I love that kid.

This morning my daughter told me she'd found a dragonfly wing in our back yard.

"I knew it was a dragonfly wing because it was really big, and an oval, and it was shiny like a dragonfly. I put it in my science bowl."

"You have a science bowl?"

"Yes! Well, really it's a Tupperware. I keep it in the back yard."

"What do you put in your science bowl?"

"Cool stuff I find that I want to check out! Like my dragonfly wing. And I put some flowers in there so I can take apart the pollen and discover what's inside. Or like, I found some blue bark at school. Blue bark! So I put it in my backpack. I think it's still in there! I need to put that in my science bowl."

***

Near the end of the summer, she read Pinkalicious and the Pink Drink* and decided that she needed to have a lemonade stand.

So, we had a lemonade stand. On possibly the hottest day of the year.

She killed it.

She waved and smiled and COMPELLED cars to stop. She chatted people up. She up-sold them and convinced them they needed popcorn to go with their lemonade, or maybe they needed TWO cups, because it was soooo hot.

This child made $30. Selling lemonade for 25 cents a cup and popcorn for 25 cents a bag. THIRTY. DOLLARS.

Yeah. That's how I roll.

She used the money to buy a Monster High doll. And now she wants to be a vampire for Halloween. When did the Princess stage end? I wasn't ready.

***

She's in first grade now. The Monster turned 2 last week and I was kind of ok with that; he seemed ready to be 2. But my kids' birthdays are 6 months apart, which means when he turned 2, she turned 6 AND A HALF. That I wasn't ready for. Six hit me hard and it can't already be half over, can it? And then what? She turns 7? Preposterous.

Sigh. I love that kid.



*affiliate link, yo

My Daring Journey Through the Impassable Labyrinth; or, my trip to H&M

Yesterday was the Girl Scouts' trip to Build-a-Bear. It's the Girl Scouts' 100th anniversary, you know. So Build-a-Bear has like, a super special Girl Scout bear and all our girls got to go make one. YAY!

OK yeah, that's actually pretty cute.

So I left work, ran to the babysitter's house, packed up the kids and rushed out there to make it in time. Just slid in as they were getting started. I'm already looking at my watch (OK, my phone, who wears a watch?) and calculating what time we'll be home so I can make dinner and get some housework in before I have to start filling Etsy orders, catching up on The Bachelorette, sleeping, etc. I'm figuring what, 30 minutes at Build-a-Bear? 45?

Build-a-Bear was a TWO HOUR EVENT, you guys. TWO. HOURS.

Oh, and I had my toddler in the stroller, already stretching his little arms as far as they'll reach to get all the shiny pretty Bear outfits and accessories that are all right at his eye level and that all cost like, more than ACTUAL clothing I buy for my ACTUAL children.

You can buy your Bear a Bear iPod. I'm serious. Except I think it's called an "iPaw." I'm still serious.

Monster knows a lot of words now. He was demonstrating with enthusiasm his mastery of "DOWN" and "MINE" at Build-a-Bear.

This face means "Well, hello there. I am adorable and I will destroy you."

So I left. I mean, I left my Girl Scout there to Build her Bear, and the Monster and I took off, with the Girl Scout leader's blessing ("DOWN! MINE! DOWN!"). Whew. Freedom! In the mall!

And this, friends, is the point in the story where I make an Alarming Discovery.

I? Am old.

Maybe you don't find this alarming. It's true, I've been old for awhile now. I thought I knew this. But there's nothing quite like 2 hours in a mall to really drive that point home.

I was bored.

In the mall.

I took three steps into Forever 21.  And you know what? They could name their store Forever a Two-Headed Unicorn, but walking in there wouldn't make me one of those, either. I am, in fact, 30.

So I left Forever 21 and headed to H&M. I'd never been to H&M, mostly because H&M is not located inside Target. But I'd heard they had cute kids' stuff for pretty cheap, so off I went with my stroller.

I DID find some cute kids' stuff, and some of it was cheap. I got the Princess a cute little purple sundress, and the Monster found a Lightening McQueen hat ("MINE! CAR! MINE! HAT! CAR! MINE!"), so I went ahead and bought that, too.

Or I tried to.

