Washing away

After her first Nutcracker recital, she came home and washed the night’s makeup off her face. An 8-year old standing in the bathroom, but I’m sure if I had looked in the mirror I would have seen a teenager. Washing away the years.

A young girl looks in the bathroom mirror as she washes her face. Not so SAHM

Washing away – ProjectEdit365 – 21 Nov

The original had a lot going on around the edges. I cropped to get rid of that and turned it black and white to keep the focus on Ash. I increased the contrast but decreased the clarity. I used a graduated filter to lower the exposure just slightly on the mirror part of the picture. I used an adjustment brush on her hair to increase the clarity on it. I sharpened the whole picture and, as almost always, added a vignette. Here’s the original:

21nov

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Funny, Silly, Goofy

Or none of the above.

I don’t feel like I’m as free-spirited and silly as I used to be. I remember the first years of married life where I would get in really silly moods and do plain silly things. Things that would make me think,

There is no other adult woman on this earth that does silly stuff like this. Am I the only crazy one that hasn’t totally grown up and still does goofy stuff?

I’m not going to tell you what these silly things were because it would make me look silly. I’ll give you a hypothetical example though. Say a NASCAR race was on tv and I was rooting for my favorite driver. I might get up off the couch and “drive” around the little house that we had and then jump up and down on the couch when he won. Or one of my favorite songs would come on and I’d perform an impromptu concert in the middle of the kitchen. I would literally stop and wonder if my friends acted this way behind closed doors. Am I alone here?

My issue with myself is this: I don’t do that as much any more. I don’t crack goofy jokes. I don’t jump on the couch. I don’t run around the house screaming just to scream. I’m never silly just to be silly. And this would be the perfect time to get my goofy on. I have two young kids who would probably love it if their mother lightened up once in a while. I’ve got great genes that almost require silliness on a daily basis (refer to this post).

Right now I’m telling myself that it’s because I have many more responsibilities now than I did back then. Just tonight I had to pay some freaking bills that are due before the beginning of the month (AMEX, you’re on my short list of things I hate right now). Total silly killer. Earlier I had to discipline Reagan because she couldn’t get herself washed and shampooed like I asked her to within a reasonable amount of time. How could I be goofy with her after denying her dessert?

There are appointments, bills, school, training and discipline, and other minor things that creep up during each day that kill my silly. I want my silliness back. I’m tired of being an old, cockamamie adult!

Help me get my silly back. Is anyone out there remotely like what I described above? Are you still goofy? How do you keep your goofy going?

Forever grateful, your old bitty trapped in a 30-something body,

Day 1 of Homeschooling: Learning To Cuss

It’s inevitable. There comes a time in every child’s life when they must be ripped from the safety and security of their loving mother’s bosom and tossed to the hungry, vicious wolves known as 8 year olds. Kids late in their childhood years are fascinated by things that they think they’re getting away with. They’re pushing more serious boundaries for the first time and love the idea of acting older than their chronological age.

The other night we were at a party celebrating finally getting moved in. We were there to relax, eat, enjoy good conversation, play a little Rock Band. Our daughter was there to play, jump on the trampoline, get to know the neighborhood kids more, learn how to cuss. SSSKKKRRRREEEEAAAACCCCHHHHH. Hold on. What?

Yes, while I was jamming out on the drums and Du was rockin’ it on the guitar my daughter was in the other room getting schooled on the different cuss words that all the kids knew. I didn’t find out about it until today. I’m just thanking God that she suddenly remembers these things and tells me. Here’s how it went:

It’s school time. I’m trying to get her to pay attention to the math sheet in front of her.

R: Mom, remember when we were at the cookout last night?
Me: Um, that was two nights ago, so the night before last. (I’m a stickler about getting that right).
R: Yes, that night. We were in Susie Qs room (not her real name). Sally B and Susie Q were telling each other all the bad words they know. (Stalling) Um, I heard one…and don’t…know…what it means…
Me: Well, what did you hear? (Not knowing if my heart could take what was about to come out of her mouth.)
R: What does (spelling out) a. s. s. mean?

I was relieved that it wasn’t one of the “big” ones. I had to keep myself from laughing and also wanting to march over there and snatch some heads bald. In a nice way, of course. I explained to Reagan what it meant and why we don’t say it. She went on to clarify by using it a couple of times in example sentences. It was so hard not to laugh.

My girl is growing up. And I’m actually glad that she’s going to be exposed to some of this and other “older kid” behavior. She needs to learn how to react to the things she’s going to hear, see and learn. She needs to learn how to stick up for herself when things start to take a turn for the worst while she’s at other people’s houses. Homeschooled kids get a bad enough rap for their “lack of socialization” (don’t get me started, and you don’t want to be on the other end of that fight). We’re here for her so we can control the type of socialization she gets and to what degree she gets it.

Meanwhile, it looks like I may need to buy me a couple of bars of soap. We may have a sailor on our hands.

(Lula, this so reminds of the story you were telling me about your little sailor.)

A Boy Called and a Boy Came to the Door

Ok, I’m blogging about something else right now, but I just had to get this down. A boy (3rd grade, maybe 8 or 9) just came to the door. And it went a little like this:

Me: “Can I help you?”

Boy: “Does Reagan live here?”

Me: “Uh, yes she does. Wait while I get my friend Mr. Shotgun.” Oh wait, I didn’t say that…out loud.

Boy: “Can she come down to Shaun’s house and play?”

Me: “Come here so I can talk to you about the virtues of my little baby who doesn’t need to be noticing real, live boys right now. What do you think she’s going to think if a boy is asking her to come and play to another boy’s house? Next thing you know she’s going to want to marry you.” No, I didn’t say that to him either. But I wouldn’t be far from the truth. In her short six years of life she has already lined up at least three boys that she’s going to marry. She doesn’t need help in this department. But he’s innocently asking her to play. I think. And she hasn’t mentioned marriage in a while.

I happened to be on the phone with Shaun’s mom who is also Beth’s mom. Beth is Reagan’s best friend. They live two doors down. So Reagan is over there quite a bit…a lot…almost more than she is over here. Yesterday Beth and Reagan were playing “Save the World” with Shaun and this little boy. I guess they had fun. (When she told me they were playing “Save the World” I thought this must the new version of “doctor”. I immediately saw the scene in Grease 2 where the guy has taken his girlfriend into the bunker and the world is about to end…and he’s trying to convince her to….if you haven’t seen the movie you catch my drift anyway. So I inquired deeply about what all this game entails. No bunkers. No doctors.) 

The reason I was on the phone with Shaun’s mom: Shaun had just called asking if Reagan could come over and play. I can’t really take this. Twice in one day? His mom and I thought that he was calling on behalf of Beth (being a nice big brother and all) because Beth wanted Reagan to play. Well, Shaun wanted her to come and play with he and Kevin and Beth. I guess Reagan wasn’t heading over there fast enough thus the reason for Kevin to come seeking her out here.

I am probably worrying about nothing. However, I have no idea at what age boys become interested in girls. I’m praying this is just friends wanting to play not worrying about who is a boy and who is a girl. When does it change???

 For the record, Reagan was at another friend’s house playing. Just down the street though. Amy and I figured that this was all innocent enough and she would inquire of the other friend’s parents about them coming on down and playing. God save me while they save the world.

Don’t watch this unless you are old enough to have seen Grease 2 when it first played.