@#$*(!&* fish

After reading a couple of books with my seven year old son at bedtime, he turned to me and said, "Mom, I can't BELIEVE they let us watch inappropriate videos at school"!

 "Really"?

He continued, "We were watching one of those 'Berenstain Bears' videos about pollution and recycling and there was a fish that totally said an inappropriate word".

"What did he say"?

"He said, 'How am I supposed to swim with all this goddamned trash in my way!' "

Kindergarten, Eyebrows and a Dog

My daughter started Kindergarten this year.  With both kids in school, I had visions of enormous amounts of free time.  I pictured myself starting my day with a Yoga class,  followed by a trip to the coffee shop, where I would cozy up on one of the velvet couches sipping lattes and working on my latest screenplay (yes, I am writing screenplays in my vision).  Afterward I would hop on my bike (in my vision I was biking everywhere) and I would bike to the city for lunch with friends.  I might squeeze in some shopping and possibly an eyebrow wax.  Then it would be time to bike back home to pick up the kids, who would be exhausted from their long day at school and would want nothing more than to come home and relax.  We'd hang out together, maybe a trip to the playground before dad gets home and then we'd whip up an amazing dinner with all of the fresh organic/ local foods I was able to pick up at the market that day.

On day one of Kindergarten, I acted upon one part of my vision and made an appointment for an eyebrow wax.  The salon was beautiful and tranquil, and as I lay on the heated massage table I smiled as I thought of my changing, stress-free future (complete with perfect eyebrows).  I was in such a calm state that I barely noticed the tape and wax being pulled off of my skin.  The scent of the aromatic healing oil surrounded me and felt wonderful as it was applied to my face.  The stylist handed me a mirror and I held it above my head, ready to admire my new perfectly groomed brows.  However these happy thoughts were immediately replaced with two words:  'HOLY'  and   'SHIT'.   My eyebrows had been scalped.  They were now two tiny lines that looked like they had been lightly etched in with an eyebrow pencil that needed to be sharpened.  "What do you think"?  The perky stylist enthusiastically asked.  After regaining some composure, and recovering from my initial shock, I was able to whisper, "Ummmmm, they are a little thin"?

She immediately went into defensive mode, "well--you had some areas that needed to grow in, and they would not have been uniform-- it's what I had to work with-- they will grow back even now--it, um, really looks great though.  Thin eyebrows are all the rage".  Now, I knew this was a lie, since I had just read a copy of 'Allure' magazine while waiting in the front lobby and I knew that it is ALL about bushy eyebrows this year.  I managed to be polite, and quickly paid the front desk (with tip- I know) and ran from the salon with my hand covering my eyebrows.  Thank god I was driving, and not biking, as I could not get out of there fast enough.

On the way home, I checked my eyebrows over and over again in the rearview mirror,  hoping to see some new growth- but each time getting more panicked at how absolutely ridiculous they looked.  On about the 25th or 26th time looking in the mirror,  I realized not only are they way too thin but one is higher than the other.  I looked like a lunatic.  I sat at a stoplight trying to raise one eyebrow and lower the other and wondering if I could naturally hold that pose all day.  A car honking behind me snapped me out of it and I managed to make it the rest of the way home without pulling the mirror down to take another look.  Once I got home, I spent an hour experimenting with various eye pencils, powders, and shadows, trying to get a natural look and decided that I definitely needed more products.  I went to Walgreens and had a wonderful conversation with the elderly woman in cosmetics about how to "draw in your brows".  I bought  a couple of pencils and left feeling somewhat encouraged.  I went home and tried the pencils out, trying to even out the crazy brow with the slightly less crazy brow- and I was pretty proud of myself because I thought it actually looked presentable.  I was now able to face the public and decided I could take a trip to the grocery store.