I couldn't actually find the cash register. I mean, I did, eventually. But it took me time, you guys. Like, some real time. I passed those Lightening McQueen hats ("MINE!") at least seven times. I was starting to get scared. I found the exit a few times, but I had to buy ("MINE!! HAT!!") the stuff I wanted ("MINE!!") and WHY would they hide the place you go to give them money?

I was just really starting to panic, and considering consulting my GPS to see if Google Street had an H&M Aisle View option or something, when suddenly, as if by magic, I was in line! There was a cashier! I planted my feet and kept my stare locked on her, lest she disappear. I might have creeped her out a little. But you've gotta do what you've gotta do. I only had one extra diaper in my purse, you guys, we could NOT get lost in there again.

But we did.

We paid without incident, and the Monster put HIS hat on HIS head and glared at me with triumph or something, and off we went. Just...this way...right?

They have mirrors.

And then they have weird partitions that look like mirrors, except there's nothing there, it's just a weird faux partition and you can walk right through it, except not THIS one, THIS one is actually a mirror, and look! Lightening McQueen hats! "MINE! HAT!"

I got lost again! Like, truly, deeply, intricately lost. I clutched my H&M bag and my stroller handles and began to make plans. Would we have to sleep here? What would we eat? Would the Princess find us? Maybe the Build-a-Bear people would bring her here? But what if they got stuck too?? SAVE YOURSELF, PRINCESS! GO BACK TO THE BEARS, YOU'RE SAFE THERE!

Seriously, I wandered around for a good 10 minutes AFTER I was done shopping. H&M exists on a different plane than the rest of the mall. It's in its own dimension, and it is terrifying.

Eventually, you'll be happy to hear, the otherworldly beings in charge of H&M saw fit to release me, and I did find my way out.

And I was parched. (Side note: what is it about malls that makes you so thirsty? Or is that just me? Discuss.) I wanted a Mountain Dew real bad. And didn't I deserve one, after what I'd been through?! Alas, the soda machines in the Mall of No Escape have only Coke products. I hate bottled Coke, but fountain Coke is OK. So I headed to the food court.

The food court wanted $2.99 for a little fountain drink. I almost paid it, but then I looked at my phone and realized that the two hours had almost completely elapsed while I was stuck in the parallel universe that is H&M, and it was almost time to pick up my Girl Scout and leave this place! And there's a McDonald's right across from the mall, and they can give me a large Coke for $1 instead of a small for $2.99. I'll wait. And that Coke will taste SO GOOD.

This is called foreshadowing, you guys.

So we went back to Build-a-Bear, and the Girl Scouts were still in the process of stitching their Bears' backs shut and cramming stuffed hearts into their body cavities. And then of course, the brand-new Bears needed baths at the Bear Bath Station.

Hang on, Mom. Don't rush me. This bear has dirty feet. She needs a full-service air pedicure.

And then there was a whole dance routine (no, really), and then there was still story time and then the Build-a-Bear girl asked them all to recite the Girl Scout Promise, which most of them could not do (they're Daisies!).

And then of course Princess wanted SHOES for her bear and I refused because I'm EVIL so we had to have that discussion ("MINE! BEAR! DOWN! MINE!!") and I showed her the dress I got her and she twirled and showed all her Girl Scout friends and then she gave it back and still wanted Bear shoes but I wasn't budging because I am EVIL.

PLEEEEEEEEEEEASE??? She NEEDS shoes!

Why you gotta be so evil?

Finally, we left the mall. We drove straight to McDonald's. I was so, so thirsty. I ordered a large Coke and drove off into the sunset.

They gave me a Diet Coke.

****************************
Oh snap. There's more. Read That Diet Coke was Lying in Wait.

Reasons I don't like you: master's student edition

You guys.

I'm sorry.

That was like, an unprecedented dry spell, wasn't it?

I'm back now.

Here's the deal: May is Hell Month in the life of Alyssa.

See, my regular, full-time day job is at a university. One of my duties is editing and compiling the academic catalog each year. This wraps up in May so it's a very busy month in my day job.

My second, side job is as a Thesis Reader, also for the university. I proofread master's theses and doctoral dissertations before they go to publication. Students turn them in each year in, you guessed it...May. At the moment I have 14 of these (ranging from 50 to 200 pages, depending on the discipline and on the student and quite frankly, on the student's discipline), all due back by the end of the month.

