HALLOWEEN MEMORIES

My favorite Halloween memory is my kindergarten year.  The city art council had a pumpkin-growing-carving-contest.

When I went out to pick a pumpkin from our garden all I could find was a small, tiny pumpkin, no bigger than a grapefruit.  I was so disappointed.  I brought this grapefruit sized pumpkin inside and washed it off in the sink.  I remember staring at it and staring at it, until I proclaimed, "Mom, I'm not going to be in the contest.  My pumpkin is too small to win a prize.  It looks like a baby."  And with all the dramatic effects I could muster, I threw my hands up in the air and stomped upstairs.  Of course, I was five and baby was like a cuss word to me, then again so was poop.  

My mom, being the elementary school teacher said, "Why don't you consider dressing it like a baby".  And that is exactly what we did.  Mom and I cut sleeping baby eyes and an adorable nose, tied a pink ribbon to it's stem, and stuck a pacifier in the pumpkin's mouth.  Then we took an oatmeal box, left the lid off and put a doll dress over it so the baby pumpkin could sit on top of it.

I won the contest for "most creative".  I can't remember what the prize was, but it didn't matter because it was the satisfaction I felt that made it all worth while.  It was fun.  It was creative holiday time spent between my mom and me.

Today, I too am creating Halloween memories with my daughter.  I'm helping twenty one kindergarteners get in their costume for the Halloween parade at O's school and then there's a party in the classroom where I will be overstimulated with twenty one over-sugared kids.  Worst off, there will be no wine!  Kindergarten SUCKS!

Putting the WINE in KINDERGARTEN

It's so exciting for O to be making new friends.  She talks about each of the girls and boys in her class as though she has known them forever.  She's so proud.  She's all about putting the KIND in KINDERGARTEN.  

Me on the other hand, I feel like I'm in high school again.  I put up a wonderful front.  I always smile and pretend to be outgoing and not at all shy.  Meanwhile, I constantly wonder which clique has already formed and who fits the bill.  Except now it's the parents of my child's classmates I want to impress. 

Why wouldn't I be liked?  I'm cool.  From now on, when I introduce myself to a mother of O's classmates, I will say, "Hi.  I'm Tasha McGinn.  My daughter is O.  They like milk, I like wine.  Do you like wine?"

I mean seriously, why not cut through the bull#$%*.  Let's figure out from the start if we can be friends.  "What's that?  Did you say you do or you don't like wine?"  

O's newest friend is an adorable, delightful little girl named Mona.  Since the first day of school O has talked about her.  O refers to Mona as her sister and she always adds, "Seriously mommy, we are that tight."  

The best part about Mona is that I really like her mom.  Why?  Because in the first few minutes of our conversation we both confided how glad we were that the connection between the two of them was reciprocal on both ends and within two more minutes of the conversation, we had established our love for wine and Missoni from Target.  Rock on.  Coupons and corks flew.  

Oh no!  I just realized with 21 kids in her class, I have 19 more mom's to meet and one liver. Kindergarten SUCKS!

Cannibal Lector Wears an Indian Bindi?

With Halloween approaching, O made a mask in art class today.  Her mask looks like the mask Hannibal Lector wore when he was being transferred in the movie Silence of the Lambs.   

The mask is white and O drew scary teeth in the mouth, but with a big space to show where one was missing.  This is probably because she often dreams of the tooth fairy (thankfully more than nightmares).  I told her how impressed I was with her creativity.   

Then this evening I was walking past the mask ... O had attached it to a pumpkin in the kitchen ... And I noticed something even more puzzling.  Hannibal Lector was wearing what looked like an Indian bindi.  That itself was haunting as the bindi is a symbol of protection. 

So I looked up bindi at Wikipedia to get some more information to share with O.   As a practicing yogi, I have always been familiar with the bindi, but wanted to learn more.  O and I had a conversation about the bindi and discussed how  it serves to protect and represents our wisdom inside.  Like a wise great aunt who happens to be a cop.  

After looking it up and reading in greater detail we discovered it also protected against demons and bad luck.  Wow!  Could it be that this mask is not Hannibal Lector's after all, but rather a mask to protect her from the nightmares she's had?  Cool!  Scare the scary things.  Good thinking, O!  I love it!  

Hey ladies, maybe we should all wear a bindi to ward off demons (too much wine) and bad luck (no wine).  No wait, I'll get my bindi on and head to Vegas!  I'll make a big stake and then start a trend.  It will totally catch on.  Before you know it we will be taking yoga breaks while the dealer shuffles the deck in the casino.  Oh so cool.  Wait!  I can't do that.  I'm a wife and a mom.  I'm a blogger.  I have responsibilities (and thankfully wine; "good bindi").  Unfortunately, I can't go to Vegas.  Damn!  Kindergarten SUCKS!