At the store I ran into a couple of people I knew.  In both conversations, I noticed they kept looking up at my brows and were definitely giving me a "holy shit what the hell is up with her eyebrows" vibe.  I grabbed a frozen pizza and got out of there.  Once I was back home, I went online and looked up "eyebrows".  I read that Rosemary Oil helps eyebrows grow fast.   I also discovered that powder may be more youthful looking than liner, and that Bobbie Brown makes a wonderful powder that several celebrities use.  I also discovered that there is a renowned eyebrow stylist in the Chicago area that has worked wonders with even the worst eyebrow mishaps, and through tinting, shaping, waxing and threading, she will give you back your dignity in no time.  I called the salon and made the next available appointment (November) with the eyebrow miracle-lady.  I drove to the Health Food Store and picked up a small bottle of Rosemary Oil, and made a stop at the mall, where I bought some Bobbie Brown powder and eyebrow brush.

I got back in the car, ready to head home to tackle the rest of my day, glanced at the clock and realized I had 10 minutes to get to school to pick up my daughter.  I got there on time, and she bounded into the car, full of things to tell me about her day.  She LOVED kindergarten.  She LOVED her teacher.  She LOVED her friends.  She LOVED her classroom.  She told me she was so happy and that Kindergarten is THE BEST.  I was thrilled that she was thrilled.  She asked about my day and I struggled with what to say since it sounded so ridiculous that it was all about eyebrows.  I said, "oh, I did a little grocery shopping",  remembering the frozen pizza.

"Mom"?  My daughter asked.  "Yes"?  I said.   "When are we going to get a dog"?  This question was a daily if not hourly one at our house.  We knew it would happen eventually, and had been considering it, but weren't sure if this was a good time.  I was just starting to enjoy the kids new independence.   The potty training, walking, cleaning, and feeding thing just didn't mesh with my new vision of personal development.  I looked back at her in the rearview mirror, her eyes big with hope and expectation, and I caught sight of my eyebrows.  I thought maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to not have so much free time.  "We'll work on getting a dog soon",  I told her.  She smiled.

"Mom"?  she asked.

"Yes, honey"?

"Why did you color on your eyebrows"?

The dog arrived in mid-September.   My eyebrows haven't quite arrived, but getting there.

The I Like Game

In an effort to strengthen our family bond and to end the day on a positive note (long summer days have started to wear on us a bit),  I decided I would start a new exchange to be used at night after bedtime stories.  I called it the "I like game".  I explained to my 7 year old son and my 4 year old daughter that I would start by telling them something special I liked about them, and then they could tell me something they liked about me or about the day, and we could go back and forth as long as we wanted.  I began with my son, and said, "I really love your sense of humor".  He responded with, "I love your big heart and your beautiful soul".

Ok.  Pass the tissues.  Game over.

Wishful thinking

After helping my son get an eyelash out of his eye, I told him he could make a wish. He carefully held the lash on the tip of his index finger, closed his eyes and whispered, "I wish my eyelash was back on my eye".

Bowling night

Wii time is usually monopolized by my seven year old.  He is all about getting to a certain world on Mario, ascending a certain level on Batman, or beating his record score on Scooby Doo.  We were excited to finally take advantage of the rainy weather to play a family Wii game, and we decided on bowling.  

To be fair, we decided to forgo (btw I cannot use this word without thinking of ‘The Bachelor’) individual play for teams.  My husband and I are about the same skill level, and we knew we could carry-or at least even out-the kids scores.  We remind them about good sportsmanship, and tell them that it’s ok if they don’t get a great score every time, that there will be 10 frames, and that each one is like getting a do-over.  We explain that not everyone can be a winner, but the important thing is to have fun.  The kids each give us their token nods of acknowledgement, and we get ready to begin. 

My 4 year old immediately starts crying once she realizes she is my partner, throwing herself to the ground, saying, “Oh NO!  Not MOM! Now I’ll never win”!  I eventually convince her that I am a bowling champion and she’s back on her feet, doing a pre-victory dance: “Oh yeah, Oh yeah, uh-huh, uh-huh-- we are gonna wi-i-i-i-n”.  

