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| {Perhaps even dinosaurs need new shoes.} |
Showing posts with label life lessons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life lessons. Show all posts
Thursday, July 17, 2014
A Boy's World
Some days I think that I will never truly understand this kid. I really just do not know what goes on inside his little head. One thing is for sure. He often brings a smile to my face just by being himself. For example, today's snack time turned into a creative activity. The dinosaurs all got new shoes made from grapes and Goldfish crackers. (I am guessing this was inspired by yesterday's trip to the shoe store for new sneakers.) It's pretty ingenious, albeit impractical. But really, what's the point of always being practical? This life lesson brought to you by my four-year-old.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
I've been Deceived (and There's a Dead Fish in My Purse)
Yesterday started off as a great family day. We had the last swim lesson, and we had promised the kids way back on the first day of class that they would earn an ice cream treat at the completion of the five-week session. So, we went to Dairy Queen and had Blizzards -- for lunch! (We had never had ice cream as a meal before, but it made me feel like a pretty cool mom.) Then, on the way out of the mall, we were passing through the sporting goods store and Logan wanted to ride the escalator. So we did. Up and then down. Just because. I went home on cloud nine, absolutely convinced that we were the most awesome parents in the world.
It turns out that this may not be all that accurate.
Let me back track a bit and mention that on Friday, Mia's first fish, Bluey, had gone to the big fish bowl in the sky. (If you're keeping track, this meant we only had him for four days.) Of course, she was very upset, and I was frustrated. I thought we had done everything correctly. We had set up the tank last Sunday according to the directions given by the kid at the pet store and then had gone back the next day to get the fish. He was happy for about a day and then he started to look bad, and then he looked worse, and then by Friday morning, he was barely hanging in there. I prepared her for the worst and dropped her at school, returning later to find that Bluey was dead.
I called the pet store, trying to figure out what the problem might be so that we could fix it before plunking another betta into the tank. The guy on the phone said bring in a water sample to have the pH level tested. So, I did that Friday night and he said the pH level was actually good, but there was another issue: the nitrite level was way too high and he said nothing could have survived in that water. (Correct me if I'm wrong here, but wouldn't this have been good information to give someone before her kid spent her own money to buy a fish?!) Then he told me to take out about 1/3 of the water in the tank (our well water) and replace it with spring water. (Again, shouldn't they have told us this in the first place?!)
I told Mia I would get it sorted out, and we went back on Saturday afternoon. (Remember, this after the swim lesson, ice cream lunch, and escalator ride that had me feeling like Super Mom so I was feeling cautiously optimistic.) Fortunately, I was also thinking ahead a bit and I took both the dead fish (with receipt, for exchange) and another sample of water, just to be safe. Turned out that the water was still problematic, so it was good that I thought to have them test it again. (The only downside was that I then had a dead fish in my purse.) We returned home, and Mia was weirdly okay with still not having a second fish. She has taken this whole thing better than I have, so maybe I am doing something right with this parenting business.
Later that day, things took a turn for the worse.
It turns out that this may not be all that accurate.
Let me back track a bit and mention that on Friday, Mia's first fish, Bluey, had gone to the big fish bowl in the sky. (If you're keeping track, this meant we only had him for four days.) Of course, she was very upset, and I was frustrated. I thought we had done everything correctly. We had set up the tank last Sunday according to the directions given by the kid at the pet store and then had gone back the next day to get the fish. He was happy for about a day and then he started to look bad, and then he looked worse, and then by Friday morning, he was barely hanging in there. I prepared her for the worst and dropped her at school, returning later to find that Bluey was dead.
I called the pet store, trying to figure out what the problem might be so that we could fix it before plunking another betta into the tank. The guy on the phone said bring in a water sample to have the pH level tested. So, I did that Friday night and he said the pH level was actually good, but there was another issue: the nitrite level was way too high and he said nothing could have survived in that water. (Correct me if I'm wrong here, but wouldn't this have been good information to give someone before her kid spent her own money to buy a fish?!) Then he told me to take out about 1/3 of the water in the tank (our well water) and replace it with spring water. (Again, shouldn't they have told us this in the first place?!)
I told Mia I would get it sorted out, and we went back on Saturday afternoon. (Remember, this after the swim lesson, ice cream lunch, and escalator ride that had me feeling like Super Mom so I was feeling cautiously optimistic.) Fortunately, I was also thinking ahead a bit and I took both the dead fish (with receipt, for exchange) and another sample of water, just to be safe. Turned out that the water was still problematic, so it was good that I thought to have them test it again. (The only downside was that I then had a dead fish in my purse.) We returned home, and Mia was weirdly okay with still not having a second fish. She has taken this whole thing better than I have, so maybe I am doing something right with this parenting business.
Later that day, things took a turn for the worse.
I was busy with something when I noticed that familiar odor coming from the living room. (And no, it wasn't the dead fish. He was secure in his Ziploc bag inside my purse.) "Logan," I asked, "Are you poopy?" "Yes!" was his immediate response. Wonderful, at least he was honest. This is progress. At this point I am just hoping to have him fully toilet-trained before he is ready to head off to college.
So, I carried him into the bathroom to get him cleaned up, at which point he informed me that it was diarrhea and it had been running down his legs. The. Whole. Time. He got a bath, and so did the the floors.
That was exhausting. I was pretty sure that things were going to be looking sunny again after dinner, though, because we had purchased Frozen while we were out shopping. We were going to have a family movie night! (This is something I am told that good parents do.) We had not actually seen this movie before (and yes, I realize that we are practically the only people in in the known universe who hadn't -- except for some people in some obscure place like Timbuktu or something.) Anyway, our kids tend to be scared by new movies, and thus, we hardly ever go to them.
I was sure it would be fine, though, because ALL of America had told me so. "It's such a great family movie!" you all gushed. "Your kids will love it!" you claimed. "Full of positive messages!" you declared. Lies. All lies. I've been deceived, people!
The kids were TERRIFIED, and not just once, but numerous times. In truth, the actual plot of the movie is very intensely frightening at times. While I will agree with you folks about the positive messages, I have to say that they are rather mature themes, and really are more appropriate for older kids. That said, who cares about the positive messages when each parent is holding a crying child (one of whom is half-hiding behind a couch cushion because he simultaneously wants to watch and doesn't want to watch) and making him or her to endure in order to get to the happy ending?
I went to bed feeling like crap because I had forced my kids to watch a scary movie because everyone else said it was okay. (And, also, I had just received a permission slip in the Friday Folder because the first grade teacher is planning to show it to the class this coming Friday, and I wanted her to have the experience of seeing it with us first!) What kind of messed up peer-pressure parenting is that?
Now, back to that dead fish in my purse... The Sunday school teacher told me after class that Mia announced, "My mom has a dead fish in her purse!" (Luckily, she has a good sense of humor and found this amusing, adding, "I love how brutally honest she is!") She noted that Mia had spent most of the time diligently working on a card that read, "Dear Blooeye the fish, I am praying for you! Love, Mia." I couldn't help but think that she should have invested some prayer power into Bluey II.
After church, we took a third water sample to the pet store after church, and I was relieved to hear that it was acceptable. (I did one thing right, at least.) Mia finally has her replacement betta, and nice orange fellow aptly called Orangey.
After getting Orangey acclimated and then released into his new home, I returned down stairs and discovered that Ritzy was pulling things out of my purse -- including that Ziploc bag containing the remains of Bluey -- now not so fresh since we had made multiple trips to the pet store just for water sample testing. Thank God that dumb dog didn't figure out how to open the bag. (And God bless my child who let me unceremoniously flush the poor thing who apparently never stood a chance of survival.) I had dealt with enough messes for one weekend!
Morals of ThisTired Mom Rant Story:
So, I carried him into the bathroom to get him cleaned up, at which point he informed me that it was diarrhea and it had been running down his legs. The. Whole. Time. He got a bath, and so did the the floors.
That was exhausting. I was pretty sure that things were going to be looking sunny again after dinner, though, because we had purchased Frozen while we were out shopping. We were going to have a family movie night! (This is something I am told that good parents do.) We had not actually seen this movie before (and yes, I realize that we are practically the only people in in the known universe who hadn't -- except for some people in some obscure place like Timbuktu or something.) Anyway, our kids tend to be scared by new movies, and thus, we hardly ever go to them.
I was sure it would be fine, though, because ALL of America had told me so. "It's such a great family movie!" you all gushed. "Your kids will love it!" you claimed. "Full of positive messages!" you declared. Lies. All lies. I've been deceived, people!
The kids were TERRIFIED, and not just once, but numerous times. In truth, the actual plot of the movie is very intensely frightening at times. While I will agree with you folks about the positive messages, I have to say that they are rather mature themes, and really are more appropriate for older kids. That said, who cares about the positive messages when each parent is holding a crying child (one of whom is half-hiding behind a couch cushion because he simultaneously wants to watch and doesn't want to watch) and making him or her to endure in order to get to the happy ending?
I went to bed feeling like crap because I had forced my kids to watch a scary movie because everyone else said it was okay. (And, also, I had just received a permission slip in the Friday Folder because the first grade teacher is planning to show it to the class this coming Friday, and I wanted her to have the experience of seeing it with us first!) What kind of messed up peer-pressure parenting is that?
Now, back to that dead fish in my purse... The Sunday school teacher told me after class that Mia announced, "My mom has a dead fish in her purse!" (Luckily, she has a good sense of humor and found this amusing, adding, "I love how brutally honest she is!") She noted that Mia had spent most of the time diligently working on a card that read, "Dear Blooeye the fish, I am praying for you! Love, Mia." I couldn't help but think that she should have invested some prayer power into Bluey II.
After church, we took a third water sample to the pet store after church, and I was relieved to hear that it was acceptable. (I did one thing right, at least.) Mia finally has her replacement betta, and nice orange fellow aptly called Orangey.