A Just Add Water Nightmare

A couple days ago, my sweet mom sent O a Halloween care package.  She often sends "Nana" care packages and O opens each of them with much anticipation.  The Halloween box always contains a card, some candy, a pumpkin from her garden and a Halloween decoration.  This year she added something really cool – a “grow your own dinosaur."  

O couldn't wait to put it in water, and we did so immediately.  It started as a dinosaur egg and within 24 hours the dinosaur began to break out of its shell.  Yesterday evening, O was touching the dinosaur and it's shell.  It was only partially encased at this point.  I asked her, "What do you believe made the dinosaur come out of the egg?"  O responded, "I don't know."  I gave her some wait time … just a few seconds to ponder the question.  And then she said, "The dinosaur probably came out because she wanted to be a big girl."  O named the dinosaur Olivia Olana.  

Before she went to bed I asked her again “what else might have made the dinosaur come out of its shell?” She said water and then added, "It's just like baby frogs who live in their mommy's tummy.  They grow and grow and grow so they can't fit in their mommy's tummy anymore so they come out."  (I let the issue of tadpoles go for the time being.)

Her usual bedtime routine went as planned, beginning with bath time and ending with books and prayers.  In the middle of the night she awoke screaming in terror.  I held her while she cried and told her to take deep breaths.  She said she had been dreaming about dinosaurs and that Olivia Olana had grown so big it overtook our house and cut off her imaginary big sister's nose and feet.  She woke up two times … all because of the same dream.  

The second time I told her, "O, before you go back to sleep think about how you would want the nightmare to end happily.  That way when it comes time for you to get scared again, you won't need to because you can make it a happy ending.  It can be a challenge, however you can always try and change your nightmares into dreams with happy endings." 

Once I got her back to sleep, I looked at the clock … 5:30 am.  The bus will be here in three hours to pick her up.  Kindergarten SUCKS!

Pretend Teenagers

O had a friend over for a playdate this afternoon.  As soon as they walked through the door they headed straight upstairs to O's closet to change into costumes.  Each of them were dressed head to toe, starting with the hats, hair bows and headbands down to the handbags and high heel shoes.  After walking down the stairs holding onto the railing so they didn't trip, they both declared out loud in unison, "We are teenagers!"  Both of them had a fancy purse with a pretend phone inside that would "ring".  They would  tell me they needed to answer their pretend cell phones and ask me to "hold that thought".  Or they would pretend to take a picture.  Or they would pretend to show me a picture that their "boyfriend" sent.    

Boyfriend?  No!  Not yet!  We will now be switching schools for O as she will be attending the all girls program offered at St. Catherine's of the Lake in Northern Ontario.  Kindergarten SUCKS! 

"Rapunzel" Coaxes Her Friend to Use Scissors

At school today, O coaxed her girlfriend into cutting her hair with kid scissors.  Apparently, O's friend not only cut her own hair, she took it a step further and cut her own pants and shirt too.

I knew what I needed to do.  I called the child's mom, Ann.  That's not true, I downed a glass of wine and dialed her number.  Actually, I downed another glass of wine while I stared at the phone and thought about all the "what ifs".  Ann and I had met previously at a school function.  She seemed so down to earth and laid back.  However, I couldn't help remembering she is married to a lawyer.

As soon as she answered the phone, I offered a free haircut with our favorite hair stylist at Cartoon Cuts and all of O's hair bows, hair clips, pony tail holders, headbands and styling products, along with her Rapunzel wig from her Halloween costume.  She refused them all.  It appears she has been through this before with her older child who did the same thing in kindergarten.  As we hung up the phone giggling about the incident, I was grateful for her grace.  After all, she talked me off the cliff.  Kindergarten SUCKS!

Daddy's Imaginary Kids From His "First Marriage"

My husband a wonderful sense of humor.  When O wants to be with mommy, he pretends he has imaginary children from his "first marriage" named Sasha and Sharla who appreciate him.  They always want to sit next to him.  They always make him laugh.  They always want to watch the same TV show.  He uses them to rock the vote when O and I want to go to our favorite restaurant, which happens to be my husband's least favorite.  He hums to them.  He whispers stories to Sasha and Sharla and all the while he is totally sober.  O and I can't help but giggle which encourages him to continue the rant.  