My son isn’t buying it:  “Mom stinks.  Dad is the best”.  

The game is on, and it’s my turn first.  My son runs interference, chanting, “BOOOO, mom!  Lose mom! Don’t get a strike mom, don’t get a strike, don’t get a strike...”  I concentrate and go into strategy mode.  I use all the virtual tools at my disposal.  I zoom in to check position.  I click the turn mode to optimal direction. I narrow my eyes and focus on the virtual arrows, aiming just between the center arrow and the arrow to the right of it- and I end up hitting a few pins right down the middle, leaving pins on both sides.  I turn around to see my daughter crossing her arms and smirking at me. 

I hand her the controller and encourage her to get the spare (even though it’s next to impossible).  I cheer, “C’mon , you can do it”!  She tells us all confidently, “Watch....and learn, my friends”.  

She turns toward the game, starts a bizarre sideways approach with her hip jutted out to the side.  With a crooked, drunken stance and an even more crooked elbow, she takes a few steps and whips the controller all crazy-like, with no apparent regard for a specific destination, managing to hit both the couch and the table before her release-- and ends up getting the split, and the spare.  She gives me the ‘that’s how it’s done’ look and proudly reclaims her spot on the couch. 

Now it’s my husband’s turn- my son screams, “Yeah dad!  GO Dad”!!

My daughter joins in, “Go DAD!!! Get a STRIKE, DAD”!!  

I remind my daughter that she is on my team, and she lowers her voice and explains with a concerned tone, “Mom.... I do love you, but I can’t just love you all the time.  I love dad, too.  Dad is fun.  Sometimes you are boring. But some days you are fun.  Some days I love you the best-but today-I just have to love dad better”.

My husband takes his turn, and, like me, tries to use the advantage of technology to optimize his chances.  His ball ends up spinning sharply to the right and he hits 2 pins.  My daughter quickly changes her tune. Clinching her fist and thrusting her elbow toward the floor, she yells,  “YESSSS!  Mom is THE BEST”!  My son takes his turn and effortlessly gets the spare. 

The rest of the game continues like this, with the kids having to clean up the pins after their parents’ pathetic first attempts.  At one point my son says, “Dad, you are terrible.  Just give me the remote and I’ll get us the strikes”.  My daughter gets bored and eventually takes her turn by half-heartedly giving the remote a little push while simultaneously working on a princess drawing (and clears almost all of the pins).

My son eventually checks out of the game as well.  He starts to build a tunnel using a gymnastics mat and pillows, and decides he can just take his turn from there.  From across the room, he haphazardly sticks his hand holding the controller up out of the pillows, gives it a random flip, and ends up with a strike.  “BOO-yah!  In your FACE”, he yells, at no one in particular--from underneath the tunnel.

On my final turn, I decide to change up my game, putting the kids’ proven “technique” into practice.  Without glancing at the screen, I quickly and randomly give the controller a quick flip--and end up with a gutter ball.  

My son yells out from his newly built Lego town in the hallway, “MOM! Come ON!  Are you even taking this seriously” ?!

The Inside Story

This morning I was complaining a bit about having to take the kids to school during a thunderstorm, and my husband- who was scrambling to get ready for a business meeting- was also not thrilled about driving to work in the storm.  He half-jokingly muttered, "yeah, well try my life".

My son chimed in, saying, "Yeah mom, dad's life is WAY harder than yours".  He continued, "His life is so hard.  If you got inside him-- if you knew his inside story-- it would totally beat yours.  You would not want to be him." He paused for a moment, pointed to my husband, and added, "There is a LOT of quicksand in there".

1st grade crush

My 7 year old told me about a “totally embarrassing” situation at school where his classmate was teasing him, and telling everyone that he was “in love” with a girl in their class.  He sighed, put his head in his hands, shook it back and forth and said, “and you know what mom?  I am.  I am in love with her”.