Staples, Santa, and Slickery Shit

I've neglected the blog something awful lately while spending all my computer time on GoodReads -- but I get a lot more love over there than I do here, so what do you expect? Jeez!

Anyway, we're in the midst of an ice storm right now and the worst power outage in state history but, by some miracle, we're warm and toasty here at the ranch. The trees aren't doing so well, though:



The branch on the upper left was hanging ominously over my car, so Bridgie helped me chip ice off the door until we got it open, and then directed me (since I couldn't see a damn thing) while I backed down to the street and then pulled in to the other side of the driveway. A good thing, too, since that branch is now lying in my former parking space and I could be minus a windshield right now.

Also, the big branch on the right has broken off and is lying on the ground. At this rate, that big beautiful tree won't be much more than a stump by the time things thaw out.

The back yard is a winter wonderland, though,



except that my poor crepe myrtles are nearly prostrate.



Anyway, enough of that. I'm getting a chill.

I haven't told you about the staples yet, which is a horror story involving lots of blood, but that deserves a post of its own. I'll try to get to it tomorrow.

Also, I still have to tell you about this:

Wearable Art

Mikey finally succumbed to Britt's incessant pleas for some markers of her very own. Thankfully, they're washable markers because:



Now I get free mani-pedis and the occasional henna tattoo:



Oh, wait -- are henna tattoos red or brown? Well, no matter. I've got red and brown. And yellow!

*****

Little Miss Sticky Fingers got hold of my camera, which is why this shot has such a lovely soft focus:



The lens is clean now, but the outer protective shutter keeps sticking shut no matter what I do. Shit, hell and damn on that.

Britt's school pictures

We only have proofs right now so the image quality is awful, but here's a sneak peek:







We're trying to decide which how many of which poses to order, because they're frickin' expensive! And they make you order a whole package of one pose before you can order any individual sheets. Fuckers.

Britt has a boyfriend

He's a cute little kid with spiky blond hair. His name is Xavier.

Miss Millie told me that when Xavier drags his feet about going to school in the morning, his mother reminds him that Brittany will be there, and then he can't get to school fast enough.

*****

Britt has a strange new habit lately. She sticks her finger in her ear and pulls it out with a little *pop* sound and then she, well, um, she sniffs it.

I know kids do all kinds of weird things, but I've never heard of earwax-huffing before. Does earwax even have a smell? Hold on...

Oh, never mind, I can't tell. All I smell is hand lotion.

I guess there are worse orifices she could be poking and sniffing, so I probably shouldn't worry about it. It's just that it seems so, you know, odd.

Oddments

The cat escaped the other day. He always tries to, whenever the front door is opened, so he can go outside and munch on grass. Whenever he does manage to get out, we always go and chase him down and bring him back in, against our better judgment.

But Britt let him out the other day when we came home from school and I made a couple of half-hearted attempts to catch him but he kept running under my car and I wasn't about to go crawling under there after him, so I said fuck it and went back inside. Later I went out a couple of times to see if he was anywhere handy but I didn't see him, so I thought, Cool! He's gone! And it's not my fault!

So I mentioned it to Bridget when she got home from work and, of course, she went right out and found him. And brought him back inside.

I still haven't quite forgiven her for that.

*****

Britt's school is having a Christmas program next month. and I guess they're already working on their songs because she's been singing Jingle Bells around the house lately.

Another song she likes to sing is the theme song to her (current) favorite cartoon:

Bye-Bye the Saiwor Man
Poop! Poop!
Bye-Bye the Saiwor Man
Poop! Poop!...

*****

When I pick up Britt from school, I always cut through the subdivision next to it to avoid a busy intersection. Today I was following that route when I stopped at a stop sign and had to wait while a bowling ball slowly rolled down the cross street from left to right. I looked around but couldn't see anyone or anything to explain this strange phenomenon, so I'm left wondering, WTF?

Princess Brittany went to the ball

Not really. It was a classmate's birthday party.

Target didn't have any costumes left at all, but I found a deep-discounted Cinderella outfit at Party Galaxy. And a pair of "glass" slippers. The tiara was from Britt's first birthday party, and I spent thirty minutes yesterday afternoon digging two-year-old frosting out of all its tiny little crevices with a toothpick.



At the party, she wore her tiara backwards for a while, because she's cool like that.



The girls made princess wands and then Britt took a turn at "Pin the Kiss on the Frog,"



and she barely tapped whacked the pinata a couple of times.



Then there was cake and gift opening. She was not happy that she didn't get to unwrap the gift we brought.

We took group photos of the five little princesses (and some bratty little boys),



and then we split, before Grammy turned into a pumpkin.