The other day O couldn't figure out who ate the last of her favorite pink cookies.  Her daddy did, but he blamed it on his kids, Sasha and Sharla.  It appears I have a total of four five-year-old's living under my roof.  Kindergarten SUCKS!

GHOSTING

Two nights ago our house was "ghosted".  For those of you who may not know what this means, it's when a neighbor drops off a bag of treats with a sign that reads, "WE'VE BEEN GHOSTED" and a poem that reads much like this:

Late last night we left you a treat

The tradition is one we hope you'll repeat

Take the ghost and pin it to your door

To let others know you ghost no more

Now it's your turn to pass on the surprises

To tow more families you must advises

Gather some treats and deliver them soon

Within two nights under the light of the moon

Include a ghost with each package you give

Along with this poem for the tradition to live

Before posting the sign on the door, one makes two copies of the poem and the sign.  Sometime in the next two nights we make a bag of treats and decorate the sign in order to ghost the next neighborhood victims.  In our neighborhood, Halloween night is often when the "ghosters" reveal themselves.  The neighborhood kids who come to trick-or-treat will see the sign they decorated hanging on our front door and tell us if they ghosted us before they can say "Trick or Treat".  They will also inform us if they are still looking for that "ghost" who "ghosted" them.

Who will we ghost?  O and I recently came to know that Joe from her kindergarten class lives in our neighborhood.  O couldn't wait to ghost him.  This year we assumed we had been ghosted by our dear friends, as they get us every year, however after a few texts with my girlfriend, I came to know they had not been ghosted yet this year.  Perfect.  We had our two and we had work to do!

We prepared our poem, signs and bag of treats.  We ended up preparing three signs as O became attached to one and felt it necessary we hang it on our front door.  OK.  I reminded myself that when I had children I took the oath that I would pick and choose my battles and this was one of those times.  Upon packing the bag of treats O switched it up a notch and put in some Z-Bars and some cheese-its.  I couldn't help but think how lovely it would be if ghosting was not only about treats for the kids, but treats for the adults.  I might just have to "ghost" a bottle of wine to two friends in the neighborhood and create my own poem all the while creating a new tradition in our neighborhood.  Instead of the sign saying "We've Been Ghosted", it can say, "We've Been Boo-zed".  With a poem that reads:

Late last nite I left you a bottle of wine

Git it, "You've Been BOO-ZED"

To your door please pin this brown bag

To let others know you've been boo-zed

Git it, "You've Been BOO-ZED

Or don't pen it as it wooldn't really be a bad 

Thing to be BOO-ZED again

Git it, "You've Been BOO-ZED"

Now it's your tern to pass on the spirits

Two more families within two nites

Under the lite of the moooooon

Include a bottle with each brown bag you give

Along with this poem.  

My apologeeze for the rhimes and mispells...

I obvously drank my bottle too soon.

Git it?

After all, Halloween can't be just about the kids!

We headed out just after dark.  It was pouring cold rain so we wore our rain coats and took our umbrellas so the sacks wouldn't get wet.  We snuck up to Joe's front porch first.  We took a good look to ensure no one had ghosted him yet and we were to happy to see no one had.  We left the sack and ran away giggling.  We headed to the home of our dear friends.  As soon as we got to their driveway we heard conversation and realized they had just pulled in and were getting out of the car.  We ran across the street and ducked down behind a bush.  We were giggling and had that exciting childlike feeling of being caught, but holding onto hope that we wouldn't be.  O walked a few feet from me to see if they had gone inside their house yet and that's when I heard one of their girls yell, "Hi O."  O waved.  Then she ran back to my side and giggled again.

Once they were inside we ran up to the porch and left it hoping they weren't looking out the windows.  Then we ran home all the while giggling and laughing as we basked in the thrill of it.  It was so much fun!  However, I was relieved that we wouldn't need to go through that again till next year.

As we came downstairs this morning, we noticed our "We've Been Ghosted" signs had fallen down.  When we opened the door we realized someone had ghosted us again.  I sure hope it's not raining AGAIN tonight.  Kindergarten SUCKS!

Better Late Than Never

When I went to wake O this morning, I couldn't help but crawl in and cuddle her.  I watched her sleep for quite awhile.  She was completely zonked out, almost snoring.   I thought about the bus in relation to time left for us to get ready and realized we could rest a little longer.  Why I could even sleep another 15 minutes and so I did.  

Then they came … the trash trucks.  I was in a haze as I looked at the clock-8:29 am, the exact time that the bus is scheduled to pick up O and her neighborhood friends every day.  I rubbed my eyes and checked the clock again.  I then leaned over and told O the time.  Her eyes popped open and she excitedly said, "Yay!  I'm late!  I missed the bus.  You get to drive me to school."  To which I replied, "You're right.  It happens."  