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| {What? You didn't expect a picture of the purse fish, did you?!} |
After getting Orangey acclimated and then released into his new home, I returned down stairs and discovered that Ritzy was pulling things out of my purse -- including that Ziploc bag containing the remains of Bluey -- now not so fresh since we had made multiple trips to the pet store just for water sample testing. Thank God that dumb dog didn't figure out how to open the bag. (And God bless my child who let me unceremoniously flush the poor thing who apparently never stood a chance of survival.) I had dealt with enough messes for one weekend!
Morals of This
- Don't believe everything you hear! (Be it movie recommendations, or how to properly care for a betta fish. "They're really hardy," means squat if the water is uninhabitable.)
- Dead fish should not be kept in one's purse. Or, if you must keep a dead fish in your purse awaiting "burial" at least keep it out of the dog's reach.
- Being a mom is hard. I think this bears repeating.
Monday, November 18, 2013
21 Things You May Not Know about Me
Have you seen this going around Facebook? People are posting numbered lists of little-known things about themselves. These have been nice to read, giving me insight into my friends' lives without being too personal. I started constructing my own list because I thought that this was a wonderful writing prompt. Then, I finally got somebody to give me a number: 21. (Note: This is the highest number I have seen yet -- most have been around 10 or under -- but I was open and willing to the challenge.) Here is my list. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
- My given name is Margaret, after
my paternal grandmother (who didn’t even go by that name – she was called Evelyn, which was actually her middle name). So, if I look at you strangely
when you call me MEGAN, this is why. It’s not my name!
- When I was a baby, my hair was red. It later fell out, came back in blond, and then gradually grew darker.
- I bit my nails for 20-odd years. One of my earliest memories is of my mom telling me to stop biting my nails, so I tried to hide in another room in order to bite them in peace.
- All of my life, people have called me “skinny.” (Sometimes, with the b-word tagged on the end.) Even when they said this as if it was a compliment, I knew they didn’t mean it that way, so I hate this word!
- Sometimes my birthday falls on
Mother’s Day. Growing up, my mom was nice enough to let me be the star of the
day whenever this happened, but now that I’m the mom, I want 2 separate days
for myself -- NOT one conglomeration day!
- When I was 16, I met a palm reader on Pennsylvania Ave. She told me that I would marry a man with dark hair and blue eyes (true!), have 2 kids – one of each (true!), and that I would work for a magazine (if everything works out for me, this will eventually be true!)
- I began college as an art major
before switching to elementary education because it seemed more “practical.” For
some reason, I was concerned about “starving” and I thought teaching was a
safer alternative! Also, I didn’t smell like patchouli, which seemed to be some
sort of art major requirement that nobody had informed me about. Yuck! (Although,
I sometimes wish I had stuck with art.)
- I went on fifty (50!) job interviews before I got a teaching position (and this was after going back and getting my master’s degree in special education). In retrospect, that should have clued me in to the fact that I was not cut out for it.
- I thought that losing my teaching job was the worst thing that would ever happen to me, but when my water broke a few days after the end of that school year (3 MONTHS before Logan’s due date!), I gained some perspective on what is most important in life… 7 weeks in the hospital can do that to a person.
- I never intended to be a
stay-at-home mom. EVER. Now, I realize that this is the biggest blessing that I
could have been handed.
- I got engaged during Super Bowl XXXIV, in my parents’ living room, right after Faith Hill had finished singing the National Anthem.
- I like to see new places, but I am a terrible traveler. (I am sure Brett can tell you about how hard I squeezed his hand on the return flight from Puerto Rico.)
- Despite my hating to fly, I have a
strange affinity for winged things, and I have always loved birds, butterflies,
and angels. Maybe I wish I could be more like them, but I am much too nervous
to be that free.
- I am REALLY competitive. I know, I know, I fooled you all into thinking I was nice and complacent. The truth is that Brett will no longer play air hockey with me because I will hurt myself and anybody who gets in the way of my winning!
- My guilty pleasure? Watching Toddlers & Tiaras. It convinces me that I am, in fact, an awesome mom, even if I don’t feel like it at the time!
- I still sleep with a nightlight.
- I LOVE color! In fact, whenever
someone asks me my favorite color, I think this is a silly question. Choosing a
favorite color would be like choosing a favorite child. (If you don’t believe
me, visit my house, and you will see ALL the colors of the rainbow.)
- I HATE bananas! Everything about them. The color, the taste, the smell, the texture. Being a mom has helped to desensitize me somewhat. I am now able to handle a banana and NOT immediately wash my hands afterward.
- I have a strong belief that I can
make just about anything, and most of the time, I am right. I only wish that this
self-assurance would transfer to other areas of my life. (Successes that come to mind include the watermelon shark, the rainbow pinata, and the Lightning McQueen Halloween costume. One failure -- and believe me, I have them-- was trying to make homemade lip balm!)
- Despite what some people seem to think, I am not Super Mom! For example, I cannot sew, knit, or grow things. Well, okay, I found a rather interesting mold specimen growing in my fridge just the other day, but I doubt that counts since I wasn’t intentionally trying to propagate it.
- I have not used shampoo in over 2 years. I make most of my own beauty products. (See # 19) Some examples include: facial cleanser, face oil, eye makeup remover, shaving cream, non-petroleum jelly, and face masks.
Here is a recent photo so you can see the face behind all this wonderful insight (or nuttiness, however you happen to view the stuff I just shared). Note: I have a new bird necklace that makes me very happy!
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| {Here I am! Thanks for reading.} |
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
On Letting Go
I was really, really looking forward to this day. I had talked about it for months (occasionally with random strangers at Kroger or Meijer, anyone who was within earshot and might appear to care even slightly). As soon as Logan started preschool, I was going grocery shopping WITHOUT KIDS!
So, when his first day of preschool came, it didn't occur to me to be sad. I had spent so long dreaming of a couple of hours in which I could actually hear myself think -- whatever that means. We had done our best to prepare him for school, but little did I know that I was the one who should have been preparing.
The drive to school ended up being more than I anticipated and the whole time I was focused on getting him there in one piece. The fog was dreadful that morning, I was still getting over being awfully sick, and to make matters worse, I had completely forgotten about the detour in downtown (which can happen when one is in a mental fog).
It goes without saying that we were a bit late. Of course, this didn't phase my little dude one bit. He was seriously excited to start school. His only upset that morning was when he learned that he would not get a lunch since he wouldn't be staying the whole day. All of a sudden, he doesn't need me anymore?
Not caring about being behind schedule, he ran right in and sat down on the colorful alphabet rug. I was slightly disheartened to not get even a fist bump and I must have voiced this because the teacher told him I needed a fist bump and he obliged before heading back to the rug. I left the classroom feeling deflated. All of a sudden, he doesn't need me anymore?
Weirdly enough, that is when it finally dawned on me that my baby was headed off to school. This was the last time that I would go through the first day of preschool. Even though he will always be my baby, he's not actually a baby any longer! Then, I felt a twinge of sadness, the emotion that I hadn't prepared myself for. All of a sudden, he doesn't need me anymore?
Someone once told me that parenting is a process of letting go. I think that this definition is apt because oftentimes the littlest things suddenly take on a monumental quality -- dropping my baby off at preschool for the first time -- but if I stop and think about it with more perspective, it all seems more reasonable, more like something I can take on. All of a sudden, he doesn't need me anymore?
No! Of course, he still needs his mommy. At four years old, though, he simply doesn't need me to hold his hand when he goes off on a new adventure. While this was very unexpected -- Mia has always been much more cautious of new experiences, a quality she comes by quite honestly -- it's not at all bad. So, he doesn't need me quite as much as he used to. This change is not as sudden as I might have thought. We have worked toward this, taking baby steps toward independence all along the way. If anything, this is my biggest success story as a parent: helping to foster his autonomy.
The funny thing is that it's harder on me, this letting go. Today, as I pushed my shopping cart around Kroger (a regular cart, not the ridiculously unwieldy race car model that I would have been forced to struggle with had my little dude been along), I felt kind of alone. It wasn't the dream "vacation" that I had mentally built it up to be. It was just a trip to the store -- minus the 3-foot-tall dictator whining for a second Dum Dum sucker because he had finished it before we even made it out of the produce department.
While it was a much quieter shopping trip, it took me that same amount of time, and I spent just as much money. (And here I was thinking that I would really up my coupon game without the distraction of my noisy little guy.) As I went past the end cap with all the Hot Wheels cars, I noticed it was quite picked over, and I was reminded of my favorite little boy who had swiped two cars on two separate shopping trips in the past few weeks -- while I was busy fussing with said coupons. As frustrating as those trips to Kroger had been after I discovered the torn-open packages, seeing that display made me smile.
It turns out that shopping without kids isn't all it's cracked up to be, at least not until I get the hang of it. For now, I am just trying to embrace my mixed emotions about Logan getting older. Excitement turned to sadness at the drop of a hat. Who knew that growing up would be harder for the mommy than it is for the little boy?
So, when his first day of preschool came, it didn't occur to me to be sad. I had spent so long dreaming of a couple of hours in which I could actually hear myself think -- whatever that means. We had done our best to prepare him for school, but little did I know that I was the one who should have been preparing.
The drive to school ended up being more than I anticipated and the whole time I was focused on getting him there in one piece. The fog was dreadful that morning, I was still getting over being awfully sick, and to make matters worse, I had completely forgotten about the detour in downtown (which can happen when one is in a mental fog).
It goes without saying that we were a bit late. Of course, this didn't phase my little dude one bit. He was seriously excited to start school. His only upset that morning was when he learned that he would not get a lunch since he wouldn't be staying the whole day. All of a sudden, he doesn't need me anymore?
