piss off the GOB. I know this is a tough decision for her. Ky doesn't want to offend anyone. If Spermy hadn't entered her life I think she would have already asked Gpa. A way to repay him for all the tractor rides, mac n' cheese, pool parties and trips to the dump. For her love of the Red Sox, corn and her natural ease at finding klutzy accidents! But then I think there is that part of her that wants her "dad" to walk her down the aisle. I don't think she is worried about offending Gpa or Spermy, but me. Would I be hurt if Spermy were to walk her down the aisle? I think if the wedding were soon, my answer is yes. But I have a year to get used to the idea. I don't know that he has earned the right yet, but he has time to redeem himself, to earn the right. Plus I keep reminding myself that I truly loved him and because of that love I have Ky. Maybe it is me that owes that walk to him. He gave me a great give with that sperm donation twenty years ago. Maybe this is my gift to him . . . letting him revel in the pride and love that that donation created. Obviously I'm going to have to start thinking of him as more than sperm.com. Mama will be going to the bar to get used to having him around again! Don't think he gets to answer the question of "who gives this woman in marriage?" I am answering that! Whoever the hell walks her down the damned aisle!
Now for the dance. What is a wedding with dancing and no daddy daughter dance? Spermy has earned that by finally contacting Kyky. Not to mention with the cash that he is giving for this bash! Or maybe it should just be a montage of the men I have involved in her life. My dad, who helped me raise her. My first real boyfriend after Spermy, T, who helped drive carpool to Challenger School, introduced her to her love of country music, and loved her as his own. Or maybe Otis, my best friends x-husband and my x-boyfriend who has known Ky since she was one. He has been there through everything until this last chapter. Breaking up with someone can do that. He isn't aware that Spermy is back in the picture and he isn't in the loop of the wedding. But he has seen her grow into a woman and he has loved her as his "oldest" kid for a long time. We'll leave out the losers that we all want to forget!
When it comes down to it . . . the decisions are Ky's. Walk with who you want to. Steady yourself and proudly take that step towards Stretch all on your own. Or have the arm of Gpa or Spermy to guide you into your future. It is your choice. Dance with everyone who has loved you as a daughter and enjoy every beat. The night is yours and your decisions will be right.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Save the Whale
I’m shoving a Shamu balloon animal into the minuscule commuter plane’s overhead compartment. Not because it is about the cutest balloon art I have ever seen. Not because the clown that could have escaped from the pages of Water for Elephants in his cloth tattered pants and custom made Ringling Brothers shoes was pulling at my heart strings for donations. But because I have carried this damned thing for two days! Loading it into the rental van. Shoving its way into an already over crowded elevator. Protecting it from popping as my three year old niece carried it through Sea World. Pleading with the TSA agent to get it to fit through the screening. And mostly because of my niece, who is sitting in the aisle of the airplane blocking the other, irritated passengers from reaching their seats until I securely place Shamu into his ”seat” for the plane ride home.
I look back to see my daughter, calmly getting situated for the ride home. Talking to Stretch and being good. Then I look down again at Abighell, causing a scene as I latch the overhead to procure Shamu’s safety. I am thankful that my job dealing with toddlers is done. It is no longer a full time job. A duty required as a parent. It is merely something I volunteer for. Like grandparents, an aunt can return the cute little children at the end of the day, or the end of a long weekend. We had a great long weekend in San Diego. Four Shamu shows, including one in the front row of the splash zone! I’ve never done that before. Ky hated Sea World after an incident involving her lunch tray and too many seagulls. Luckily, they sell ponchos that closely resemble the famous orca. I willingly handed over my $50 bill to guarantee dryness.
I’m really hoping my prego little sister enjoyed one of her last weekends of being the mother of just two because I am ready to return them.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my nieces. My oldest, Bitzy, or Princess Tender Heart, and I are one in the same. She is me reincarnated from thirty-five years ago. Bitzy is prissy, thoughtful, a girl’s girl right down to the sparkly shoes and mini skirt. The only thing she is lacking is the Holly Hobby ruffle panties that I wouldn’t leave the house without! She is my buddy. She is my sewing partner, the fabric club President. Bitz is the one who loves the things that I love from China to New York to the perfect Halloween costume. She will follow me wherever I lead without question because she knows we are alike and kindred spirits.
