My daughter, the cake-eating vampire

Sometimes I think I need to just turn on the voice record feature on my phone the moment we all get in the car together.  But I'm not really sure where the voice record feature is located so instead I just listen in amazement and try to remember all the crazy stuff flying out of my daughter's mouth on the way to school.

Here's what I remember.  And this was all pretty rapid-fire, so don't breath in between lines, OK?

"Mom? What if I rang your doorbell?"

"Um. What if you did?"

"And then I ran away."

"Well that would be weird. I would think a ghost had rung my doorbell."

"HEY! I have a PERFECT idea for Halloween.  Ready?"

"Go."

"Daddy can be the daddy vampire*, and you can be the mommy vampire, and Monster can be the baby vampire, and I can be the sister vampire!  How about that?"

"How about that."

"And we can invite A., and she can be the other sister vampire."

"OK..."

"I wish I was eating cake right now."

"Well...yeah."


*Last week she was still planning on her standard Halloween persona of, well, a princess.  So we've jumped straight from princesses to vampires??  Isn't there supposed to be another phase or two in between those?

On the other hand...

Yesterday I posted an uncharacteristically touching and sentimental view of mothering two children.

Today I'll rectify that.

Because there's another side of raising siblings, you know.  Honestly we haven't had too much sibling rivalry because Monster is still a pudgy and adorable baby and Princess is a little girl who loves pudgy and adorable babies.  But sometimes, late at night, when they're all cozy in their beds and everything feels good and happy, I force myself to remember and prepare: he won't be a baby forever.

Today, she's 5 and he's 1.

Next year, she'll be 6 and he'll be 2.

Someday, she'll be 13 and he'll be 8.

Stop right there.  Let's think about that for a moment.

My daughter will be 13 at the same time that my son is 8.

Imagine, if you will, a 13-year-old girl.  Maybe you used to be one (I confess, I was one briefly.  It was a long time ago and I've outgrown it.  Mostly.).  Maybe you've raised one. Whatever the case, you've surely met one before, and if you've spent more than 30 seconds with one you know that 13-year-old girls without exception are a miserable, infuriating group of humans.

Characteristics of a 13-year-old girl:

• Hormonal insanity.  
• Hypersensitivity.  
• Irritability. 
• Raging insecurity.  
• Irrationality.
• General, overwhelming hysteria.
• An incredibly low tolerance for things that are "gross" or otherwise unpleasant.
• Little to no tolerance for things deemed "embarrassing" (including but not limited to: family members, jeans cut in the wrong style, eating in public, speaking in public, walking near boys, existing in front of other teenagers who are wearing the right kind of jeans, and you).
• A complete inability to just ignore that which they find annoying or disruptive.

A fauxhawk did this! That's all it takes, people!

Click here for actual documentation* of a 13-year-old girl in action.

Now.  Imagine an 8-year-old boy.  I've never been one personally, but I once lived with one for an entire year, and the memory is crystal clear.  Eight-year-old boys are, without exception, the most annoying, exasperating people on the planet.  They live to provoke.

Characteristics of an 8-year-old boy:  

• Speed.  
• Boundless energy.  
• Dirt.  
• Gross noises.  
• Affinity for insects and small, slimy animals.  
• Keen awareness of what others might find the most irritating and/or embarrassing at any given moment.
• Unrivaled talent for and irresistible urge to annoy.

I look harmless, but I will make you wish you were dead.

Someday, I will have both of these specimens coexisting inside my house.  And I'll still have to live there, too.  I think.  I'm looking in to it.


*Animaniacs may or may not have been based on a true story.  I'm just assuming it was.

Wordless Wednesday. Don't get used to it.

OK not entirely wordless.  I'm fairly certain wordless is not something I'm actually capable of.  But more pictures than words today, ok?  Also maybe not so much funny today.  Sorry.

Two of my favorite people to stalk on Twitter, Ilana (@mommyshorts) and Kate (@andthenkate), teamed up today on Ilana's blog.  Kate guest-posted about why she's happy with one child.  Her daughter is about my daughter's age, and the Princess was an only child for a good 4 1/2 years before we made her into a sister, so it kind of made me think.

Because for awhile I really did think the Princess might be my one and only.  One and done.  And in some ways I was ok with that because the love?  The joy?  The amazingness?  The Squinkies?  How could that not be enough?  And how could I ever love another person as completely as I love her?

But then the Monster happened, and honestly?

 How could I have ever thought I was complete without him?

So here's my wordless (ish) Wednesday:

One is fabulous.

One is precious and heartbreaking.

One makes me wrinkle my nose with laughter.

One is challenging and strong-willed and beautiful.
One is perfect.