From that moment I decided I wouldn't panic.  In fact, we did not rush, but rather got up and moved through our usual morning routine.  Of course, the entire time there was something inside my stomach asking me to hurry.  I know what that something was.  It was past experience of feeling guilty for being late.  The guilt caused by the onset of disapproving eyes from my school days when I would walk into school after class had begun and the teacher would give me "that look.”  I reminded myself that we didn't plan this.  The lesson to O is not about being late, but rather about being human.  

On the way to school she asked if we could pass her old preschool.  I told her not today … maybe another a day.  Then, the most magnificent rainbow caught my eye.  It was as beautiful as the Hawaiian sky except there was not an ocean to meet it.  I pulled over the hill so we could get a better view.  I parked the car across from her preschool.  O said, "Mommy, there it is, my preschool."  I told her that she was right, and then asked her to take off her seatbelt and come sit with me.  She did and that's when she noticed it too.  It was so bright and beautiful.  In some ways, it was divine intervention.  It was my sign that us taking time this morning to relax and "be human" all the while rolling with our day was exactly what we needed.  

Recently O has taken an interest in the colors of rainbows and and their arrangement.  We sat there long enough to watch the colors fade away. We smiled at each other in recognition of the true essence of mother nature.  

O returned to her car seat and fastened her seatbelt.  As we drove to school we talked about the beauty of a rainbow, what makes a rainbow, and the incredible rainbow we witnessed just minutes ago.  If it wasn't for us over sleeping today, we would have missed out.  The rainbow we saw was truly a sign from the universe.  That is, until we got to the school secretary who handed O a large rectangular pink slip with the word TARDY typed across it.   Kindergarten SUCKS!

The Other Side of the Bus

On the way to school this morning O asked me if I would wave from the curb across the street from the bus stop since recently she has been sitting on the other side of the bus.  I assured her I would.  When the bus pulled up, we did our "curbside kisses".  Since today was picture day, as she boarded the bus I told her, "Don't smile for the camera".  Hoping, as usual, she would do the opposite of what I tell her.  She looked back and smiled rolling her eyes.  I headed to the other side of the bus to wave to her, however she must have forgotten her request, because she was sitting with her back to the window and to me.  Kindergarten SUCKS!

Every Hair Has a Place on Picture Day

Just as I was getting ready to sit down and write my blog, I saw the school note and picture order form reminding me tomorrow is picture day for O's school.

PICTURE DAY?  What will O wear?  She hasn't had a bath since Saturday.  (Don't ask.) The only thing new in her closet since last fall is the Missoni dress I bought her from Target that crazy day last month when every woman in the country was running from Target to Target in cyberspace and beyond just to get their hands on some zigzag.

And her hair?  Oh my, her hair has not been cut since July.  Do you think Cartoon Cuts has a 7:30 am tomorrow?  MMMM...probably not.  Think Tasha.  Think.  You see, this is the time when I wish I or one of my neighborhood friends would have graduated from beauty school.  Seriously, at this point, I would even be OK with a beauty school dropout cutting my daughter's hair.  All O needs is a quick trim around the edges to cut off the split ends.

When I was a teacher I clearly remember wondering why children would show up to our classroom mismatched and unkempt.  Now, as a parent, I totally get it.

Why comb hair?  O screams whenever I try and it's just going to get tangled again anyway.  My friend, Shelley used to say, "Every hair has a place.  Pin the strands that need a little extra help and let the rest fall as it may."  Really?  Well what about the gray one sticking straight out of the top of my head?  Every time I think I've found the perfect pin to hold it down, it pops back up and my closest friends have no problem mentioning their concern as to why I have a bobby pin holding back my hair at the top of my forehead.  Then again, that is why they are my closest friends.

You know what?  I have to be honest, there's a part of me that wants to send her to picture day the way she goes everyday.  No need for an early morning haircut.  No need to brush her hair.  It will be tangled.  She can pick out the headband she wants to wear even if it is florescent yellow.  She can pick out her outfit.

Yes.  Tomorrow I will send her mismatched and unkempt.  After all, she's five.  It's the only time of her life where she can have un-brushed, tangled split ends and wear whatever she wants with pride.  No one will question her ragga-muffin hair or her uncoordinated outfit.  No one except her mother.  Her mother?  Wait, I'm her mother.  Kindergarten SUCKS!

"Whatever!"