Then there is Abihell – Princess Tough Nut. She can fall down a flight of stairs and pop up as if nothing happened. Bitz would have cried for days and asked for a wheel chair to survive the minor scrapes and bruises left from the fall. Abs has used Shit in context since the age of two with the perfect inflection in her voice. Her strength has caused her parents heart failure and made her Grandpa invent safety guards not yet needed by the general public. She can scale a set of cabinet drawers with the mere assist of a single knob in order to reach the snack cupboard. She is unstoppable, and so loveable. I was nothing like her until my later years, and even now it is a small glimpse of her capability. I can only pretend to imagine where her life and determination will lead her. I am envious, yet she exhausts me!
My new Little One is not here yet. She is due any day. I can’t wait to meet her and see what adventures she has in store for me.
People always ask me if I was scared to be a parent at such a young age. Of course I was. At nineteen you have no idea what you are doing and what your future holds. Do I regret it? HELL NO! Would I want to be chasing Abihell and trying to embellish Bitzy’s imagination on a daily basis? NO. I love that I have grown up with a best friend that I can call my daughter. I love that people compare us to the Gilmore Girls. I wouldn’t want to be starting over. I want to be the favorite aunt that saves Shamu for Monday’s Show n’ Tell. I want to spoil them, let them eat as much cotton candy as they can, let them stay up too late, then return them with messy hair and tired eyes to their loving parents who can endure this energy on a daily basis. I get to sleep in on the weekends, that is unless we have an early appointment to look at a possible reception site. For that I will gladly start my weekends early.
I look back to see my daughter, calmly getting situated for the ride home. Talking to Stretch and being good. Then I look down again at Abighell, causing a scene as I latch the overhead to procure Shamu’s safety. I am thankful that my job dealing with toddlers is done. It is no longer a full time job. A duty required as a parent. It is merely something I volunteer for. Like grandparents, an aunt can return the cute little children at the end of the day, or the end of a long weekend. We had a great long weekend in San Diego. Four Shamu shows, including one in the front row of the splash zone! I’ve never done that before. Ky hated Sea World after an incident involving her lunch tray and too many seagulls. Luckily, they sell ponchos that closely resemble the famous orca. I willingly handed over my $50 bill to guarantee dryness.
I’m really hoping my prego little sister enjoyed one of her last weekends of being the mother of just two because I am ready to return them.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my nieces. My oldest, Bitzy, or Princess Tender Heart, and I are one in the same. She is me reincarnated from thirty-five years ago. Bitzy is prissy, thoughtful, a girl’s girl right down to the sparkly shoes and mini skirt. The only thing she is lacking is the Holly Hobby ruffle panties that I wouldn’t leave the house without! She is my buddy. She is my sewing partner, the fabric club President. Bitz is the one who loves the things that I love from China to New York to the perfect Halloween costume. She will follow me wherever I lead without question because she knows we are alike and kindred spirits.
Then there is Abihell – Princess Tough Nut. She can fall down a flight of stairs and pop up as if nothing happened. Bitz would have cried for days and asked for a wheel chair to survive the minor scrapes and bruises left from the fall. Abs has used Shit in context since the age of two with the perfect inflection in her voice. Her strength has caused her parents heart failure and made her Grandpa invent safety guards not yet needed by the general public. She can scale a set of cabinet drawers with the mere assist of a single knob in order to reach the snack cupboard. She is unstoppable, and so loveable. I was nothing like her until my later years, and even now it is a small glimpse of her capability. I can only pretend to imagine where her life and determination will lead her. I am envious, yet she exhausts me!
My new Little One is not here yet. She is due any day. I can’t wait to meet her and see what adventures she has in store for me.
People always ask me if I was scared to be a parent at such a young age. Of course I was. At nineteen you have no idea what you are doing and what your future holds. Do I regret it? HELL NO! Would I want to be chasing Abihell and trying to embellish Bitzy’s imagination on a daily basis? NO. I love that I have grown up with a best friend that I can call my daughter. I love that people compare us to the Gilmore Girls. I wouldn’t want to be starting over. I want to be the favorite aunt that saves Shamu for Monday’s Show n’ Tell. I want to spoil them, let them eat as much cotton candy as they can, let them stay up too late, then return them with messy hair and tired eyes to their loving parents who can endure this energy on a daily basis. I get to sleep in on the weekends, that is unless we have an early appointment to look at a possible reception site. For that I will gladly start my weekends early.
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