Not caring about being behind schedule, he ran right in and sat down on the colorful alphabet rug. I was slightly disheartened to not get even a fist bump and I must have voiced this because the teacher told him I needed a fist bump and he obliged before heading back to the rug. I left the classroom feeling deflated. All of a sudden, he doesn't need me anymore?
Weirdly enough, that is when it finally dawned on me that my baby was headed off to school. This was the last time that I would go through the first day of preschool. Even though he will always be my baby, he's not actually a baby any longer! Then, I felt a twinge of sadness, the emotion that I hadn't prepared myself for. All of a sudden, he doesn't need me anymore?
Someone once told me that parenting is a process of letting go. I think that this definition is apt because oftentimes the littlest things suddenly take on a monumental quality -- dropping my baby off at preschool for the first time -- but if I stop and think about it with more perspective, it all seems more reasonable, more like something I can take on. All of a sudden, he doesn't need me anymore?
No! Of course, he still needs his mommy. At four years old, though, he simply doesn't need me to hold his hand when he goes off on a new adventure. While this was very unexpected -- Mia has always been much more cautious of new experiences, a quality she comes by quite honestly -- it's not at all bad. So, he doesn't need me quite as much as he used to. This change is not as sudden as I might have thought. We have worked toward this, taking baby steps toward independence all along the way. If anything, this is my biggest success story as a parent: helping to foster his autonomy.
The funny thing is that it's harder on me, this letting go. Today, as I pushed my shopping cart around Kroger (a regular cart, not the ridiculously unwieldy race car model that I would have been forced to struggle with had my little dude been along), I felt kind of alone. It wasn't the dream "vacation" that I had mentally built it up to be. It was just a trip to the store -- minus the 3-foot-tall dictator whining for a second Dum Dum sucker because he had finished it before we even made it out of the produce department.
While it was a much quieter shopping trip, it took me that same amount of time, and I spent just as much money. (And here I was thinking that I would really up my coupon game without the distraction of my noisy little guy.) As I went past the end cap with all the Hot Wheels cars, I noticed it was quite picked over, and I was reminded of my favorite little boy who had swiped two cars on two separate shopping trips in the past few weeks -- while I was busy fussing with said coupons. As frustrating as those trips to Kroger had been after I discovered the torn-open packages, seeing that display made me smile.
It turns out that shopping without kids isn't all it's cracked up to be, at least not until I get the hang of it. For now, I am just trying to embrace my mixed emotions about Logan getting older. Excitement turned to sadness at the drop of a hat. Who knew that growing up would be harder for the mommy than it is for the little boy?
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| {NOT a baby, but always my baby!} |
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Self-Expression
Last week, I got a new cell phone. I didn't really want a new phone. I was actually quite happy with the one I had for the past three years, mostly because it did what I needed it to do, and I knew how to use it! Unfortunately, it decided to die on me. My theory is that it's a conspiracy between Verizon and the cell phone companies: the battery kept draining as it spent every night for about a week trying to upload some update that it was apparently too antiquated to accept, and this was how they forced me to upgrade! (I'm mostly joking here, because I don't really buy into conspiracy theories, however it really seems a bit too convenient for those companies, don't you think?) Anyway, I found a phone that is quite similar to the one I already had, although I went with a Samsung instead of an LG because it had a larger screen and it takes video. Not that I have shot any video yet, but you know, just in case, and also my phone before the one that just died took video so I did sort of wonder why I lost that feature when I upgraded to the QWERTY keyboard.
Now, here's the main reason I told you the background story. Since I had a new phone, this meant that I needed to get a new phone cover, which was a tougher decision than picking out the actual phone. (How's that for a first-world problem?) On my old phone, I had a black case with pink flowers and butterflies that I loved. However, my sister-in-law, Jill, recently got the same cover, which meant that it was high time for me to try something new. (And Jill, if you're reading this, know that I love you, but still, we need to have different cell phone covers!)
I was surprised by my inability to make a simple decision regarding a cell phone cover. An eBay search yielded tons of results for my phone, which I narrowed down to a handful: a blue-green floral design, turquoise with white polka dots, a rhinestone covered owl, a bright green background with a brown owl perched on a branch, splattered paint, purple with a white butterfly, and purple bling which had rhinestones on the entire thing. This was as far as I got the first night after picking up my new phone, and I actually lost sleep over this, if you can believe that. It shouldn't have been such a big deal, but after having the same case for three years, and knowing that I will have this one for that long, too (unless they get me with some whacked-out conspiracy), I felt it had to really reflect who I am. (If you read my post yesterday, you know that this has been on my mind lately.)
By the next day, I was able to knock a few off the list of possibilities. I had decided that I liked purple and butterflies but just not that particular design. The flowers were too generic. Turquoise with polka dots was cutesy but kind of blah, not really me. The bejeweled owl was rather ostentatious, completely over-the-top wild, which I decided might translate as "crazy" in the event that people are judging me by my phone cover, and I assume that they are -- otherwise this was a huge waste of brain power! The purple bling was pretty fabulous, but ultimately I decided it was ridiculously impractical considering how often I drop my phone, not to mention the fact that I was worried people would think I was ultra-girly and high maintenance. I like pretty things and I like being feminine, but that's not all there is to me, so it didn't seem deep enough. (I know, I'm way, way over-thinking this!) That left the green owl cover and the paint splattered cover, which I needed another night to sleep on.
This was a tricky one. I liked the owl because I like birds lately, plus it was a fun, graphic design. It was simple but fun. And I loved the bright green. (If you've been reading my recent posts related to Puerto Rico, I am sure you understand.) Plus, I felt that this would suggest to people that I lean toward environmental friendliness, you know, being green, both with the literal color and the animal imagery.
Ultimately, I chose the paint splattered cover, which I felt was ideal for my self expression. It has lots of bright COLORS! It showcases my fun and kooky side (hopefully without making me appear crazy), and it obviously lets everyone know that I am into artsy crafty things. All good stuff. I may also have been slightly influenced by this year's MOPS theme, "A Beautiful Mess," which I have currently been planning for. This made me somewhat concerned that people would think I was messy, disorganized, or something along those lines. Then, I realized that I am a mess, and it's okay. Personally, I would love it if everyone thought I had it all together, but I figured this was a fun risk to take with showcasing my silly, sloppy side instead of choosing the safer owl motif. (I do really love to try new things and have fun, but I am often held back by my own fears.) And here I thought that I was totally over-thinking this and making it so much more important than it really was, when, in fact, I learned a bit about myself during the decision making process. Hooray for self-expression that leads to self-understanding, a perfect theme for the "Summer of Meg!"
Now, here's the main reason I told you the background story. Since I had a new phone, this meant that I needed to get a new phone cover, which was a tougher decision than picking out the actual phone. (How's that for a first-world problem?) On my old phone, I had a black case with pink flowers and butterflies that I loved. However, my sister-in-law, Jill, recently got the same cover, which meant that it was high time for me to try something new. (And Jill, if you're reading this, know that I love you, but still, we need to have different cell phone covers!)
I was surprised by my inability to make a simple decision regarding a cell phone cover. An eBay search yielded tons of results for my phone, which I narrowed down to a handful: a blue-green floral design, turquoise with white polka dots, a rhinestone covered owl, a bright green background with a brown owl perched on a branch, splattered paint, purple with a white butterfly, and purple bling which had rhinestones on the entire thing. This was as far as I got the first night after picking up my new phone, and I actually lost sleep over this, if you can believe that. It shouldn't have been such a big deal, but after having the same case for three years, and knowing that I will have this one for that long, too (unless they get me with some whacked-out conspiracy), I felt it had to really reflect who I am. (If you read my post yesterday, you know that this has been on my mind lately.)
By the next day, I was able to knock a few off the list of possibilities. I had decided that I liked purple and butterflies but just not that particular design. The flowers were too generic. Turquoise with polka dots was cutesy but kind of blah, not really me. The bejeweled owl was rather ostentatious, completely over-the-top wild, which I decided might translate as "crazy" in the event that people are judging me by my phone cover, and I assume that they are -- otherwise this was a huge waste of brain power! The purple bling was pretty fabulous, but ultimately I decided it was ridiculously impractical considering how often I drop my phone, not to mention the fact that I was worried people would think I was ultra-girly and high maintenance. I like pretty things and I like being feminine, but that's not all there is to me, so it didn't seem deep enough. (I know, I'm way, way over-thinking this!) That left the green owl cover and the paint splattered cover, which I needed another night to sleep on.
This was a tricky one. I liked the owl because I like birds lately, plus it was a fun, graphic design. It was simple but fun. And I loved the bright green. (If you've been reading my recent posts related to Puerto Rico, I am sure you understand.) Plus, I felt that this would suggest to people that I lean toward environmental friendliness, you know, being green, both with the literal color and the animal imagery.
Ultimately, I chose the paint splattered cover, which I felt was ideal for my self expression. It has lots of bright COLORS! It showcases my fun and kooky side (hopefully without making me appear crazy), and it obviously lets everyone know that I am into artsy crafty things. All good stuff. I may also have been slightly influenced by this year's MOPS theme, "A Beautiful Mess," which I have currently been planning for. This made me somewhat concerned that people would think I was messy, disorganized, or something along those lines. Then, I realized that I am a mess, and it's okay. Personally, I would love it if everyone thought I had it all together, but I figured this was a fun risk to take with showcasing my silly, sloppy side instead of choosing the safer owl motif. (I do really love to try new things and have fun, but I am often held back by my own fears.) And here I thought that I was totally over-thinking this and making it so much more important than it really was, when, in fact, I learned a bit about myself during the decision making process. Hooray for self-expression that leads to self-understanding, a perfect theme for the "Summer of Meg!"
 |
| {It's a perfect fit for me} |
Monday, June 17, 2013
Lessons from a Lemonade Stand
Last Thursday I let the kids try their hand at running their very first business: a lemonade stand. While this is not something I ever had the opportunity to do, it seems like something every kid should do at least once during childhood. Mia really wanted to do this at some point in the summer, and I for reasons that I can't really explain given how busy we are preparing for our vacation, (Tropical island! No kids!! Ring any bells?) decided to try to cram that into our already bursting-at-the-seams schedule.