This morning, O is sitting at the kitchen bar coloring her Johnny Appleseed picture.  My back is to her as I am packing her lunch and she says, "My tummy hurts."  I don't react right away.  She then adds, "Never mind.  Obviously you're not listening." 

"Wait.  I was listening, love.  You said your tummy hurts?  Does it feel like butterflies or do you feel sick like you want to throw up?"  All the while I'm praying five Our Father's that it's butterflies!

"No Mommy.  Ugh! Can we un-talk about this?" she then asks.

All of a sudden an image flashed forward in my mind.  Much like the commercial about the five year old child sitting in the driver seat while she is discussing with her father her responsibilities behind the wheel, she then morphs into teenage girl.  

In my kitchen I felt like O was all of a sudden a teenager and the next word out of her mouth would be, "Whatever!"  

So I ask, "Did you say un-talk?  Do you mean like don't discuss or do you mean like rewind or maybe undo?"  What the hell is that?  I just had someone tell me what OMG stood for and now "un-talk?"  My mind drifts to my contact list as I consider who I might call to get a definition on this one--EMMA!

Her response, "Oh Mom!". 

It's not mom it's mommy or mama.  My five year old turned into a teenager overnight!  Kindergarten SUCKS!

Apples to Apples

Yesterday on the way to school I told O she should get excited because they were going to work with computers at school.  I knew they were having an "apple lab" and parent volunteers would be there, so I wanted to prepare O that I wouldn't be one of them.  Since I had volunteered for everything else, it was the one thing I didn't volunteer for at back to school night.  I also wasn't real interested in being in the classroom while the kids worked on computers.  In fact, when I saw the email go out from the room parent about the time schedule I thought it odd that there were ten volunteers for the "apple lab." As a former teacher, however, I remembered that when introducing new things it was always nice to have a lot of extra hands in the classroom.

All she wanted to talk about was the boy who vommitted at lunch yesterday, so I tried to change the subject and continued to ask her about the computer lab.  "Huh?" She then said they didn't work with computers.  I was totally confused until I took out her folder.  Inside there was a book in the shape of an apple and the pages inside explained the steps of an "apple lab".   I guess with all the press about Steve Jobs, the CEO of Apple who passed away last week, I never even considered this being an actual fruit lab.  

Today O came home from school with a cutout of a boy with a basket of apples and a pan on his head.  I asked who it was and she said, "That's Johnny Appleseed."  I sat in silence waiting for more information.  She was coloring a picture as she began to share some facts.  "His real name is Johnny Chapman but they called him Johnny Appleseed because he carried apples and seeds wherever he traveled and always shared them with people.  He planted a lot of apple trees all over the world because he didn't want anyone to be hungry.  Today we still eat the apples that come from some of the trees he planted.  He wore a pan on his head in case it rained.   He wore old clothes with patches and he always went barefoot.  Mommy, he slept outside and didn't even have a motorhome.  He lived when there were no airplanes.  Instead of traveling on airplanes, he rode on horses or in carts pulled by horses.  If he was still living he would be REALLY old."

She really got me thinking.  What kind of apples did Johnny Appleseed plant?  Were they yellow, green or red apples?  Were they Fiji, Gala, Honeycrisp, Cortland, Crispin, Golden delicious, Grannysmith, Melrose, Pink lady, Gingergold...Did he make apple juice, apple pie, apple ice cream, apple turnovers, apple fritters, apple dumplings, apple strudel, apple cobbler, apple cake, apple tart, carmel apples?  Did he even know what a Waldorf salad tasted like?  Oh I hope he did.  Most importantly had he tried an apple mojito, or an apple martini or a chardonnay with a hint of apple?  Probably not.  Poor guy.  Do you think I'm missing the point?  Goodness, I think I am.  Why couldn't the "apple lab" have been a computer lab?  How bout them apples.  Kindergarten SUCKS!

OH VOMMIT!

As O got off the bus today, the first thing she said, with much excitement, was "Mom, today at the lunch table this boy Joe threw up.  It looked like this..."  She opened her mouth wide, stuck out her tongue and made the action with her finger all the while saying, "BLAAAK!". Then she added, "He wasn't feeling all that well when we got to the lunch table, so when I saw him vomit, I thought he was spitting out his sandwich because he didn't like it, but then when it kept coming out, I knew it must be throw up since it was gooey, chunky and wet.  I was sitting next to him when it happened, but luckily he didn't get it on me."  Yes, it's your lucky day, O!  Let's go to Vegas!


And then she briefly paused before she said, "But mommy, my stomach hurts." 


 Really O, because my stomach's feeling queasy too.  Lets go home and chug Pepto.  Kindergarten SUCKS!