But two?  Oh my goodness.  Two is twice as perfect.

Two is glee.

Two is best friends.

Two is hilarious.

Two is adventure.

Two is peek-a-boo and pat-a-cake and endless giggles.

Two is everything.

Breaking Discovery

Yesterday I made my own Spanx by cutting the legs off a pair of control-top pantyhose.

I'm still skeptical of my own genius but early testing indicates we've all been wasting our money.

Wohelo; or why I'm feeling conflicted over the Girl Scouts

I've signed the Princess up for Girl Scouts.  Daisies.  Those are Girl Scouts in kindergarten.  Yeah, I didn't know either, never having been a Girl Scout myself.  In fact, I have very conflicted feelings about signing my precious daughter up for Girl Scouts.

I was a Camp Fire Boy and Girl.  I mean I was a Camp Fire Girl, I suppose.  But the organization is Camp Fire Boys and Girls.  That's what I meant.

See?  There's a logo.  It's a real thing.

I don't think it exists anymore, at least not in the same form I knew it in.  That's too bad.  It rocked.  First, it was girls and boys.  Together.  OK, mostly girls, looking back.  But there were boys!  There was the potential for boys, always!  Can the Girl Scouts say that?  No.  Just a bunch of girls doing girly stuff.  Lame.  

Plus Girl Scouts looked like this:

And nobody likes this girl, right?

We were a much scrappier bunch.

Oooh!  Look how diverse and inclusive!  Is that boy...grey?  Should somebody help him?  Is he breathing??  Even if he's not, that's cool.  Because we welcome all types.  Girls, boys, kids in wheelchairs, and the undead.

The Camp Fire motto was Wohelo.  I know, it sounds like a Native American word.  OK, it sounds like somebody tried to make up a Native American-sounding word.  And that's exactly the case!  Wohelo is a clever mashup of "Work, Help, Love."

There was a song.  I still remember the words:

Worship God...oooh oooh oooh...

Be faithful, give service, and knowledge pursue;

Be trustworthy ever in all that you do;

Hold fast onto health and your work glorify;

And you will be happy in the law of Camp Fire!

We didn't earn patches, we earned beads:

And our uniforms!  Oh man.  Well, in the earlier years we had this red, white, and blue getup:

Cute, right?

But after that!  As we got a little older, we learned to sew (it didn't stick, in my case, as you know), and we got to make ceremonial dresses.  Indian dresses.  Native American.  I don't know, ok?  We sewed them out of some vaguely fuzzy tan fabric, and they had fringe.  And we decorated them with all our beads.  I think I still have mine.  I wore it for Halloween one year.  One year when I was in college and very, very skinny.  I can't find a photo of of a real one online anywhere that really looks like mine but this is basically what it looked like:

No, I'm not joking.  But we didn't have feathered headpieces.  Because that would be silly.

We sold candy, and we sold it at the same time of year the Girl Scouts were peddling their crack cookies.  I had a speech:  "Would you like to buy some quality chocolates to help support Camp Fire?  We have delicious Almond Roca, Smooth Mint Patties, and Almond Caramel Clusters!"  Standard response: "Do you have Girl Scout cookies?"

We hated the Girl Scouts.  With their crisp green tablecloths and their recognizable uniforms and their cookies, those cookies.  Oh how we hated those cookies.

So it's with mixed emotions that I take my daughter into the world of Daisies.

At the first meeting on Tuesday they took the mothers aside to fill out paperwork and discuss books and uniforms and snack schedules.  I had to fill out an "adult registration" form so I guess that means I'm now a Girl Scout, too??  I'm not sure about that.  Also the adult registration form required me to disclose my age, in the form of choosing a range.  Now, we all know the standard age ranges are 18-34, and 35-whatever.  Right?  Not on the Girl Scouts adult registration form.  Their ranges were as follows:  18-29, 30-49, 50+.

As you know, I am, gulp...30.  So I couldn't check the first box, you guys!  I had to check...THIRTY to FORTY-NINE??  No.  No no no.  I am not in the same age group as 49-year-olds.  So already, I feel the Girl Scouts are mocking me.

While the mothers were being ridiculed for our ages (or maybe not...most of those other moms looked like they might be 18-29. And laughing at me behind their manicured hands, with their glossy blonde hair and their designer shoes and their...waistlines), the girls were off somewhere presumably singing songs and learning life skills.  I found out afterwards that they had made "promise hands," little foam hands forming the Girl Scout sign:

On the foam hand is inscribed the Girl Scout Promise:

On my honor I will try

To serve God and my country

To help people at all times

And to live by the Girl Scout law.