Before agreeing to this venture, I had Mia brainstorm a list of items that we would need to buy or make before setting up shop. She came up with: table, chairs, sign, pitcher, cups, balloons, and of course, lemonade. For that, I had an interesting recipe I wanted to try: watermelon lemonade (which I found in the June 21, 2013 issue of All You magazine, page 4). And, I happened to have lemons and watermelon on hand, which meant that this was as good a time as any to test the recipe and run a lemonade stand. Two birds, one stone.
Sweet Pink Lemonade (makes 12 servings)
Setting up a table and chairs was easy. Getting balloons blown up was trickier. I don't have that much hot air, it seems, and the kids are a bit young to be much help in this arena. Making a sign shouldn't have been as time-consuming as it was, but being perfectionistic, I decided to do it myself using my Cricut and some yellow and pink card stock. (I am not sure if this was the right choice or not. Mia could have done the lettering herself, of course, but I didn't think it would be as legible, so I wanted the cut-out letters to hopefully get more attention.) One thing I made sure to highlight on the sign was the word "fresh" because after all that effort, I wanted people to know they were buying a quality product! Is there a lesson here? I'm not sure, but I think it is still related to #1: don't overdo things; Keep it simple.
Now, came one of the more difficult decisions: what price to assign to a small paper cup of fresh squeezed lemonade? Initially, I was thinking only a quarter because the cups were small kitchen cups, but after all of the work invested in my kids' lemonade stand, (and thinking about having to hand wash my lemon juicer, large pot, and assorted food processor pieces...), I made the executive decision to charge 50 cents per cup. I figured $1 was too steep, and 50 cents was the next logical choice. Lesson #2 is that everything has value, including Mom's time. (However, Mom is also the person who makes sacrifices, so I decided not to charge the kids for my time or for the materials we used to make their lemonade. I'm still debating whether or not that was the right decision. I wanted them to see some "profits" but I also wanted them to recognize that everything came at a cost. Tough stuff, when you really think about it, and I thought it was just lemonade!) I think that *if* we run another lemonade stand, I really should let them have the true lesson in economics. This was just the intro course, and I omitted some of the critical learning.
Lesson #3 was more of a lesson for the children with regards to persistence. About half an hour into the waiting game, Mia announced that this was boring. (Shocker, I know!) I tried to remain optimistic even though I didn't think we would get many customers. We live on a paved road off of a dirt road, so we're kind of isolated. Our only hope was the neighborhood people and given that it was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, it didn't seem like we would get too much business. I reminded the kids that they had to be friendly and wave to all of the cars that passed by. Logan jumped on this idea immediately, and waved enthusiastically while yelling out out to each passerby, "Hi! We have a lemonade stand!!" Amazingly, we started getting customers right after this, so there is power in positive thinking.
There really are good people in the world. I think this lesson #4 hit home for me, perhaps, more than it did for Mia and Logan. Once the neighbors started showing up, they would buy more than one cup, so that meant $1 instead of 50 cents. I honestly did not expect that, because, again, I was worried that I was overcharging in the first place. Then, we had two people who made donations/tips to the lemonade stand, just because they were supportive. One neighbor said, "Here's a tip just for being an entrepreneur." Isn't that nice? (It made me feel like I should do a better job of supporting lemonade stands...) But the one thing that really impressed me was when the UPS delivery man stopped his truck just so he could buy two (again, not one but two!) cups of our by-then lukewarm lemonade. While I was a teensy bit upset over the people who promised to "come back later" and never did, in the end they sold 13 cups and got paid for more than that, which exceeded my expectations of what we could achieve in a two-and-one-half-hour window on a Thursday afternoon in our neighborhood, where people pretty much keep to themselves.
Mia learned a lesson in responsibility (#5). Our neighbors across the street actually set up a bouncy house while we were working at the lemonade stand. (We had been invited over to bounce earlier in the day, and had taken advantage of their hospitality for about a half hour.) This was a very tough decision for her, but ultimately, she decided to keep manning the stand instead of going off to do the thing that would have been immediately gratifying. I was, admittedly, shocked that she made this choice, especially after watching her weigh the choices in her mind, and seeing how hard it was for her to decide to stick with her business plan!
Lesson #6 is one on being prepared. Lemonade stands are a sticky, messy business so have lots of towels on hand for cleaning up all the spills. The drink dispenser may go haywire at some point from too many little hands fiddling with it, so make sure your extra cups are easily within reach because you may find yourself filling cup after cup, trying to keep up with the gushing. (Must not waste any of that fresh squeezed organic lemonade with pureed watermelon!) Oh, and don't forget a bag to hold all of the used cups, like I did. Sunscreen seemed like an obvious choice (check!), but little did I know, we would actually need an umbrella before the afternoon was over! Make sure your kids have their own water bottles so they are not tempted to drink up the lemonade supply. I made sure that we had change before heading outside, not knowing that we wouldn't really need it. (Nice people!) And I figured having hand sanitizer available couldn't hurt.
Once the rain got too hard, we shut down the lemonade stand, and headed inside, where I counted the money. When all was said and done, I gave each of the kids $3.50. As Brett pointed out, this wasn't the profits, it was the revenue. I had decided not to charge them the $3 for the lemons or the $2.50 for half of a watermelon that was used. Sugar and cups were such small amounts that I didn't know how to calculate the cost for those, and then there was the issue of my time. Undoubtedly, it is valuable, but it was all a gift, because I wanted them to have the experience. Lesson #7 was to just plain enjoy life! We had a good/exhausting/sticky afternoon, and we may have come out ahead by a dollar of so, but the real lessons had more to do with earning money. (This is fortunate, since there wasn't much money actually made when you do the math.) It was more rewarding for me just to let them enjoy the feeling of success, while we kicked back and finally enjoyed some of that sweet pink lemonade. I think we all earned it.
Before agreeing to this venture, I had Mia brainstorm a list of items that we would need to buy or make before setting up shop. She came up with: table, chairs, sign, pitcher, cups, balloons, and of course, lemonade. For that, I had an interesting recipe I wanted to try: watermelon lemonade (which I found in the June 21, 2013 issue of All You magazine, page 4). And, I happened to have lemons and watermelon on hand, which meant that this was as good a time as any to test the recipe and run a lemonade stand. Two birds, one stone.
Sweet Pink Lemonade (makes 12 servings)
- 6 cups water
- 1 1/2 cups sugar
- 1/4 tsp salt
- 4 cups watermelon, chopped
- 1 cup water
- 2 cups lemon juice (from about 8 lemons)
- ice
- Bring 6 cups water, 1 1/2 cups sugar, and 1/4 teaspoon salt to a boil, stirring occasionally.
- Remove pan from heat, cover, and let stand for 10 minutes.
- Puree 4 cups chopped watermelon in a blender (I used my food processor for this.) along with 1 cup of water.
- Pour syrup and watermelon puree through a strainer into a pitcher. (This step was really messy!)
- Stir in 2 cups fresh lemon juice. (The kids helped with the squeezing, but this was mostly a job for Mama.)
- Serve over ice. (Hard to do when you're sitting outside for a couple of hours...)
Setting up a table and chairs was easy. Getting balloons blown up was trickier. I don't have that much hot air, it seems, and the kids are a bit young to be much help in this arena. Making a sign shouldn't have been as time-consuming as it was, but being perfectionistic, I decided to do it myself using my Cricut and some yellow and pink card stock. (I am not sure if this was the right choice or not. Mia could have done the lettering herself, of course, but I didn't think it would be as legible, so I wanted the cut-out letters to hopefully get more attention.) One thing I made sure to highlight on the sign was the word "fresh" because after all that effort, I wanted people to know they were buying a quality product! Is there a lesson here? I'm not sure, but I think it is still related to #1: don't overdo things; Keep it simple.
Now, came one of the more difficult decisions: what price to assign to a small paper cup of fresh squeezed lemonade? Initially, I was thinking only a quarter because the cups were small kitchen cups, but after all of the work invested in my kids' lemonade stand, (and thinking about having to hand wash my lemon juicer, large pot, and assorted food processor pieces...), I made the executive decision to charge 50 cents per cup. I figured $1 was too steep, and 50 cents was the next logical choice. Lesson #2 is that everything has value, including Mom's time. (However, Mom is also the person who makes sacrifices, so I decided not to charge the kids for my time or for the materials we used to make their lemonade. I'm still debating whether or not that was the right decision. I wanted them to see some "profits" but I also wanted them to recognize that everything came at a cost. Tough stuff, when you really think about it, and I thought it was just lemonade!) I think that *if* we run another lemonade stand, I really should let them have the true lesson in economics. This was just the intro course, and I omitted some of the critical learning.
Lesson #3 was more of a lesson for the children with regards to persistence. About half an hour into the waiting game, Mia announced that this was boring. (Shocker, I know!) I tried to remain optimistic even though I didn't think we would get many customers. We live on a paved road off of a dirt road, so we're kind of isolated. Our only hope was the neighborhood people and given that it was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, it didn't seem like we would get too much business. I reminded the kids that they had to be friendly and wave to all of the cars that passed by. Logan jumped on this idea immediately, and waved enthusiastically while yelling out out to each passerby, "Hi! We have a lemonade stand!!" Amazingly, we started getting customers right after this, so there is power in positive thinking.