Then there's my third job, blogging. And also my new Etsy shop (coming soon: an actual post featuring products from said Etsy shop and possibly even a giveaway!).

And oh yeah, I have a husband and two children and a home and laundry and what not.

So. That's why you haven't seen much of me.

Thesis reading is a fun job. By fun I mean not really fun so much as interesting except when it's not interesting at all and it's excruciatingly boring or worse, painful.

I've been doing this for 5 years now and I'm quite good at it. I can tell when I open one whether it'll be fun or interesting or boring or painful. Here are some of my red flags.

1. If your thesis is more than an inch thick, I don't like you.
2. If your major is anything in Education, chances are, I don't like you. And also I fear for the youth of America.
3. If there's a typo on your title page (YES IT HAPPENS), I really don't like you.
4. If I go to cross-check your references and I can't find John Bowling because he's on page 4 of the reference list, I don't like you. Anybody whose name begins with B should appear on the first page. If Bowling is on page 4 THAT'S TOO MANY REFERENCES FOR ME TO CHECK AND GUESS WHAT I DON'T LIKE YOU.
5. If your thesis contains more than 2 tables, I don't like you.
6. If your thesis contains figures, I don't like you.
7. If you use a lot of words like "t-test" and "bivariate" and your thesis is peppered with seemingly random italicized letters like n and s, I don't really like you. Yes I know what this stuff means but I don't want to and I blame you.
8. If you're a Psychology major with a concentration in Behavior Analysis and you've written a 150-page thesis about pigeons pecking colored buttons, I do not like you.
9. If your margins are wrong, I don't like you. Seriously. They're margins. If you can't handle setting your margins, I'm terrified of what else I'm about to experience.
10. If you didn't use APA to format your thesis, I don't like you. Yes, I was an English major and we used MLA, but that was more years ago than I care to count, and since then I've become thoroughly converted to APA. I especially don't enjoy having to learn Turabian overnight so I can proofread your thesis.
11. If you didn't proofread, I do not like you.
12. If you misuse hyphens, we will never be friends. I don't like you.
13. If you think "data" is a singular, I don't like you.

So. How has your May been so far?

The good news? In June I get paid for this nonsense and in June I WILL BE RICH. And then maybe I'll like all these people a little more.

Text Message...well, Wednesday. The get fit edition.

Remember Text Message Tuesday? Remember Ashley? Of course you do.

Here we go:

Alyssa says
i worked out this morning. on the elliptical. i got up EARLY and WORKED OUT.

[Editor's note: this elliptical.]

Editor's note: NOT. ME.

Ashley says
And I'm eating Carmelita's for breakfast. What a strange turn of events.

Alyssa says
indeed.
oh, also? I'M DRINKING WATER.
i mean, i had my morning dew, obviously, but instead of cracking open another one right after, i chose water.

Ashley says
Oh my. What's gotten into you?

Alyssa says
i was possessed by some weird wild idea last night to step on the scale.

Ashley says
Oh

Alyssa says
i did not like what i saw. at. all.
so how are your carmelitas? what ARE carmelitas?

Ashley says
I'm not sure I should tell you.

Alyssa says
whatever, there are donuts for sale 10 feet from here. if i can resist those i can resist your carmelitas description.

Ashley says
I pinned them a few days ago. It's Carmel and chocolate and yummy crust all smooshed together. So good
I'm going to finish the pan so that they're gone. Then I'm starting my diet.

Alyssa says
but not better than oatmeal squares and water, right?

Ashley says
Um, no way. So gross compared to that.
How long did you elliptical for?

Alyssa says
haha. i'm not telling because it's shameful. i did as much as i could, ok? considering i haven't worked out in, oh, 6 or 7 years.

Ashley says
Come on.

Alyssa says
no way! my husband already made fun of me, i don't need it from you too. just be proud that i DID it.

Ashley says
I will be! Tell me! What was it? 5 minutes?

Alyssa says
like, imagine i'm one of those huge women who has to be lifted by crane, and i just got out of bed and walked upstairs. YAY!!!

Ashley says
No, cuz you're not one of those women.

Alyssa says
it was 10 minutes, dude.

Ashley says
Okay, 10 minutes is great! Good job!