"On my honor"!  My innocent little girl has promised on her honor to "live by the Girl Scout law."  Or at least to try to live by the Girl Scout law, I guess, technically.  So without my knowledge or consent, under the guise of eating grapes and singing "Make New Friends, But Keep the Old," the Girl Scouts of America have indoctrinated my daughter.  I mean, we weren't even registered yet.  I thought I had time to scope things out and make an educated decision.

But, no, they had her in their grips for 10 minutes and she made a promise hand.  There's no going back now!  The promise is made and she's sworn in.  Somewhere in Girl Scout headquarters her name has been written in blood and she's bound by the Girl Scout law.  I'm not totally clear yet on what all is encompassed by "the Girl Scout law."  I'm hoping it doesn't include ritual sacrifice.  But I don't know that for sure.

Text Message...well, Thursday.

Yes, nitpickers, I know the bit is Text Message Tuesday, and I'm fully aware that today is Thursday.  Do you want to read a post, or don't you?  I mean if you really want to wait until Tuesday, feel free.  It'll still be here.  Honestly, you've come this far, so I've got your pageview, sucker.  Go on and click off if you really want to, and come back Tuesday.  Free pageview for me.  I don't care.

No, I do care.  Because I love you.  I'm sorry.  Just read the post, ok?  Or don't.  No pressure.  Whatever makes you happy.

Are we cool?  OK.  Good.  I'm sorry.

Texting Fun with Ashley:

Ashley says

So, what's with the closet obsession on pinterest? Is there some Freudian stuff we need to discuss?

Alyssa says

i AM a little closet obsessed, huh? 

in my defense i started out clicking one single closet pin and it led me to a bhg article with like 25 dif closet photos

i didn't seek them all out individually

Ashley says

Hmm. Ok.

Alyssa says

also you know it's cool. we WASTE our closet space, ashley.  waste it.

Ashley says

Mine aren't. They are all crammed full of stuff. Not one square inch of wasted space

Alyssa says

but are they beautiful?  can you actually access any of that stuff? and do you find yourself opening the doors to stare lovingly inside?

you need to paint the insides of your closets, please.  i can't, i rent.  so you need to do it instead.

Ashley says

You're kidding right? Painting the inside of my closet would fall at around

 421 on my to do list. Right after giving the dog a pedicure

Alyssa says

your dog needs a pedicure. i've been meaning to tell you.

Ashley says

Well that will happen when I reach 420 on my list. I'm currently working on number 3...finish laundry. I've been stuck on that one for several days.

Alyssa says

what were 1 and 2?

Ashley says

Wake up. Get dressed.

Alyssa says

good job!  did you also shower?  brush your teeth?  or are those later on the list?

Ashley says

Oooh I DID brush my teeth! And I shower at night.

Alyssa says

and where does "stalk alyssa on pinterest" fall on this list?  because I think you're jumping ahead here.

Ashley says

Pinterest is not actually on the list.

Alyssa says

you're terrible at lists.

Ashley says

I've actually been lost in the swamp that is my photo collection for the last few days. I'm out of memory on my computer.

Alyssa says

how does that even happen? out of memory on your phone, your computer. i'm never out of memory. possibly because i married tech support.

and he does magic tricks that i'm not aware of. maybe that's why he's always spending money on "flash drives" and "external hard drives."

 Ashley says

Probably. You're probably file hoarders. Instead of boxes and closets full of stuff, you have flash drives and disks and other computer-y stuff

Alyssa says

we do!  we have lots of computer-y stuff.  huh.  i always thought it was junk but maybe my wedding photos are on there!

 you know what i need? painted closets. with pretty baskets.  for storing computer-y stuff and hoarded files.
 Ashley says

Oh my. You have a sickness. Pinterestitis
Alyssa says
it's not a sickness.  it's a misunderstood blessing.  like anorexia.*

So there you have it, folks!  Text Message Thursday.  Exactly like Text Message Tuesday, only 2 days later.  Or 5 days earlier, depending on your point of view!

Time to weigh in: Should Ashley paint her closets for me?  Also, is it weird that she showers at night?

*Oh my goodness, do not freak out on me, readers!  Anorexia is BAD.  It's awful and it's a disease and there's nothing good about it at all.  Extreme Sarcasm Alert™!  I really shouldn't even have to explain that.  Why are you so uptight?

Bringing the Hilarity. Soon.

I'm feeling rather nonhilarious lately.  I mean I go back and read this and this and I think dude, I am fully capable of being funny.  But I'm totally not feeling it right now.  I think my Zoloft dosage is cool, so it's not that.  I'm not sure what it is.  But I'm working on it.

Please stand by and fully expect a blog post that will score high on the chocolate milk scale.  Soon.  Very soon.  It's coming.