There really are good people in the world. I think this lesson #4 hit home for me, perhaps, more than it did for Mia and Logan. Once the neighbors started showing up, they would buy more than one cup, so that meant $1 instead of 50 cents. I honestly did not expect that, because, again, I was worried that I was overcharging in the first place. Then, we had two people who made donations/tips to the lemonade stand, just because they were supportive. One neighbor said, "Here's a tip just for being an entrepreneur." Isn't that nice? (It made me feel like I should do a better job of supporting lemonade stands...) But the one thing that really impressed me was when the UPS delivery man stopped his truck just so he could buy two (again, not one but two!) cups of our by-then lukewarm lemonade. While I was a teensy bit upset over the people who promised to "come back later" and never did, in the end they sold 13 cups and got paid for more than that, which exceeded my expectations of what we could achieve in a two-and-one-half-hour window on a Thursday afternoon in our neighborhood, where people pretty much keep to themselves.
Mia learned a lesson in responsibility (#5). Our neighbors across the street actually set up a bouncy house while we were working at the lemonade stand. (We had been invited over to bounce earlier in the day, and had taken advantage of their hospitality for about a half hour.) This was a very tough decision for her, but ultimately, she decided to keep manning the stand instead of going off to do the thing that would have been immediately gratifying. I was, admittedly, shocked that she made this choice, especially after watching her weigh the choices in her mind, and seeing how hard it was for her to decide to stick with her business plan!
Lesson #6 is one on being prepared. Lemonade stands are a sticky, messy business so have lots of towels on hand for cleaning up all the spills. The drink dispenser may go haywire at some point from too many little hands fiddling with it, so make sure your extra cups are easily within reach because you may find yourself filling cup after cup, trying to keep up with the gushing. (Must not waste any of that fresh squeezed organic lemonade with pureed watermelon!) Oh, and don't forget a bag to hold all of the used cups, like I did. Sunscreen seemed like an obvious choice (check!), but little did I know, we would actually need an umbrella before the afternoon was over! Make sure your kids have their own water bottles so they are not tempted to drink up the lemonade supply. I made sure that we had change before heading outside, not knowing that we wouldn't really need it. (Nice people!) And I figured having hand sanitizer available couldn't hurt.
Once the rain got too hard, we shut down the lemonade stand, and headed inside, where I counted the money. When all was said and done, I gave each of the kids $3.50. As Brett pointed out, this wasn't the profits, it was the revenue. I had decided not to charge them the $3 for the lemons or the $2.50 for half of a watermelon that was used. Sugar and cups were such small amounts that I didn't know how to calculate the cost for those, and then there was the issue of my time. Undoubtedly, it is valuable, but it was all a gift, because I wanted them to have the experience. Lesson #7 was to just plain enjoy life! We had a good/exhausting/sticky afternoon, and we may have come out ahead by a dollar of so, but the real lessons had more to do with earning money. (This is fortunate, since there wasn't much money actually made when you do the math.) It was more rewarding for me just to let them enjoy the feeling of success, while we kicked back and finally enjoyed some of that sweet pink lemonade. I think we all earned it.
Friday, June 14, 2013
The Problem with Pinterest
Well, here's another idea I found on Pinterest. (I'm starting to think this should be a tag in and of itself.) First, let me say that it had never occurred to me to use sidewalk chalk for photo props, and I think this idea is pretty brilliant. When I told Mia about the idea to write "Kindergarten" on the driveway and then have her lie down next to it for a fun end-of-school-year photo, she was excited to try it out!
However, the problem lies in actually pulling off a successful photo. (Things are always easier in theory than in actuality, right?) Naturally, the post that this links to doesn't give any directions on how to produce the cute photo results, so I had to wing it. That didn't seem like it would be terribly difficult but the next obstacle was the weather. It was unseasonably cool on the last couple days of school, and she was actually wearing jeans and long-sleeve tops! That didn't seem very summery, and I didn't want to make her miserable, so I didn't even suggest trying the photo "session" on those days. Then, it rained. And then we had Daddy's birthday to celebrate so her portrait session was placed on the back burner.
Finally, there was a day when it rained, and then cleared up, and the driveway was dry enough to give it a whirl. The sun was shining at that point, and I thought we were golden! I grabbed a piece of pink sidewalk chalk and wrote "Kindergarten" as artistically as possible, and then I went to grab my camera. When I returned, Mia had taken orange chalk and drawn hearts all around the lettering. At first, I was caught off guard, and if I'm being honest, I was a teensy bit upset because I had worked to make it look "Pinterest perfect." But, then I decided to just roll with it because this was, after all, about her. ("It's not about me!" is one of those mommy mantras that pops up from time to time, and I really hope I'm not alone in this.)
Unfortunately, I quickly realized that there can be too much of a good thing, in this case, sunshine. Seriously? Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but that sun we were pining for came back to bite us. The first few photos I took included Mia squinting into the sunlight, resulting in some less than ideal portraits. She didn't really look thrilled to have just finished kindergarten. Instead she looked like she was in pain. Rats!
Obviously, didn't want us to remember kindergarten as the year that made her quite constipated, (if you go by facial expressions, alone, this is how I am reading that look) so I then decided to have her sit up for a different view point that would hopefully avoid the squinty-eyed-make-it-fast-you're-killing-me-here-Mooooooooooom look. It wasn't the shot I was really after, but it was a definite improvement.
Undeterred, and still hoping to get that lying down shot of her next to the word "Kindergarten," we decided to wait until it was slightly cloudier before trying again. By then, she wanted to wear socks and shoes with her capris, which was a look I wasn't totally digging. But again, I let it slide because it wasn't that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things, and it seemed like that was what she was offering me, a take-it-or-leave-it opportunity. Since I was really wanting that picture that looked so perfect on Pinterest, darn it, I decided to take it! Well, this is as good as it gets. I haven't figured out yet, if having a step stool was helpful or not, but it was something I experimented with to try to get the right angle. Anyway, Mia at least looks happy in those last few attempts, so I will try to overlook those silly socks and shoes.
Someday, we may a whole album or photo book full of these goofy end-of-school-year memories to display at her graduation. (I really am trying to let go of some of my idealistic expectations, but it's a process.) Hopefully, we'll learn a few little tips along the way. And, I'm guessing some of them won't even be about achieving picture perfect results. ("It's not about me!")
However, the problem lies in actually pulling off a successful photo. (Things are always easier in theory than in actuality, right?) Naturally, the post that this links to doesn't give any directions on how to produce the cute photo results, so I had to wing it. That didn't seem like it would be terribly difficult but the next obstacle was the weather. It was unseasonably cool on the last couple days of school, and she was actually wearing jeans and long-sleeve tops! That didn't seem very summery, and I didn't want to make her miserable, so I didn't even suggest trying the photo "session" on those days. Then, it rained. And then we had Daddy's birthday to celebrate so her portrait session was placed on the back burner.
Finally, there was a day when it rained, and then cleared up, and the driveway was dry enough to give it a whirl. The sun was shining at that point, and I thought we were golden! I grabbed a piece of pink sidewalk chalk and wrote "Kindergarten" as artistically as possible, and then I went to grab my camera. When I returned, Mia had taken orange chalk and drawn hearts all around the lettering. At first, I was caught off guard, and if I'm being honest, I was a teensy bit upset because I had worked to make it look "Pinterest perfect." But, then I decided to just roll with it because this was, after all, about her. ("It's not about me!" is one of those mommy mantras that pops up from time to time, and I really hope I'm not alone in this.)
Unfortunately, I quickly realized that there can be too much of a good thing, in this case, sunshine. Seriously? Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but that sun we were pining for came back to bite us. The first few photos I took included Mia squinting into the sunlight, resulting in some less than ideal portraits. She didn't really look thrilled to have just finished kindergarten. Instead she looked like she was in pain. Rats!
Obviously, didn't want us to remember kindergarten as the year that made her quite constipated, (if you go by facial expressions, alone, this is how I am reading that look) so I then decided to have her sit up for a different view point that would hopefully avoid the squinty-eyed-make-it-fast-you're-killing-me-here-Mooooooooooom look. It wasn't the shot I was really after, but it was a definite improvement.
Undeterred, and still hoping to get that lying down shot of her next to the word "Kindergarten," we decided to wait until it was slightly cloudier before trying again. By then, she wanted to wear socks and shoes with her capris, which was a look I wasn't totally digging. But again, I let it slide because it wasn't that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things, and it seemed like that was what she was offering me, a take-it-or-leave-it opportunity. Since I was really wanting that picture that looked so perfect on Pinterest, darn it, I decided to take it! Well, this is as good as it gets. I haven't figured out yet, if having a step stool was helpful or not, but it was something I experimented with to try to get the right angle. Anyway, Mia at least looks happy in those last few attempts, so I will try to overlook those silly socks and shoes.
Someday, we may a whole album or photo book full of these goofy end-of-school-year memories to display at her graduation. (I really am trying to let go of some of my idealistic expectations, but it's a process.) Hopefully, we'll learn a few little tips along the way. And, I'm guessing some of them won't even be about achieving picture perfect results. ("It's not about me!")
Saturday, June 8, 2013
How to Tell If Your Dog May Be Spoiled
Using my pseudo-scientific method, you too, can determine if your dog is spoiled in just three easy steps.
Don't worry; even the most sluggish of pooches will soon learn to recognize and respond to the sound of un-popped kernels being poured into the air popper. (The more quickly she emerges from her den, the more likely it is that you have a spoiled dog on your hands.)
2) Observe your dog's behavior while the popcorn is popping.
Does your dog simply watch as pieces of popped corn fly out of the air popper and land on the floor, totally ignoring them while giving you the "you've got to be kidding me" look? (If so, she may be spoiled.)
