Tag: childhood

Checking Myself

I love childhood. The watching of it, I mean. I know my last post was all sorts of grumpy and scattered (and apparently typo-filled, from what I just saw. For a former teacher and editor, I’m looking a little rusty), and I still haven’t wrangled 

Ask Me No Questions, I’ll Tell You No Lies

It’s a good thing I have a sense of humor, because if I didn’t I’d be in therapy right now.  No, not really, but still.  We’ve been laughing a lot around here these past few days.  We have to.  Saoirse’s entered what I’ll call the 

How The Royal Wedding Makes Me Want a Sandwich

I turned on the TV today so SK could watch a little Clifford. I must’ve hesitated a bit too long on coverage leading up to the royal wedding, because SK finally turned to me and said, “Mom, are they married yet? Why not?” I guess Wills and Kate have been a part of the household conversations more than I’d like to admit.

I just finished reading Peggy Orenstein’s Cinderella Ate My Daughter, which is all about the effects of the girly-girl culture–with all its princesses and glitter wands and glossy perfection–on girls growing up today. It basically reinforced every fear both David and I have had about the “girlie” stuff and validated my defensive pride when SK opts for Lightning McQueen instead of My Little Pony. I am a modern woman, I think, and therefore an aware mom. Yes, my daughter asks to paint her nails, but by golly she’ll go kick around a soccer ball before the polish has dried. We are rising above, dagnabit!

Please. I’m so full of baloney that you could make a sandwich out of my contradictions. I hereby admit that I’ve become totally fascinated by all this royal wedding hullabaloo. And I can’t even try to pretend I’m merely interested in the, let’s say, social dialogue prompted by this event. Pshhh. I want to see Kate’s dress. I want to see how her hair is styled, and–gasp!–if indeed she has someone else do her make up. I admit it. The pageantry, the horses, the excited crowds–it all has sort of swallowed me up in it’s out-of-the-ordinariness. Mostly, though, I think of how it’s going to be for her to approach that church. Dave and I kept our wedding to 100 people, and even then, I was so out-of-my-mind nervous about walking up the aisle in front of all those people that I thought I was going to pass out:

So how is the future Princess Catherine going to handle all of this, with a third of the world watching? I’m willing to bet that other people are wagering that she’ll upchuck as soon as she steps out of the car. But I digress. I know, I don’t want my own daughters growing up thinking that all they have to do is be pretty so that some Prince Charming can sweep them off their dainty, polished feet. But I do have to admit that, when faced with two baskets full of laundry to fold and diaper pails that need to be emptied–all while wearing a ponytail because even the very idea of actually drying my hair seems like too much effort today–it’s kind of neat to wonder what it’s like to wear a diamond tiara, if just for a few hours. 

So that’s how I qualify it. There’s a part of me who truly hopes that these two people I don’t know really will love each other forever. The other part is just giddy that I get to have a quiet house to myself for a few hours, wonder how much her dress cost, and ooh and ahh over all the flowers. So if you’ll excuse me, I have some baking to do. If I’m going to be eating my words at 5 tomorrow morning, I’d like some scones to go with them.

Cranky McWhinesalot Strikes Again (Yep, I’m Talking about Me)

What a day.  I don’t get kids–even if they have half my DNA.  I used to joke that there’s not much of a difference between toddlers and the teenagers I used to teach:  they’re moody.  One minute they need you, and the next they’re telling