Halloween(ed Out)

Yesterday was the costume parade at school, where the kids were led through the halls to collect candy from church ladies stationed along the route:



Britt looks really excited, doesn't she? The gypsy holding her hand is her teacher, Miss Millie.

I think she's getting burned out on the costume thing since she balked for a minute about putting it on tonight for the third time, until she remembered that it would get her more candy.



She watched some other trick-or-treaters work the cul-de-sac while Poppa changed his socks:



And she flitted around a bit, you know, like ladybugs do:



Then she flopped down on the ground



and handed me her wings.



Then she rolled around on the grass,



just enjoying nature. Or something. You know, like ladybugs do.

And then she did some actual trick-or-treating:



We covered about three blocks and she was really good about saying "Trick-or-treat!" and "Thank you," but I had to keep reminding her to only push each doorbell once. She likes to ring ours every time she comes through the front door. A lot.

After we got home, Mikey took her to see Gigi and his folks to collect more candy, and her wings and antennae got lost somewhere along the way. When they came back, Britt shrieked, "My wings! My...my...my..." and then she waved her hand around her head because she doesn't know the word "antennae." It was cute. Maybe you had to be there.

Anyway, yay! Halloween is over and now I can chill, except that tomorrow night we go to the first birthday party outside the family that Britt's ever been invited to. And, of course, it's a princess party and all the girls are supposed to dress "princessy" and Britt doesn't have a princess costume. She could go as a ladybug princess, but now she doesn't have any wings or antennae.

(***sigh***)

So I'll be keeping an eye peeled for marked-down princess costumes when I go shopping for a birthday gift tomorrow. Wish me luck on that.

Ladybug, Ladybug

Britt's school had a trick or treat party yesterday, so she got to wear her Halloween costume for the first time.

She's finally reached the age of goofy smiles; I have three different shots of her grinning just like this:



After the party, we toasted her good fortune at raking in a pumpkin-ful of goodies,



and then she kicked back with Poppa to enjoy some of her loot.

Little Rhinestone Drummer Cowgirl

The hat that came with Bridgie's Halloween costume was too small for her so she gave it to Britt.

Britt scrounged up a mis-matched pair of boots, plunked the hat on her head and demanded that I bring her horse around, pronto! Then she went off riding the range:



C'mon, Britt, gimme a big smile!



Um, okay, never mind.

Later, she set up her drum kit (she calls them her bam-bams)



and played her little heart out.



(Okay, this is where I would've posted an MP3 of "Wipeout" if I knew how to do that and I would've told you to click here to listen to a sample of Britt's drumming ability and you would've clicked on it and maybe smiled a little bit, but since I don't know how to post an MP3 to my blog, you'll just have to imagine that part. Sorry.)

Mom's 15 minutes of fame

Phil sent me a picture of the billboard:



Dang, that's a horrible picture; she looks like she's in pain.

She traded in the Corvette for this sporty little number (and a pocketful of cash):





Phil was supposed to bring her down to see me tomorrow, but she called and cancelled this morning. I'm bummed.

Phil's bummed because he never got to drive the 'Vette.

I've died and gone to heaven

Mikey and Britt went shopping this evening. One of their purchases was an almost-Halloween cupcake cake.



Britt and I enjoyed some almost-Halloween-cupcakey goodness together,



and then



she shot me.

Bad kitty

Remember a few months ago when the cat started using our bed for a litter box? Well, we finally managed to break him of that, but now he's taken a fancy to Bridgie's bed.

She came home a wee bit tipsy and went straight to bed after spending Saturday night out with friends. She woke up Sunday morning reeking of cat piss because she'd rolled around all night in a wet spot.

I snickered as I handed her a rag and a can of upholstery cleaner. I mean, better her bed than mine, right? Anyway, I thought it was pretty funny.

Until last night, when I climbed into bed and my legs landed in something cold and clammy.

The little sumbitch pulled a two-fer this weekend.

The only reason he's still here is because Britt calls him "my baby kitty" and "my friend," but he's down to his ninth life now.

Britt-isms

Britt speaks pretty clearly now, although her syntax is a little off sometimes. For example, when she wants me to open a door she says, "Put the door out!"

She's confused about pronouns at the moment -- a girl is a he and a boy is a she -- so she says things like, "Where Poppa at? I want her!"

She's still not pooping in the potty, either at home or at school, but her teachers are working with her on that. Apparently, when she goes to the potty there, they tell her to "push it out." At home she insists on keeping me and Bridgie company when we're in the bathroom, encouraging us in her piping little voice, "C'mon, smash it out!"

When I have to speak sternly to her, she'll go, "Don't say to me. It's not nice!"

Riding home from school yesterday, she asked hopefully, "Go buy-buy some toys?" Then she repeatedly crowed, "I want some toys!"