3) To be certain, add melted butter and note how excited your dog becomes.
For example, my dog suddenly becomes much more lively because this is what she was waiting for! (Yeah, this is the true litmus test for determining whether or not your dog is truly spoiled.)
Now that your suspicions are confirmed, you may as well share your buttered popcorn with your spoiled pet. Before you jump down my throat, our vet says this is an acceptable treat for dogs. Okay, she didn't specifically say to add butter, but as you can see, her royal highness has decided that this is the only way she will eat it! By the way, I should add that step 2b is to clean up any un-buttered popcorn that landed on the floor, because the pampered pooch sure isn't going to take care of it any time soon.
Don't worry; even the most sluggish of pooches will soon learn to recognize and respond to the sound of un-popped kernels being poured into the air popper. (The more quickly she emerges from her den, the more likely it is that you have a spoiled dog on your hands.)
2) Observe your dog's behavior while the popcorn is popping.
Does your dog simply watch as pieces of popped corn fly out of the air popper and land on the floor, totally ignoring them while giving you the "you've got to be kidding me" look? (If so, she may be spoiled.)
 |
| {Is it just me or does it really look like she's laughing?} |
3) To be certain, add melted butter and note how excited your dog becomes.
For example, my dog suddenly becomes much more lively because this is what she was waiting for! (Yeah, this is the true litmus test for determining whether or not your dog is truly spoiled.)
Now that your suspicions are confirmed, you may as well share your buttered popcorn with your spoiled pet. Before you jump down my throat, our vet says this is an acceptable treat for dogs. Okay, she didn't specifically say to add butter, but as you can see, her royal highness has decided that this is the only way she will eat it! By the way, I should add that step 2b is to clean up any un-buttered popcorn that landed on the floor, because the pampered pooch sure isn't going to take care of it any time soon.
 |
| {Oh, really, who could say "no" to this sweet face?} |
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Emotional Purging
Sometimes it's the seemingly little things that are really the biggest things. Tonight, for example, I packed what will be Mia's last school lunch as a kindergartener. That could make me sad, but recently, I had some much-needed emotional purging (although I didn't know I was due for it at the time.)
It started out with a simple trip to the salon. I hadn't been there in, oh, about 6 months, because I was really happy with the way my hair looked. (I will swear to the ends of the earth that giving up shampoo was the single best thing I have done for my hair, and consequently for my self-esteem -- because regardless whether or not a woman is high maintenance, her hair is a huge part of how she expresses herself to the world.) I was growing it out because I thought it made me look pretty, and it made me feel younger, and I figured that if I ever got sick of it being longer than it's been in quite some time, I would just cut it and donate it...
So, why did I make that appointment for a "trim?" Well, I am insanely excited about an upcoming vacation without children!!! (To a tropical island! Eeeeee!) I have so, so, so much to do to get ready, and I decided that I could hear my stylist in my head saying that my "ends are looking a bit skinny." Really, that's what she has told me in the past. Anyway, I figured it was best to get it shaped up before the trip, and I thought I could tick that off my to-do list quite easily.
I called the salon and scheduled a trim, and thought I was so lucky to be able to get in with my stylist (who's done my hair for almost 8 years now) the very next day. Sounds straight-forward enough. I showed up, laughed about how I heard her voice in my head worrying over my "skinny ends," and made a point of saying that I was really happy with my hair and just needed it to be cleaned up a bit. Then, I proceeded to yammer on while she did her thing. Topics of conversation included my upcoming vacation, obviously, but also some other beauty-related items of current interest to me: homemade shaving cream, homemade facial cleanser, and my general disgust with parabens. (Perhaps I need to get out more. These are kind of sad topics for general conversation, but they're pretty important to me!)
The next thing I knew, she was handing me the mirror to view the finished haircut. This was when I realized that she had taken off much more than I was anticipating, at least two or maybe three inches! (Truthfully, it's hard to gauge length since my hair is naturally curly, plus, she always manages to make it much fuller than I ever could.) Since I was somewhat it shock (How did I not realize what was happening?!) I just thanked her, paid the bill, and gave her a ten percent tip, as I normally would. Then, I went home and studiously avoided looking at myself in the mirror by taking the kids outside to play, doing yard work, and basically, pretending that I had not just lost all the hair I had been growing out for over 6 months, the hair that made me feel more attractive than I had in ages, the hair I was planning to donate... I was totally in denial.
This experience has taught me that it's actually possible to go through all five stages of grief in one day. Once I finally came back indoors, several hours later, to use the bathroom, I saw my reflection. Then, it really hit me that my hair was gone and there was nothing I could do about it. This led to some majorly-blown-out-of-proportion depression, complete with out-and-out sobbing, the kind that made me gasp for air, the kind that made me have puffy, swollen eyelids, the kind that went on much longer than it should have because each time I began to calm down, I had another irrational thought that provoked more outbursts. Part of me was disappointed in myself for crying in front of the kids (or at least for not having a "good" reason for my grief). Another part of me felt selfish and guilty for mourning my hair in the first place, considering how many people I know who have cancer and would probably love the opportunity to cry over a "bad" haircut because it would mean that they have enough hair to go to the salon and get it cut in the first place! But still, I couldn't stop crying for a good twenty minutes. Depression.
Then, I went through what must be considered the bargaining phase, essentially trying to rationalize things by constantly asking the "what if?" questions. Why didn't I pay attention to what she was doing? Why was I talking so much? I should have told her up front not to cut more than 1/4" off the length! Didn't she understand me when I said I was really happy with my hair, that I meant the length? What was I thinking making a hair appointment when I loved my hair the way it was? I should have never done that.... Now, how will I ever have enough to donate?
This led to anger. This can't be happening to me! What if my now-short-hair looks like a poof-ball on our tropical vacation? What if I can't get it up anymore? (And I just recently have been getting compliments on wearing my hair up, so I have started doing it more often.) I went upstairs, tossed my clothes aside while quickly undressing, let forth some under-my-breath screams (still not wanting to freak my kids out over this -- and Brett was wisely standing aside and letting me fight my demons), and then got into the shower. I let the hot water beat down on me for a while, soaking my odious, too short hair, and washing away most of my frustrations. Stepping out of the shower, I felt that I had purged most of the negative emotional energy, and surveying my wet locks, felt more like myself. Even if the mirror reflected my shorter hair, it at least looked a bit longer since it was wet.
After my shower, I felt enlightened. The tears were not for my hair, not really. That was just the trigger to my emotional purge, the last straw as it were. This "bad" haircut had been the conclusion to a very emotional week. I had learned that my dance teacher was injured and wouldn't be able to teach any classes until fall, so I am without an outlet for all of this stuff... Mia's first loose tooth was quite the milestone event, and then a couple days after that, we went to her "kindergarten graduation." It was so amazing to see how far she has come in the past few months! This is a lot for most people to take in, I can imagine. But for me, being so very sensitive, it makes absolute sense now that I was due for a good cry so that I could come to terms with all the big changes and then move forward. (This has historically been how I have coped with all the little mole hills building up until one seems like a giant mountain, threatening to engulf me.) As upsetting as it was, this was not about my hair. This was about my baby girl growing up. After a refreshing shower, I realized these things, and I while felt completely spent after crying, I was also relieved, physically and emotionally purged.
Did I finally achieve acceptance? Well, my hair looked more like "me" once it dried. Plus, it's bouncier and healthier looking. In truth, I didn't get a "bad" haircut after all. My stylist knows my hair better than I do, apparently. While it wasn't exactly what I was hoping for, I do look good with the shorter hair style. And the stuff that really triggered the tears? Well, I can deal with that, too, just one thing at a time.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By the way, having stayed up past my bedtime tonight and blogging into tomorrow, I have now just reached my 3rd "blogiversary!" This means that it's been three years since I wrote this, (which was viewed by all of three people) and here I am still at it, wondering where to go from here... Thanks so much for stopping by and reading my thoughts! I love being able to share parts of my life in this way, and I hope that you, too, get something out of it. Sorry, no fabulous giveaways, or anything like that, but someday, perhaps, I will be able to do that sort of thing!
It started out with a simple trip to the salon. I hadn't been there in, oh, about 6 months, because I was really happy with the way my hair looked. (I will swear to the ends of the earth that giving up shampoo was the single best thing I have done for my hair, and consequently for my self-esteem -- because regardless whether or not a woman is high maintenance, her hair is a huge part of how she expresses herself to the world.) I was growing it out because I thought it made me look pretty, and it made me feel younger, and I figured that if I ever got sick of it being longer than it's been in quite some time, I would just cut it and donate it...
So, why did I make that appointment for a "trim?" Well, I am insanely excited about an upcoming vacation without children!!! (To a tropical island! Eeeeee!) I have so, so, so much to do to get ready, and I decided that I could hear my stylist in my head saying that my "ends are looking a bit skinny." Really, that's what she has told me in the past. Anyway, I figured it was best to get it shaped up before the trip, and I thought I could tick that off my to-do list quite easily.
I called the salon and scheduled a trim, and thought I was so lucky to be able to get in with my stylist (who's done my hair for almost 8 years now) the very next day. Sounds straight-forward enough. I showed up, laughed about how I heard her voice in my head worrying over my "skinny ends," and made a point of saying that I was really happy with my hair and just needed it to be cleaned up a bit. Then, I proceeded to yammer on while she did her thing. Topics of conversation included my upcoming vacation, obviously, but also some other beauty-related items of current interest to me: homemade shaving cream, homemade facial cleanser, and my general disgust with parabens. (Perhaps I need to get out more. These are kind of sad topics for general conversation, but they're pretty important to me!)