Alyssa says
You are such a liar.
i'm pretty sure on the inside, i AM one of those women. i was trying to remember the last time i exercised and i actually CANNOT remember.

Ashley says
I remember. You got on a kick last summer and went walking a few times.

Alyssa says
hahaha. walking. that doesn't even count. everybody walks.

Ashley says 
I think I tried to tell you that at the time and you were all "but I made a drop of sweat! It counts!"

Alyssa says
i was lying to myself. you know that.
and really, i guess for a woman who has to be lifted by crane, it DOES count. but this counts WAY MORE.

***

It totally DOES, right you guys? I'm going to drop those 5 or 10 or 30 pounds in NO TIME, right?? Right?

dookie

Dookie (U.S. Version)

This one's a classic, kids.

The year is 1994.  A certain girl living in a small Nor-Cal town is about to turn 13.  From behind braces, stringy brown hair and a navy blue hoodie she surveys the world and decides:  it sucks.  She writes poetry riddled with teen angst but she has a musical soul--until now she's found solace in the subversive lyrics and hard-driving beats of '60s rock, but she knows there must be something more.  As much as she loves The Who, this is her parents' music, and she knows without a doubt that what she's feeling is something her parents just...don't....get.

She needs something that's hers, something they won't understand...and then, one day, she turns on the radio, and there it is.  A '90s punk teen anthem....

Do you have the time...to listen to me whine...about nothing and everything all at once...

What was the first song/album you remember really "identifying" with when you were growing up?

I've been duped into making a new year's resolution.

In a post-Christmas daze, the O.G. and I made two rather ambitious purchases:

1. Xbox Kinect.

This was ostensibly for the Princess, who does love to play Fruit Ninja, wherein she can jump and flail and karate chop like a maniac, splattering digital fruit all over the television screen, and Kinectimals, wherein she can befriend, train, pet, and play with a digital tiger or bear cub.

His name is Nemo.

This is all well and good. But then I went and bought Dance Central 2, because I'd been told it was "fun."  This is a direct quote.

2. An elliptical.

Now. I should clarify that my husband bought the elliptical. For himself. Some kind of get-in-shape New Year's resolution or something. I made no such resolution. I never made any promises to work out on said elliptical, or to refrain from sitting on the couch eating ice cream and watching The Bachelor in my Snuggie while he works out on said elliptical. These terms were understood by all parties prior to the purchase of the elliptical.

But then I went and bought Dance Central 2. Because I'd been told. It was fun.

And somehow Dance Central 2 became some kind of weapon between us. He would get up off the couch and announce he was going to "work out," and look pointedly at my unopened Dance Central 2 box.

"What?" I'd say. "I don't feel like playing that right now. The Bachelor is on."

"You bought it, you'd better play it."

"I will! When I'm in the mood."

"You don't see me saying I'm not in the mood for the elliptical, do you?"

"What? Shut up and go work out. I'll play the stupid game. I promise."

What's his problem? How are the elliptical and Dance Central 2 even related? I mean, he bought that thing to get in shape. I bought mine because it's a game. Because I was told it was fun. What's with the pressure and the guilt?

After a few nights of this routine, I put Dance Central 2 in the Xbox and got myself ready for some fun. I did two songs. It was slow going. I'm not a Fly Girl, ok? I'm just a 30-year-old white mother of two with an Xbox Kinect. I own a Snuggie. And I use it. Often. I am not up for any hip hop awards. OK?

But I went through the step-by-step tutorial modes, learning the moves one at a time, then dancing the songs to the best of my ability. It felt...familiar. Kind of...like I'd done this before. Oh, the top 40 soundtrack was new, the hip cartoon street dancers were new.

I'm looking at you, white girl. You call those moves? 

But the basic experience...

Holy. Crap.

I'm doing a freaking aerobics video. 

And I promised to keep doing it.  Regularly.

What just happened??




Now linking up with Lovelinks #40.

Now a prize-winning post, due to my fabulous comments and the (totally respectful) way I smacked down my own mother in said comments:

UPDATED: Text Message Tuesday: Brought to you by BlendTec

UPDATE: My multiple Twitter requests for a sample blender to use and review have been repeatedly ignored by the folks at @BlendTec.  If you value blender-related blog posts, reviews, sonnets, and recipes, and I know you do, send @BlendTec a tweet letting them know how much you would enjoy reading about their product and probably buying two or three for yourself if only they would cooperate by providing a sample to @NearNormalcy.  It's just good business, BlendTec.