And then, in case I hadn't heard and/or understood her the first eight times, she said it once more, very slowly and deliberately, "I! WANTS! UM! TOYS!"

I almost drove right off the road.

Ballet school dropout

Well, I guess it's over.

I was dreading today, after what happened last Friday. I tried to talk to Britt about it several times, but her only response was to shriek, "No! No dance cwass!"

I don't know what happened. She seemed like she enjoyed the first three weeks so much, and then last week she totally lost her shit. And today, when I brought out her leotard and tights to get her ready to go, she just went to pieces. So we didn't go.

I'll have to call next week and tell them she won't be back. At least, not this year. It's supposed to be fun, after all, and if she's not having fun then there's no point.

I am a little disappointed, but mostly I'm bewildered because I can't figure out why she loved it one week and hated it the next. It's so weird.

Maybe it's just because she's three.

(***shrug***)

Beats the hell outta me.

Squee! It's here!

Last week I ordered Britt the cutest damn Halloween costume ever! Mikey and Bridgie will be relieved to know it's finally here since I've been relentless about keeping them updated on its progress via UPS tracking.

I can't wait to see it on her, but once she sees it she's gonna want to wear it every minute of every day; we already have to spell the word "costume" around her. I think I'll wait until everybody gets home tonight so we can all admire her in it, and then I'll have to stash it away so it'll be out of sight and hopefully out of mind.

She'll actually get some wear out of this one because there's a trick-or-treat party at school on the Saturday before Halloween, and then a costume parade at school on Tuesday since they're closed on Wednesday. And, of course, we'll take her trick-or-treating Wednesday night. After that, she can use it to play dress-up all she wants.

I bet you're just dying to know what her costume is, aren't you? Oh, you're not? Well, that's good because all I'm saying is that it's red and black and it has, um, accessories.

Back to the Punkin Patch

We had such a good time at Chester's last year that we had to do it again.

At the petting zoo, Britt fed this cute little llama



and the goats.



She was very popular with the goats



and the sheep,



but not so much with the ducks that were running loose. Because Britt went running after them.



But they were faster.

And then, PONY RIDES!!!



Actually, we got off easy this year. She was content with only three rides instead of 67.

Then it was time to pick out her little punkin.



This is my little punkin:



When it was time to go, she shook hands with Willie



and then found some more punkins she wanted to take home.



She's not a big fan of the "just one punkin" rule.



After we got home she started hollering, "Cut it, Poppa! Cut it!"



And so he did.

What a pisser

Britt's first three ballet lessons went great. She paid attention, followed instructions, grinned like a maniac, and danced her little butt off. She loved it.

And then there was today.

My first clue was when it was time to go and she was saying, No, no, I can't go to dance cwass! And I was all, WTF?

We went anyway and got there a little bit early; everything was fine until it was time to line up and march into the studio. Britt refused. Her teacher, Miss Meagan, tried to coax her in but it was a no-go.

Oh, and have I mentioned that all the other women there are stylishly dressed and coiffed private-school moms who drive expensive SUVs? And they all know each other? But they've all been really nice to me so it's no biggie, except that they got to witness the most humiliating day I've experienced in a while.

They said, Oh, just let her watch through the window and maybe she'll want to go on in when she sees the other girls dancing. So we tried that, and she watched and started dancing and hopping around a little bit so I told her she could go join them and she was all, No, no, and then she'd go over and open the door a crack and peek in and then she'd run back over to the window.

Finally, she opened the door and went into the studio. Where she proceeded to run about wildly. And then she'd come back to the door and peek out and laugh and yell Hi! and run off again. This went on for several unbearable minutes before I finally managed to catch hold of her and I dragged her off to the dressing room to get her dressed so we could get the hell out of there and of course she started thrashing and wailing at top volume.

So I sat in the dressing room with 40 pounds of thrashing, wailing Thwarted Will on my lap, trying to wrestle her out of her leotard and tights so I could get street clothes on her, and guess what happened next?

Go on, guess.

You'll never guess.

She peed on me.

She's not supposed to wear anything under her tights, you know, and I was about sixty seconds from getting a pull-up on her when she peed on me, leaving my jeans sopping wet. With big, dark, un-missable wet spots on both legs.

So I finished getting her dressed and then I did the Walk of Shame past all the stylish private-school moms, carrying the still-thrashing and wailing Britt while trying to hide the big, dark, un-missable wet spots with her gear bag and my purse (and coming up one arm short), and I was all, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, and they were all, No, no, it's all right, I feel sorry for you, and I was all, Great, thanks, now I'm an object of pity.

