Open Season for Tattoos

In Body Ink, teens to twentysomethings are rivalled only by the under-six set. Temporary tattoos are all over the Toddler World, particularly in Birthday Goodie Bags.

My mother let the parents of her grandchildren know she was calling a moratorium on tattoos in the weeks leading up to my brother's wedding: there would be no cousins sashaying down the aisle sporting cartoon characters up and down their arms (and possibly legs...and maybe even faces).

We started stockpiling the temporary tatts that entered our household, including some inspired by Hello Kitty and the movie Ratatouille.

But since the wedding is over now, and we have a few safe months before my sister gets hitched, last night I gave the kids scissors to cut their own hair and then we began working on their tattoo sleeves.

Only kidding about the hair. But we did feverishly tattoo some hands and arms. And it felt good. This one's for you, Mammom.

Note: The poor picture quality is due in part to many moving (arm) parts. My daughters will not have a career in Synchronized Diving. Or Synchronized ANYTHING. We're still working on the Individual Cooperation Event.

I've Been in School My Whole Life (and I think it's making me crazy)

I am having a recurring dream in which I am enrolled in a Chemistry course and I am not going to class.

In last night's version of the dream, I am in high school, and Chemistry Class is right after the Student Government period. Instead of going to Chemistry, I just hang out with other students who don't seem to have a class either. I know I am supposed to go to class, I know I have never attended (and it's probably too late to start now), and I know I need to drop the class before I get an F and it ruins All I Have Ever Worked For. But even though in the dream I remind myself to check the deadline for withdrawing from the course, I don't seem to ever do it. I'm passively willing my own failure, it seems.

This afternoon while I was eating a yummy piece of cake in the Principal's office, I felt a wave wash over me not unlike deja vu--a panicky feeling. I have go deal with that Chemistry Class! I thought, putting my fork down on the table.

And then came relief: there's no Chemistry Class! Not for me, anyway.

I can't help but wonder what it is in my life that needs attention. The deadline is looming, apparently.

Conscious of Her Conscience

Saturday night at the wedding my brother and his bride set up a table with canisters full of candy and bags for guests to fill with M&Ms, Raisinets, Gummi Worms, Hershey's Kisses and Milk Duds. My kids went to town, and the Little One left the reception hoisting a sack equaling her weight in sugar and chocolate.

When there is candy in our house, it becomes an hourly discussion topic. So I try to exploit the parenting angles: Gummi Worms emerging as a new favorite, we offered them as a reward to Daughter #2 for Pooping on the Potty. Not for Pooping in her Pull-Up. NOT for Pooping in her Underwear. NOT. IN. UNDERWEAR. PLEASE.

Lots of Gummi Worm Talk, no Poop Action. *Sigh*

Tonight we told both daughters they could choose a piece of candy if they finished their dinners.

Down went asparagus. Down went avocado. Down went ravioli. Down...went...(yuck)...tomato.

Bigger One chose a Gummi Bear and Little One chose a Gummi Worm (and now there's only ONE LEFT for an elusive Potty Poop).

One Gummi Bear being a sort of tiny reward, I told #1 she could have another. She was effusively thankful.

About half an hour later she came to me, rather distressed.

"Mommy, I need to tell you something..."

"Okay?"

"Well, you know when you let me have two Gummi Bears?

"Yeah..." thinking, That was nice of me.

"I actually took another one."

"You mean you had three?"

"Yeah," she offered, looking regretful.

A thoughtful moment later, she added, "I kept wondering when you would ask, 'What are you chewing'...but you never did."

As a Mom AND a Vice Principal, confessions to me are...like gold, and...SO RARE. Made me want to give her a lifetime of Gummi Bears.

Instead, I told her I was proud of her. And that next time, she could ask for that trifling third Gummi Bear (instead of sneaking it).

And if she remembered to say "please," she could maybe have four.

To My Brother and New Sister-in-Law:

May your marriage be "a canvas on which emerges/A chorus of smiles" (from the poem "Some Trees" by John Ashbery).

We love you very much!

Romantic Wedding Poems

My brother's wedding is this weekend, and I am honored to be a reader in the ceremony. They let me choose--or write--the literary selection, and I believe I found a unique and beautiful poem to share (I'll post it after the wedding).

Last night at the rehearsal, I suggested that I wanted to practice reciting the poem. But in keeping with my penchant for writing silly limericks on a whim, I delivered the following five-line masterpiece:

This weekend the couple will wed,

First rehearsal, and then we get fed.

Some vows they will take,

We'll dance and eat cake...

And the last part? (It happens in bed!)

I am not sure my mother loved it.

Secret Elf Project: DAY 3

For the third installment of our Secret Elf Project, we outsourced labor as well as added an Elf. Auntie T, our daughters' godmother (note: no official baptism sealed this deal, but she's both Godly and like a Mother to us and our children) offered to lead the activity, and our neighbor, another soon-to-be kindergartener, played the part of co-conspirator (and batter-drinker).

This time, the gifts were mini loaves of lemon cake with copious white frosting and sprinkles. Auntie T brought ALL the ingredients and materials as well as patience and a sense of humor, much appreciated the day after we returned from vacation (many hours of Togetherness as a Family) and the day before I returned to Work and we all returned to Routine.

While they measured, poured, mixed, sneaked fingerdips, licked, and wrote Secret Elf cards, I made a photobook of our vacation and ignored our un-unpacked bags.

The Elf Crew made six cakes: four to give away to neighbors, one to eat, and one to save for our traveling friends who would return to come over for dinner Tuesday night.

Delivery was a comedy of errors, with one Elf in pull-up diaper and shirt and Nothing Else, one Elf loudly declaring her presence, and one Elf admonishing the aforementioned to Be Quiet, This Is a Secret Project. Not quite understanding why one cake refused to be delivered to one elderly neighbor's front porch, I finally (guessed, and then) hinted that our friendly and talkative neighbor might need to "go inside, as the elves like to be SECRET when they deliver their goods."

We have no idea how the other cakes were received, especially since at least one or two languished in the sun on the recipients' porches.

But hey! It's the thought that counts! Okay, and the cake batter. And the frosting...YUM!

Dropping the "D" Bomb

Our family vacation was amazing. Off the charts, really. Incredible. Couldn't have been better.

So it's too bad it ended kinda poorly. With an almost-missed plane and some marital strife. We landed (yes, we AND our tagged-"LATE" bags made it) On Time Friday night, with the prospect of another Family Wedding Event on the morrow: my brother's Bachelor Brewery Tour on a Party Bus. After a week of HIS brother's wedding, my husband left for MY brother's event barely speaking to me, alas.

When I saw my brother later on this evening, he shared that he was so glad my husband was part of the group today.

"That's nice," I offered, "since we're getting divorced tomorrow."

My brother, about to get married himself, and whose sincerity is very real and measurable (and whose Brewery Tour left him a little Slurry and Sentimental), got suddenly serious.

"Look, sister. You can't just throw out the 'D' Word. And anyway, he's already family. If you were even serious, I'd have to tell you 'Uh uh, NO WAY.' He's IN, no matter what YOU do.'"

Worried that he thought I was actually confiding something with tangible possibility, I backpedaled.

"I'm only joking, brother. But I would like to Kick His Ass."

"All I am saying is, he's family. You can't even go there."

"OKAY! I GET it. Anyway, I just spent a week with his family, and I am pretty sure they feel the same way about me."

Moral of this story: watch where you go for sympathy. All the rules of allegiance change when you get married.