The next thing I knew, she was handing me the mirror to view the finished haircut. This was when I realized that she had taken off much more than I was anticipating, at least two or maybe three inches! (Truthfully, it's hard to gauge length since my hair is naturally curly, plus, she always manages to make it much fuller than I ever could.) Since I was somewhat it shock (How did I not realize what was happening?!) I just thanked her, paid the bill, and gave her a ten percent tip, as I normally would. Then, I went home and studiously avoided looking at myself in the mirror by taking the kids outside to play, doing yard work, and basically, pretending that I had not just lost all the hair I had been growing out for over 6 months, the hair that made me feel more attractive than I had in ages, the hair I was planning to donate... I was totally in denial.
This experience has taught me that it's actually possible to go through all five stages of grief in one day. Once I finally came back indoors, several hours later, to use the bathroom, I saw my reflection. Then, it really hit me that my hair was gone and there was nothing I could do about it. This led to some majorly-blown-out-of-proportion depression, complete with out-and-out sobbing, the kind that made me gasp for air, the kind that made me have puffy, swollen eyelids, the kind that went on much longer than it should have because each time I began to calm down, I had another irrational thought that provoked more outbursts. Part of me was disappointed in myself for crying in front of the kids (or at least for not having a "good" reason for my grief). Another part of me felt selfish and guilty for mourning my hair in the first place, considering how many people I know who have cancer and would probably love the opportunity to cry over a "bad" haircut because it would mean that they have enough hair to go to the salon and get it cut in the first place! But still, I couldn't stop crying for a good twenty minutes. Depression.
Then, I went through what must be considered the bargaining phase, essentially trying to rationalize things by constantly asking the "what if?" questions. Why didn't I pay attention to what she was doing? Why was I talking so much? I should have told her up front not to cut more than 1/4" off the length! Didn't she understand me when I said I was really happy with my hair, that I meant the length? What was I thinking making a hair appointment when I loved my hair the way it was? I should have never done that.... Now, how will I ever have enough to donate?
This led to anger. This can't be happening to me! What if my now-short-hair looks like a poof-ball on our tropical vacation? What if I can't get it up anymore? (And I just recently have been getting compliments on wearing my hair up, so I have started doing it more often.) I went upstairs, tossed my clothes aside while quickly undressing, let forth some under-my-breath screams (still not wanting to freak my kids out over this -- and Brett was wisely standing aside and letting me fight my demons), and then got into the shower. I let the hot water beat down on me for a while, soaking my odious, too short hair, and washing away most of my frustrations. Stepping out of the shower, I felt that I had purged most of the negative emotional energy, and surveying my wet locks, felt more like myself. Even if the mirror reflected my shorter hair, it at least looked a bit longer since it was wet.
After my shower, I felt enlightened. The tears were not for my hair, not really. That was just the trigger to my emotional purge, the last straw as it were. This "bad" haircut had been the conclusion to a very emotional week. I had learned that my dance teacher was injured and wouldn't be able to teach any classes until fall, so I am without an outlet for all of this stuff... Mia's first loose tooth was quite the milestone event, and then a couple days after that, we went to her "kindergarten graduation." It was so amazing to see how far she has come in the past few months! This is a lot for most people to take in, I can imagine. But for me, being so very sensitive, it makes absolute sense now that I was due for a good cry so that I could come to terms with all the big changes and then move forward. (This has historically been how I have coped with all the little mole hills building up until one seems like a giant mountain, threatening to engulf me.) As upsetting as it was, this was not about my hair. This was about my baby girl growing up. After a refreshing shower, I realized these things, and I while felt completely spent after crying, I was also relieved, physically and emotionally purged.
Did I finally achieve acceptance? Well, my hair looked more like "me" once it dried. Plus, it's bouncier and healthier looking. In truth, I didn't get a "bad" haircut after all. My stylist knows my hair better than I do, apparently. While it wasn't exactly what I was hoping for, I do look good with the shorter hair style. And the stuff that really triggered the tears? Well, I can deal with that, too, just one thing at a time.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By the way, having stayed up past my bedtime tonight and blogging into tomorrow, I have now just reached my 3rd "blogiversary!" This means that it's been three years since I wrote this, (which was viewed by all of three people) and here I am still at it, wondering where to go from here... Thanks so much for stopping by and reading my thoughts! I love being able to share parts of my life in this way, and I hope that you, too, get something out of it. Sorry, no fabulous giveaways, or anything like that, but someday, perhaps, I will be able to do that sort of thing!
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Operation Ninja Fairy
It may be time to brush up my mommy "resume." I can now say that I am a "ninja fairy," after successfully making it through our first experience with the Tooth Fairy! And this was not without a fair bit of drama and seemingly huge decision making of the non-life-threatening kind.
All day yesterday Mia was bothered by a wiggly tooth while she was at school. By dinnertime, she was crying that her mouth hurt. I, in a fit of what can only be termed temporary insanity, offered to pull it out for her. Aside from being gross and weird and causing my poor baby additional pain, this did not even work! Fortunately, it must have at least loosened it up, because the tooth came out in time for her to play outside before getting ready for bed.
This was a relief for all of us as she had been nearly inconsolable with grief over losing her tooth, wailing, "I don't want to lose my baby tooth! I want to keep it." We tried reassuring her that this was a completely normal part of growing up, (while trying to maintain composure over this bittersweet rite of passage -- it's tough realizing that your baby is not really a baby any longer!), but she was far from convinced that her suffering was all worth it. The only thing keeping her from totally falling apart was her excitement about the Tooth Fairy's upcoming visit. (The anticipation of this was even enough to calm her relatively soon after the tooth fell out, when she realized, with horror, that she was GASP! Bleeding! I told you there was some drama involved in this story.)
On the topic of the Tooth Fairy, I really should do more advanced planning, it seems. This was the first lost baby tooth for our family, so I had no idea what to do. One good thing is that I had learned somewhere of a cute idea for tooth fairy "transactions." So, I purchased two Scentsy baby stuffed animals when I was at a party in December (this was one at which I was also selling Dove, before I went out of business). One is "Patch," a dog, and the other one is "Ollie" the elephant. I knew Mia would be likely losing her first tooth at some point this year, and my plan was to let her choose one, and then Logan would get the other one when he loses his first tooth. At the time, it seemed like a fun investment, but at $20 a pop it was a total splurge, not a typical purchase for me. However, having a weakness for creating new family traditions won out in the end. I know I could have made some sort of little pouch with scrap material and saved quite a bit, but this was too cute to resist, and I felt it would be less likely to get lost. (See, I really did convince myself that it was an investment.)
Fortunately, Mia loved the idea! She chose Patch, the dog, who is now called "Emma." We put her tooth into a tiny ziplock bag (that once held extra thread for a sweater) and I, being a teensy bit anal, labeled it with a black Sharpie: "Mia's First Loose Tooth 5/29/13." While the labeling probably wasn't necessary (although I do plan to keep them and let her have them in the future to do with as she decides and it's kind of neat to have a record), I was glad that it was contained in the bag. This made it much easier to retrieve the tooth from "Emma" the dog's zippered pouch -- in the darkness.
The only problem was that I wasn't sure what to swap for the tooth. So, I set out in search of the "going rate" for teeth. First I actually Googled "going rate for tooth fairy" and immediately pulled up a poll done by Delta Dental of Illinois. (There was then a short discussion with Brett since he also works at Delta, just in one of the Michigan branches. Hey, did you know there's this ongoing poll done every year... No? Well, it comes up right away in a Google search!) According to that survey, the average amount given per tooth was $2.42 last year, with an even higher average of $3.49 given for a first tooth! WHAT?! This seemed awfully high to me, so I decided to check with my mom friends to see what "real" people are thinking on this subject. This is the (un-edited, so please excuse any typos) conversation that took place on Facebook last night:
Stealthy indeed! Who came up with this idea anyway? It is waaaaaaaaaaaay trickier to be the Tooth Fairy than it is to be Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Neither one of those family traditions have ever required me to sneak into the room of my sleeping child and to try to add or remove any items from her pillow! Mia still goes to bed with her lamp on, and one of us goes in and turns it off after she is asleep, at her request, so at least that part is routine. However, I have never been so anxious about disturbing her while doing this. It felt like if I woke her up for this first tooth, we were pretty much out of luck for continuing the tradition, and for some crazy reason this felt like the weight of the entire world upon my shoulders. While tip-toeing into Mia's room, she stirred in her bed, and it felt like my heart lodged in my throat. Silly, I know, but I was really on edge. I swear the only sound in the house was my own heart pounding. After turning out her light, I swept Emma into my hand and hurried into the hallway. (I was relieved that I convinced her not to put Emma underneath her pillow, which is what she originally wanted to do! Can you imagine how much harder that would be? I instantly felt awe for my own parents. How the heck did they do that, removing a tooth, and slipping a quarter into its place? I think it requires the skills of a super secret agent or something.) I un-zipped the pocket, and inserted the gold $1 coin and a folded-up note that I had typed up and formatted to be small enough to look like it came from the Tooth Fairy, but still big enough to read easily. I also added a very small amount of silver glitter. The note read:
I zipped the pouch bag up, again tip-toed into Mia's room, and left the stuffed dog on top of her pillow. Whew! Mission accomplished, and she didn't wake up. The Tooth Fairy myth was safely intact! Go me! And I encouraged her to be a superstar with her oral hygiene, all the better! Feeling extremely relieved and more than a bit proud of myself, I returned downstairs. That's when I realized that I had left the tooth inside the stuffed dog! Brett and I quickly decided that I had to go back to retrieve the tooth. Seriously? I was already on an adrenaline high from the first go-round. I was kind of worried that this would the thing that would push me right over the precipice... Fortunately, I succeeded in my mission, and I think I have rightly earned the title of "ninja fairy!" (In my head, I have dubbed this first super secret mission "Operation Ninja Fairy" so maybe in the future I will come up with more silly names for these after-hours tooth-swapping missions.)