I don't know what got into her today, except that her behavior lately is... well, it's like a battle of wills over every damn thing. A constant power struggle. She's so strong-willed, hard-headed, and stubborn. And bossy.

(***sigh***)

You know, the Twos weren't really that Terrible with her, but I have a feeling the Threes are gonna be the Shits.

The aftermath

Okay, Sherri, you vulture. You wanted to see carnage? Well, here you go:







These were taken before any repair work was attempted. I trimmed it up a little last night, but it still looks like crap. Bridgie says a friend of hers just graduated from hair school so she's gonna ask her to come over to see what she can do.

Well, that would be nice, since they were her scissors.

Basically, what Britt cut off was the part I've been putting up in ponytails. There's still enough hair left to do that, but now they stick straight up.

I'm just thankful that I caught her before she got started on the back. Or before she was shorn to the scalp.

(***shudder***)

Are you ready for the freaky part? When we took Britt to school this morning and told her teacher what happened, she said that two other kids in the class had done the same thing this weekend.

Jeez, is it a full moon or something?

I knew this would happen

That's why I've always been scrupulous -- no, fanatical -- no, maniacal about keeping scissors put up out of Britt's reach.

I'm sure I mentioned this to Bridget when she moved back in. I know I did.

(***sigh***)

I caught her before she could do too much damage. To her long curly hair.

Oh, her beautiful hair!

(***head in hands***)

But she did enough. There's a big chunk gone out of her bangs. And...

Well, at least she was symmetrical about it.

She's given herself a... a... a...

Oh, God. I can't say it.

(Just breathe, Sange.)

She... she... she gave herself a MULLET!

(***gasp***)

I'm sure I'll see the humor in this later, but right now I just can't... I can't...

(***sob***)

Bwaaahahahaha!!!

Mikey and Britt slap palms. Britt yells:

High five, old man!

Britt's a girly girl, but

she has a tomboy streak, too.

This evening she played in the backyard while I cooked dinner, and I kept an eye on her through the big bay window.

At one point, I turned around and flipped smooth out when I saw that she was standing on an upended bucket, trying to get a leg up over a limb on the redbud tree so she could climb it.

Later I watched as she dropped her shorts, squatted, and peed on the grass.

Where the hell does she learn this stuff?

*****

Mikey's been trying to get Britt over her phone shyness, so he calls our house phone from his cell phone, gets her to answer it, then goes into another room while they have a conversation over the phone.

That's been going so well that he dialed up Grandma Sarah tonight and handed the phone to Britt, and she and GiGi had a long, giggly chat.

Then I dialed Bob's number and handed the phone to Britt and she had a long, giggly chat with her daddy, or so I thought. When I finally got the phone away from her, I heard a woman's voice saying "Your message has been sent." So I guess she had a long, giggly long distance chat with a recording.

Next time I'll make sure he answers the phone before I hand it to her.

Big Girl

We took Britt for her three-year checkup today, and confirmed what I was thinking: Britt's had a big growth spurt this year.

She started out tiny, and stayed tiny through her first year, with her height registering in the tenth percentile. It was in the 25th percentile when she turned two, which was still below average.

This year she's in the 75th percentile! She's taller than average! Woo-hoo!

And now, the bad news: her weight. Last year the doctor said she was two pounds overweight, which is not a lot, unless you only weigh 30 pounds. This year her weight was in the 95th percentile, and the doc didn't say anything about her being overweight. So I was all, Yay! Until I looked it up and saw that she was in the 95th percentile last year.

Anyway, her official numbers: just over 38 inches tall and 39 pounds.

Time Warp

I was bored last night so I finally clicked on one of those Classmates.com ads and spent a couple of hours looking up my old classmates.

And, y'all? That was some kind of trippy.

Granted, it's been 27 years since my class graduated, but sweet Lord Jesus! The ones who had pictures posted looked so old! Way older than me!

Do I look older than I think I do? It's all right, you can tell me. I promise won't get mad (***fingers crossed***).

But what really surprised me was how many of the names didn't even ring a bell anymore. And then some of the names were familiar, but I couldn't put a face to them. I would look 'em up but I don't think I still have my yearbooks. Or, if I do, they're stashed in some box that got packed four or five moves ago and they aren't likely to surface anytime soon.

Another thing I noticed is that some of my classmates have more grandkids than I do. I didn't expect that, for some reason, and now I'm jealous.

I've never gone to any class reunions -- well, I started to go to my tenth, but poison ivy and a bad reaction to Caladryl left my face looking like hamburger meat so I skipped it. But I just haven't been interested since then. My teenage years were not the happiest of my life -- mostly my own damn fault -- and I really don't want to relive them, even though I turned out pretty all right after all. Eventually.

Well, at least I think I did.