"On the Road Again"-Songs and Lessons from the RV

O didn't have school on Thursday or Friday since parent teacher conferences took place on both days.  Monday was Columbus Day, so again, no school.  My husband and I met with Mrs. M early Thursday morning, and then O and I traveled to Kansas to visit family shortly thereafter.

Being in Kansas, I was reminded of some of the many joys of my childhood as I watched O and her two cousins.  Through their excited eyes, all the reasons I looked forward to our family trips in the motorhome became apparent.  Yes, I’m a closet RV enthusiast.

We started traveling in motorhomes when I was five. My dad, the car salesman, had and continues to have an obvious love for automobiles, but his favorite passion is motorhomes.  All of my life, my dad has bought and sold all types of RV's from GMC's to Winnebegos.  Every fall he would invest in one and we would take it to Colorado snow skiing in the winter and camping at my grandfather's lake in the summer, and then he would sell it only to buy another when the leaves would start to change.  Just like the business of buying and selling cattle (truth be told he’s all hat no cattle, in terms of being a cowboy).  Unfortunately, my mom didn't love the investment for different reasons as each coach often cost more to fix than it was worth, but she often acquiesced whenever dad would find a "great deal".  Usually, that was because he had already paid for it and parked it in front of our house.  

These days, Dad usually just buys and sells RVs as a hobby with a few local trips built in here and there.  Please note, these are not the motorhome/buses like the ones you see advertised on billboards.  These are ancient 1960’s and 1970s RVs – the kind you might see criminals being taken down in on shows like America’s Most Wanted.  In fact, the one he owns now is a 1977 – only 34 years old.  The curtains are a faded pale pink.  The seats are made of polyester or pleather, and the seatbelts in the front are the type that one presses a metal square button in the middle to release.  The carpets appear original and have gone from being a pretty navy to a faded blue.   Every motorhome initially smells a lot like the musty lavs on airplanes, however, one gets used to the smell a few minutes after entering.

So this weekend when O arrived at Nana and Bapa's house in Kansas, the first question she asked was, "Bapa, can we go out to eat in the motorhome again?  Please Bapa?  Please Bapa?"  Anyone who knows my dad is fully aware he can't say no to his grandchildren.    

So Bapa would set off across town to go get the motorhome in the storage garage where he keeps it. Meanwhile, back at the house the digital cameras were flashing as the grandchildren climbed up on the couch, peered out the front window and waited for Bapa to drive down the street.  They started shrieking as soon as they saw the coach or as soon as they heard the horn.  Bapa pulled up, parked it and threw open the door of the RV while the kids ran towards him still shrieking.  They would run inside it and run to the front and run to the back, and then they'd race back in the house to hurry us adults.  My little brother and I used to do the same thing.  Stepping into the RV is like stepping back into my childhood.  The same sight, sounds, smells and feelings come flooding back.  The anticipation alone is truly awesome.

Once we were inside the RV, O and her cousins would be asking and telling, all the while checking out every nook and cranny looking for all the things that are similair or different from their own house and car, including, and especially, the toilet.  The motorhomes from my childhood memories always had an eight track tape deck and there wasn't a day spent traveling in them that we didn't listen to Willie Nelson and/ or Waylon Jennings.  "On the Road Again", "Suspicious Minds", "Good Hearted Woman", and "Lukenbach Texas" were just a few of the many played and sang.  In fact, by the time my little brother was three, aunts and uncles would pay him a nickel if he could sing the entire song "Put Another Log on the Fire" beginning to end.  He was always one to bargain, so he would tell them he wouldn't do it unless they paid his imaginary friend, Teddy too, so the cost would be two nickels.  Then he would add if they wanted him and Teddy to wear their cowboy boots and hatst that would cost a whole quarter.  They always paid.  

Unfortunately or fortunately, the motorhomes my dad owns today doesn't have eight track players.  However, the routine continues on CD as Bapa always has Willie Nelson cranked on the stereo and it doesn't take long before the grandkids make requests for the songs they know.  Bapa drives and the kids sit in the back or the front, or run between every five minutes.  Even when they are told to sit, they find reasons to move to another seat.  All the while, they giggle and smile from the excitement of the freedom of not having to be in a car seat or a booster seat, but moreover, just being in a vehicle that has the comfort of one's house.  I too am smiling as I drink my "traveler" cocktail.

The kids were relentless in their requests to take the RV for a ride, so every night  this past weekend we went somewhere in the motorhome.  We drove the coach to get dinner and/ or ice cream.  One night we didn't have a reason to go far, so we just drove around the town listening to music, honking, waving and giggling at whatever came our way.   