ORIGINAL POST:

Ashley is my friend.  You know her by now.  She's also my reading buddy.  We bought Kindles together last year and have enjoyed buying and reading all the same books together, often embarrassingly cheesy or trashy or otherwise not-worthy-of-our-very-literary-selves books, and we keep each other's shameful secrets.  And it's better than before, when we had to buy these paperbacks and read them in shame.  The beauty of the Kindle is that you can read anywhere and nobody knows what garbage you're reading!  You can pretend to be reading Tolstoy at all times and nobody is the wiser.

Then Ashley allowed her children to destroy her Kindle.  Yes, it was a sad day.  So she's been reading on her iPhone, which is lame, and she knows it, because she's not reading much at all anymore, choosing instead to spend her time taking and editing incredibly beautiful and artistic photos of people's children (including mine) and sewing adorable clothing for her daughters and herself.  And sometimes for my daughter.  She's Martha Stewart.  And yes, I'm reaping the benefits of all her new found talents, and I'm so proud of her accomplishments and I think she's fabulous.  But I miss my reading buddy! 

Because I used to be part of a fun conspiracy to consume massive amounts of trashy literature in secret; now I'm just a 30-year-old woman reading Twilight.

But guess what?  Kindles are suddenly CHEAP.  Have you heard?  I heard the other day. I mean, now she can stop being all productive and talented and go back to spending hours at a time on her couch reading books too embarrassing to admit to in public!  Just like me! 

So I texted her with the AMAZING news.

Alyssa says

Ashley. YOU can now have a brand new kindle for only $79!!! http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0051QVESA/ref=famstripe_k

Ashley says

:-(

Alyssa says

no, i think you mean :-)

save your pennies. charge somebody exactly $79 for a photo shoot, and get kindled!

Ashley says

I've discovered a kitchen appliance that I CANT LIVE WITHOUT. And unfortunately that's where my next 379 will be going. Including photo shoot money.

Alyssa says

what?? what kitchen appliance??

you're choosing KITCHEN APPLIANCES over A KINDLE TO READ THE NEW [series too embarrassing to publish online] BOOK WITH ME.

Ashley says

There's a new [series too embarrassing to publish online] book?

Alyssa says

yes. yes there is.

Ashley says

You weren't there at Costco with me today. It's. Amazing. It does everything.

Alyssa says

WHAT does?

Ashley says

It's like the superman of blenders.

Alyssa says

blenders? a BLENDER? really.

Ashley says

I can't remember what it's called!! I was too busy eating hot soup made right in the blender from raw ingredients! And lemonade! And soft serve ice cream made in minutes! And almond milk!!

Alyssa says

all of that? you were eating all of that AT costco?

Ashley says

Yes!

Made from one appliance. This super blender

Blender is not really an adequate word because it's so much more than a blender.

Alyssa says

you don't need that. soup comes in a can. ice cream and almond milk and lemonade. all sold in stores.

Ashley says

You can buy wheat berries, grind them to flour, pour in water and yeast, it will knead the dough for you, and bam, you have homemade bread

Alyssa says

that sounds disgusting.

Ashley says

Fine. I will not offer you any of my homemade bread.

Alyssa says

good. i'll be eating buttered popcorn and reading on my kindle.

Ashley says

You can make your own butter for goodness sakes.

Ooh! I'll make the butter for you!

Alyssa says

ARE YOU AMISH NOW??? MAKE YOUR OWN BUTTER? ARE YOU LISTENING TO YOURSELF??

Ashley says

I can read on my phone still dude.

Alyssa says

you make me sad.

Ashley says

Not uh. YOU make ME sad.

Alyssa (after flexing her Google muscles) says

the blendtec total blender? is this what you're leaving me for?

Ashley says

I don't know. Maybe.

If you had been there, you'd understand.

Alyssa says

would i?

it's a $79 KINDLE. and you're talking to me about blenders and making your own butter. i'm not sure i understand anything anymore. 