As expected, Mia awoke extra early this morning, positively giddy over the discovery of the special gold coin. Heather was right. She had no recollection of getting 5 of them from church. She thought it was really cool and said, "Wow! I've never seen a coin like this before!" And believe me, I wasn't about to correct her! Not after all of the effort that went into the whole charade. She must really love the little note from the Tooth Fairy because she stuck it on the refrigerator. I waited a bit and then showed her the "fairy dust" on the inside of Emma's pouch. She studied this, and then I feared I had gone too far when she told me, "It looks just like glitter." Uh oh! Luckily, she then added, "But it's really fairy dust," and she was clearly thrilled to see it. So, in the end, we have one very happy little girl who couldn't wait to get to school to share her special news with her teacher. And, yes, I'm one pleased-as-punch "ninja fairy" mama, too.
All day yesterday Mia was bothered by a wiggly tooth while she was at school. By dinnertime, she was crying that her mouth hurt. I, in a fit of what can only be termed temporary insanity, offered to pull it out for her. Aside from being gross and weird and causing my poor baby additional pain, this did not even work! Fortunately, it must have at least loosened it up, because the tooth came out in time for her to play outside before getting ready for bed.
 |
| {My BIG girl's 1st missing tooth!} |
This was a relief for all of us as she had been nearly inconsolable with grief over losing her tooth, wailing, "I don't want to lose my baby tooth! I want to keep it." We tried reassuring her that this was a completely normal part of growing up, (while trying to maintain composure over this bittersweet rite of passage -- it's tough realizing that your baby is not really a baby any longer!), but she was far from convinced that her suffering was all worth it. The only thing keeping her from totally falling apart was her excitement about the Tooth Fairy's upcoming visit. (The anticipation of this was even enough to calm her relatively soon after the tooth fell out, when she realized, with horror, that she was GASP! Bleeding! I told you there was some drama involved in this story.)
On the topic of the Tooth Fairy, I really should do more advanced planning, it seems. This was the first lost baby tooth for our family, so I had no idea what to do. One good thing is that I had learned somewhere of a cute idea for tooth fairy "transactions." So, I purchased two Scentsy baby stuffed animals when I was at a party in December (this was one at which I was also selling Dove, before I went out of business). One is "Patch," a dog, and the other one is "Ollie" the elephant. I knew Mia would be likely losing her first tooth at some point this year, and my plan was to let her choose one, and then Logan would get the other one when he loses his first tooth. At the time, it seemed like a fun investment, but at $20 a pop it was a total splurge, not a typical purchase for me. However, having a weakness for creating new family traditions won out in the end. I know I could have made some sort of little pouch with scrap material and saved quite a bit, but this was too cute to resist, and I felt it would be less likely to get lost. (See, I really did convince myself that it was an investment.)
Fortunately, Mia loved the idea! She chose Patch, the dog, who is now called "Emma." We put her tooth into a tiny ziplock bag (that once held extra thread for a sweater) and I, being a teensy bit anal, labeled it with a black Sharpie: "Mia's First Loose Tooth 5/29/13." While the labeling probably wasn't necessary (although I do plan to keep them and let her have them in the future to do with as she decides and it's kind of neat to have a record), I was glad that it was contained in the bag. This made it much easier to retrieve the tooth from "Emma" the dog's zippered pouch -- in the darkness.
 |
| {First missing tooth -- and a new friend!} |
The only problem was that I wasn't sure what to swap for the tooth. So, I set out in search of the "going rate" for teeth. First I actually Googled "going rate for tooth fairy" and immediately pulled up a poll done by Delta Dental of Illinois. (There was then a short discussion with Brett since he also works at Delta, just in one of the Michigan branches. Hey, did you know there's this ongoing poll done every year... No? Well, it comes up right away in a Google search!) According to that survey, the average amount given per tooth was $2.42 last year, with an even higher average of $3.49 given for a first tooth! WHAT?! This seemed awfully high to me, so I decided to check with my mom friends to see what "real" people are thinking on this subject. This is the (un-edited, so please excuse any typos) conversation that took place on Facebook last night:
- Me: Okay friends, what is the "going rate" for the tooth fairy these days?
- Jamie: $5.00
- Erin: She brought $5 for the first tooth.
- Me: That seems high! I got a quarter when I was a kid.
- Me: Maybe for the first tooth, though?
- Erin: LOL! She brought $2 for the rest.
- Me: I was thinking maybe $2 since it's the first tooth and $1 for the next teeth, but maybe I haven't adjusted for inflation!?
- Jamie: lol ya $2.00 is good people say $5.00 but i think thats a little high too
- Jade: $.25 I guess we are cheap
- Julie: I gave $5 first tooth &; $1 for the rest. Danielle liked it when it was a fresh crisp bill. I have friends who said they sprinkle glitter on it too! I like that idea!
- Heather: Our tooth fairly deals in odd currency....such as fifty cent peices, gold one dollar coins, ect. Owen loves it! It makes it totally believable because he doesn't normally see those except for from the tooth fairy.
- Me: I like the glitter idea, and Jade, you are not cheap! They don't need all kinds of cash, nor do they need to expect to get paid just for losing teeth. We pay $2 weekly allowance, but ONLY if she cleans her room properly that week. If not, she just forfeits the money. I am struggling with how much to give because I don't want it to be a free-for-all type thing.
- Me: Oooh! Heather, that is awesome!!
- Me: The only problem is that I don't have odd currency lying around... Gotta plan ahead for these things.
- Heather: I have a baggie full of odd currency. I'm ready for the next 10 teeth...lol. My parents did this for me when I was a kid...that may be the reason I believed for way too long.
- Me: I do have those gold $1 coins they got at church some months back. Would it be bad if I recycled it?
- Heather: No...I'm doing that!
- Me: I may do that then. If he hasn't caught on then, hopefully Mia won't realize either. I do want it to be fun, just not a huge money grab.
- Julie #2: $1 for first and 50cents for rest. No reason to blow out of proportion!
- Heather: He forgot about them. I bet she does too. Owen did say something about them at the time he got them. But I told him Rev. Lewis must be pretty good friends with the tooth fairy. He seemed ok with that.
- Me: So, I could do the gold $1 coin tonight (which I have, thankfully!) and then scrounge up some 50 cent pieces to keep on hand.... may have this figure out.
- Me: Thanks everyone! Now, I just have to figure out how to be stealthy...
Stealthy indeed! Who came up with this idea anyway? It is waaaaaaaaaaaay trickier to be the Tooth Fairy than it is to be Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Neither one of those family traditions have ever required me to sneak into the room of my sleeping child and to try to add or remove any items from her pillow! Mia still goes to bed with her lamp on, and one of us goes in and turns it off after she is asleep, at her request, so at least that part is routine. However, I have never been so anxious about disturbing her while doing this. It felt like if I woke her up for this first tooth, we were pretty much out of luck for continuing the tradition, and for some crazy reason this felt like the weight of the entire world upon my shoulders. While tip-toeing into Mia's room, she stirred in her bed, and it felt like my heart lodged in my throat. Silly, I know, but I was really on edge. I swear the only sound in the house was my own heart pounding. After turning out her light, I swept Emma into my hand and hurried into the hallway. (I was relieved that I convinced her not to put Emma underneath her pillow, which is what she originally wanted to do! Can you imagine how much harder that would be? I instantly felt awe for my own parents. How the heck did they do that, removing a tooth, and slipping a quarter into its place? I think it requires the skills of a super secret agent or something.) I un-zipped the pocket, and inserted the gold $1 coin and a folded-up note that I had typed up and formatted to be small enough to look like it came from the Tooth Fairy, but still big enough to read easily. I also added a very small amount of silver glitter. The note read:
May 29, 2013
Dear Mia,
Congratulations on losing your first
tooth! I am
very pleased
to see that it is in such beautiful
condition.
You obviously take very good care of
your teeth, working
hard to keep them shiny
and white.
Please keep up to great work by
continuing
to brush twice a day!
P.S. Don’t
forget to floss!
Your
Friend,
The Tooth Fairy
I zipped the pouch bag up, again tip-toed into Mia's room, and left the stuffed dog on top of her pillow. Whew! Mission accomplished, and she didn't wake up. The Tooth Fairy myth was safely intact! Go me! And I encouraged her to be a superstar with her oral hygiene, all the better! Feeling extremely relieved and more than a bit proud of myself, I returned downstairs. That's when I realized that I had left the tooth inside the stuffed dog! Brett and I quickly decided that I had to go back to retrieve the tooth. Seriously? I was already on an adrenaline high from the first go-round. I was kind of worried that this would the thing that would push me right over the precipice... Fortunately, I succeeded in my mission, and I think I have rightly earned the title of "ninja fairy!" (In my head, I have dubbed this first super secret mission "Operation Ninja Fairy" so maybe in the future I will come up with more silly names for these after-hours tooth-swapping missions.)
As expected, Mia awoke extra early this morning, positively giddy over the discovery of the special gold coin. Heather was right. She had no recollection of getting 5 of them from church. She thought it was really cool and said, "Wow! I've never seen a coin like this before!" And believe me, I wasn't about to correct her! Not after all of the effort that went into the whole charade. She must really love the little note from the Tooth Fairy because she stuck it on the refrigerator. I waited a bit and then showed her the "fairy dust" on the inside of Emma's pouch. She studied this, and then I feared I had gone too far when she told me, "It looks just like glitter." Uh oh! Luckily, she then added, "But it's really fairy dust," and she was clearly thrilled to see it. So, in the end, we have one very happy little girl who couldn't wait to get to school to share her special news with her teacher. And, yes, I'm one pleased-as-punch "ninja fairy" mama, too.
 |
| {The goods -- and a gap-toothed grin!} |
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