I have many wonderful memories of my family's trips in RV's.  My friend Jo makes fun of me and always giggles when I start a story with, "Did I ever tell you about my childhood road trip in the motorhome when..."  I learned a lot of important rules while traveling in motorhomes:  

• No dress code for breakfast, lunch or dinner.
• Pack VERY lightly.
• Wear deodorant because without a washer and dryer everyone's clothes get raunchy.
• Organization is key in small spaces.
• Wash hands unless the water tank is empty.  
• Taking the time to fix my big Kansas bangs is completely unnecessary as one never knows if the shower will drip on one's curling iron causing the fire alarm to go off.
• Share everything; even pillows and blankets.  
• McDonald's is a lifesaver when one's blood sugar drops.  
• If you are tired of talking to the people inside the vehicle, use the CB but make sure you know you're call sign beforehand.  Mine's Yoko.
• Microwaves ARE awesome.
• Don't procrastinate or you will be doing homework on the way home from the trip.
• Singing and dancing is more fun with country music in a moving vehicle.
• If something is broken, tell someone that can fix it, but don't EVER tell mom until it is fixed.
• Getting to a destination goes much faster if you sleep at least halfway through it.
• Play fair even when playing solitaire. 
• It's more fun to play games than to watch TV, unless I'm playing with people as competitive as my brother and my best friend.
• Hitting and tickling others are never in my best interest, as there's never any place to run and hide.
• Honor everyone's space especially wasps, spiders, mice and snakes; you never know when one of them will catch you off guard.  
• In an argument with one's brother use uh-huh and uh-uh instead of yes or no, so the winner is never defined.
• My true personality comes out when traveling in an RV; only my best friends will stay and deal with me.
• All company including, my immediate family, starts to smell like fish after a few days.
• Don’t drink and drive; just pick one.

This past weekend I was able to drive the motorhome allowing me to understand why RV's are my father's favorite vehicle and why his face always lights up every time he gets behind the wheel of one.  Looking in the rearview mirror all I could see were children and adults singing, dancing, smiling, and giggling.  It felt a little bit like kindergarten.  

Today O woke up with a smile on her face.  She couldn't wait to tell her teacher and her class that she got to ride in Bapa and Nana's motorhome.  I woke up wishing I could tell my teacher that I drove an RV this weekend, but I don't have a teacher to tell.  Kindergarten SUCKS!

Thy Name is Mommy

Do you ever get the feeling that your sweet, innocent child has somehow turned into a self-depricating teenager?  Seriously, I feel like I had an out-of-body experience with my child yesterday (and no, it was not the wine).

O came home from school and said, "Mom, you know that boy on my bus..."  Wait, what did she say?  Did she say what I think she said?  Did she just say, "MOM"???  I'm not mom, I'm mommy.  She's five, not sixteen.  MOM???  Did eleven years just flash before my eyes?  MOM???  Thy name is mommy.  I'm okay with mama and even Tasha, but MOM?  That's the word that teenagers use, not kindergarteners.  Where's the parenting manual?  Where's the respect?  Ok, where's the wine?

Five seconds later, she was mad at me for asking about the "lunch word" of the day and she screamed, "I'M NOT TELLING AND YOU ARE A B......ABY!"  Thank goodness she didn't say bitch or I'd really think I had been swept away in a time warp.

Now I have to worry about boys and teenage BS?  And for that reason, Kindergarten SUCKS! 

Tory Burch Makes Twinkle Toes

I know this isn't the first blog I've written where I've mentioned 'twinkle toes'.  Those are the shoes O saw a year ago on the feet of her best friend Nell, and decided that she would work me until she finally got them.  They are colorful, glittery, studded sneakers that light up when you run, walk or stomp.  However, for the small price of $41.95, I was hoping these shoes can at least uncork wine bottles.

Before buying them we went through our usual routine.  O tells me she wants them.  I tell her they are too expensive, mostly because I thought they looked like a pair of chucks that had been vandalized.  She goes to her piggy bank and counts her money.  She tells me she has a whopping $108.  (I love the way she counts money.  She counts quarters, pennies and dimes as dollars.  Nice try, O!)  I show her how to count money and we find that she actually has $17.23.  Wow!  You only need another $24.72 and you can get your sneakers.