Ashley says

I probably wouldn't actually use it to make my own butter. Besides, my husband is NEVER going to let me spend money on a kindle after already breaking one. There's no way. It's just the principle of the thing.

Alyssa says

if you buy that super blender, you are REQUIRED to make your own butter. do you hear me? REQUIRED.

Ashley says

I'll make you ice cream, in like less than 3 minutes, and you'll be a believer.

She bought the blender, you guys.  I went with her to Costco to see with my own eyes.  BlendTec Mark up in his fancy kiosk with his headset microphone just like Billy Mays whizzed up a blender full'o'hot soup right before my eyes and yes, it was delicious.  And hot.  And soup.  

And yes, I'm kind of jealous and want my own BlendTec.  OK?  I said it.  It's RED.  It's the same blender they use at Jamba Juice.  I really want a smoothie.  Razzmatazz, please.

If Ashley can make me a Razzmatazz I may forgive her for spending all her money on a blender and passing on the $79 Kindle.  MAYBE.


By the way, I think this is the blender.  If you're going to buy one, just do me a favor and do it by clicking this link, ok?  That way I get a cut.  And if enough of you buy them, maybe I can buy my own.  

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.

Celebrating my 21st birthday

Tonight my husband and children took me to Texas Roadhouse for dinner. The Princess takes great and gleeful joy in throwing her peanut shells on the floor, treating it as if it's an Olympic event and she is in direct competition with every other table in her line of sight. "My mess is WAY bigger than that guy's!" Yes. Yes it is.
I ate the most perfect filet mignon of my life. Also a loaded baked potato. And approximately 27 of those disgusting sweet fluffy hot rolls with honey cinnamon butter.... Uuuugh.
At the conclusion of this meal, our very lovely waiter appeared at our table with an enormous hot fudge sundae and a SADDLE. And made me sit on the saddle in order to receive said sundae. And led the wait staff in a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday culminating in a shower of salty peanuts over my head.
But here's the important part, you guys: as he drew the crowd's attention to me (seated on a saddle, remember) he announced, in his booming circus announcer voice, before dozens of witnesses: "Alyssa is here celebrating her... 21st birthday!"
It's official. They SANG on it. People CLAPPED and I ate ICE CREAM. And would our Texas Roadhouse waiter, I think his name was Ian, would Ian lie to you? Would he?? Of course not!
It's almost 8:30, and I ate a whole lot, so this 21-year-old is thinking about going to bed.

When I go outside, these will be visible from space.

Thanks to my beautiful coworkers (and friends), it is now abundantly obvious to everybody within a 20-mile radius that I AM 30!!!!!!!!!

Visalus? Jenny Craig? Leg amputation?

A few months ago I made a public promise to myself to lose 20 pounds before I turn 30.

So...does anybody know of a way I can lose 20 pounds in 24 hours or so?

The clock is ticking, people.

I'm losing her.

On Monday the Princess started kindergarten.

Can you BELIEVE they're making this baby go to kindergarten??

OK.  OK.  Fine.  So maybe that photo is slightly outdated.  Maybe these days she looks more like this:

Superstar!

And this:

And this:

And (SOB!) this:

Look how little she is in front of that big scary building!

She didn't cry.  I didn't cry.  Seriously.  I did not cry.  I know.  I'm a robot.  I might cry now.  But I didn't cry then.

After her first day she told me she loved kindergarten, and I asked her if it was the same as preschool or different and she said it was different "except they have the same rug!" and when I asked good different or bad different she said good different and then she said she didn't need me anymore and she was moving into an apartment with her new friends and she'd see me at Thanksgiving unless she decided to go skiing with her motorcycle-riding, musician boyfriend instead.  OK I might have imagined some of that.  Possibly.

Then we came home and she went outside to play and she caught a butterfly.  She loved her butterfly with everything she has and then she came in and made the following announcement, with great pride:

"Mom.  I trained my butterfly.  Guess what it can do.  I trained it...to play dead.  And it's doing it right now."

And I breathed a little easier, because there's no way her sophisticated new friends are going to put up with dead butterflies littering their apartment, however well-trained they may be, and maybe she still needs me a little bit after all.

Maybe the zombie apocalypse will start next week. A girl can hope.

I've just made a discovery.  Or had a realization. One of those. I don't know, you guys, I'm too freaked out to think straight!

Two events coming up in my life:

August 15, 2011: the Princess starts kindergarten. The child born of my own loins. My infant daughter. Starts. Kindergarten.

August 19, 2011: I. Turn. 30.

Check your calendar. These things are both happening in the same week!

Make no mistake, says the Universe. This woman is now OLD. In case you missed the first message, here's another, right on its heels.

Just get out your mourning gear, ok? Because the week of August 15, 2011 will henceforth be known as The week in which my youth was first shot summarily in the head...then run over by a large truck just for kicks.

Oh, also?  Also?  This morning I turned the TV to Disney, and the Princess looked in disdain at the programming before her and said to me..."I'm too old for Mickey Mouse."

I'm just going to go dig a hole and die in it now.  Before I'm too old and frail to lift a shovel.

Kindergarten-related panic attack

My daughter starts kindergarten two weeks from today.  Two weeks, you guys!  14 days!  Until she grows up and leaves me forever!

I mean technically she's still 5 years old and like, requires help tying her shoes, and she can never remember how to spell her last name all the way through, and she doesn't have a Facebook account and she's not allowed to cross the street or eat candy in the morning or drink caffeine ever and these are all required activities for independent living.

But she's going to kindergarten, and I don't know if you knew this, but they have kindergarten at the very same school as like, 5th and 6th graders!  Under the same roof as my baby!  Those kids are huge!  And mean.  And corrupt.  I'm pretty sure they all sell drugs and watch True Blood.  And worship Satan.  You think I'm being dramatic, but this is public school, ok?  And my innocent child is about to be exposed to these degenerates for hours at a time.

Also?  The first day is two weeks away and I have received NOTHING from her school.  I don't even know her teacher's name.  We have no supply list, so naturally I googled "kindergarten supplies" weeks ago, you know, "to get an idea," and I read approximately 13,000 different lists from schools across the nation, and I'm now fairly certain I'm going to have to furnish her entire classroom myself including desks and drywall and electricity, and they're not going to give me a list until the school supply sales are over, and I might have to sell her brother just to afford to send her to public school.

Great.

Because who is going to want to buy her brother?  He drools, he bites, he requires you to mash up all his food or at least dice it really small, and he pees everywhere.

So basically, I have no options at this point, and I'm about to lose both my children, one for sale to the highest bidder (if there are any), and the other to a drug-addled cult of streetwise 6-year-olds.  Are you happy, California public school system?

MTV is 30. I'm not. Yet.

MTV turns 30 today, you guys.

That means I'm not far behind, because yes, I am the same age as MTV.  Well, I'm 19 days younger than MTV.  So I'll always have that.

I must say, I've aged so much more gracefully than they have.

Owling. Planking.

Yesterday The Bloggess tweeted the following:

I don't understand the allure of "owling". We're doing deep knee bends in the name of whimsy? Shenanigans. 

Next up, fanciful lunges and capricious squat-thrusts. And probably something involving chin-ups. Whimsical chin-ups.

I read it six times trying to figure out what she was talking about, then actually had to google "owling."  Owling??  What is that??  Google informed me that "owling is the new planking."  Planking??  What on earth?  I don't even know what the old planking is!  And there's already a new planking?

So then I tweeted that I'd had to google these things and I felt old and out of touch.

Then THIS happened:

my MOTHER:  "I knew what owling and planking were before you did."

me: "Oh thanks. Now I'm infinitely more pathetic than originally suspected."

mom:  "It was on the news."

So.  I'm not young or cool enough to just know what these things are, and I'm not grownup enough to watch the news on a regular basis.


Sidenote:  Who watches the news?  Isn't that why we have the Internet, so we can read the news when we're supposed to be working and spend our valuable TV time watching Tosh.0 and random airings of Encino Man?


Side-sidenote:  Yes, as a matter of fact I am watching Encino Man right now.  Don't judge.  It's a classic.  You know it is.

So I'm neither young nor grownup, I'm just stuck in this middle grey area, where I'm aware of nothing.  Kind of like a coma.  A pop culture coma.

The good news is, next month I'll be 30, and then I'll be firmly in grownup territory, right??  I mean, won't my TV just automatically set itself to The O'Reilly Factor or Diane Sawyer at that point?  I'm pretty sure that's how it works.