She then begins to think of ways she can get her hands on $24.72.  First, she asked daddy if he might have $20 she can borrow.  He was already on to her.  Then she had a beautiful idea of  a lemonade stand, but since it was the middle of January and there was 20 inches of snow on the ground, she didn't sell anything and she sure wasn't willing to stay out there very long.  Now that's not to say we didn't take the time to try and teacher her that "perseverance pays".  Later in the Spring she tried the lemonade stand again, but it was in the midst of a hurricane and again, no takers and again, she did not want to man the stand.  

It was then that she made the ultimate decision to "find" money.  She became the Sherlock Holmes of money and she didn't even need a magnifying glass.  She could find a coin anywhere, even wedged in between the space going into the elevator shaft; requiring her parents to hold the elevator open until it could be dislodged - despite the alarms going off.  $17.24 in the piggy bank, $24.71 left to go.  She was one penny further to her goal and Doug and I were celebrating our magical disappearing act.  It wasn't until later we realized there were probably cameras watching us.  Good thing we were on our way to check out.

Her favorite place to find money was near the parking meters.  Yet, the value of each coin was still confusing; she would say she found four quarters and she would later become sad to learn it was only four nickles.  

We were on our way to the mall movie theaters when the earthquake hit.  We didn't really feel it since we were in the car, but we new something had happened as everyone in the building was on their way out and they were coming outside by the droves.  My husband called to see where we were and told me it was an earthquake.  When we arrived at the movies, we parked the car and headed through the mall entrance.  At this point you are probably asking why I would ever walk into a building that was being evacuated.  I see your point, however, I had bought my tickets online and needed a refund.  And like O, I was saving up for my own "Twinkle Toes" in the form of some Tory Burch flats.   Plus, it was hot and O was in the cranky zone.  


So when we opened the door to the mall entrance, a woman who had already been at the movies came out with her popcorn and her extra large coke, and said they were telling everyone to get out.  As I was talking to this woman, I hear O saying she found $20.  Right.  Sure you did.  I know this act, you mean four nickels?  When I looked down, there it was a $20 bill.  Wow!  So cool.  There were a lot of people around, so I gave a super quick 360 degree look around to assuage any guilt, and then grabbed her hand and bolted for the car to not disappoint O.  I wasn't about to ask anyone out loud in that crowd if they had lost $20.   Once we got home, we calculated.  We had $37.44 including the nickels.  "Goodness O, you only need $4.51!"  

The search was on for more money.  She looked everywhere.  She had to have those twinkle toe shoes and she was going to stop at nothing to get them.  Why in fact, one day I found her climbing up on our dresser to open the top drawer where my husband keeps his leftover change.  I stopped her to tell her that wouldn't work as that is Daddy's money.  

She then threw a temper tantrum.  I told her if she'd help feed our dog Wally morning and night, she could earn the money.  "That's too hard", she told me.  Too hard meant too often.  I knew I should have started with once a day.  "Well I'd hate to take away from your play plans, love.  How about once a day?"  She said no.  I said, "Why don't you tell me what will work."  She said, "I have an idea.  I want the "twinkle toes shoes" before school starts next week, so how about I feed Wally every day this week and then we can go to Nordstroms on Saturday."  I read once as parents we are never to negotiate with our children, but at this point I was ready to go to Nordstroms.  So she fed Wally morning and night, and with great satisfaction she ended up with a pair of "twinkle toes" on her feet for the first day of school.  I too was pleased as I too had my own pair of twinkle toes on my feet.  After all, it was the first day of my new job as a blog writer!  

I'm about to say something here that may make you think I've gone off the deep end.  Wait for it.  Wait for it.  Wait for it.  Twinkle toes shoes are truly magical.  No they can't uncork a bottle of wine, but they have lit the way, no pun intended, for an otherwise very shy child.  Whereever we are, people comment on her shoes.  As usual when someone says something to her, she looks down, but this time when she looks down, she has a reason.  Then when I ask her to show those who make such comments what the shoes do, she stomps and the twinkling lights make her smile as she looks up at them.  She doesn't have to say a word and they have no idea she's smiling at the excitement of the shoes.  Why in fact, they think she's smiling at them, so they smile back and sometimes they even giggle as does she.  

This morning there was so much conversation about her shoes at the bus stop.  After dropping her off, I came home and wrote to the company who created "twinkle toes": 

Thanks Sketchers, your shoes are worth every penny, nickle, dime, quarter, dollar and twenty dollar bill.  Although they can't uncork a bottle of wine, they continue to light the way for my daughter’s leap into her first year of school.

This afternoon when I picked up O from the bus she told me her shoes were getting too tight and they were hurting her.  "And anyways, Mommy", she said, "They have high top 'Twinkle Toes' now.  We should get those next."  Kindergarten SUCKS!