What a pisser

Britt's first three ballet lessons went great. She paid attention, followed instructions, grinned like a maniac, and danced her little butt off. She loved it.

And then there was today.

My first clue was when it was time to go and she was saying, No, no, I can't go to dance cwass! And I was all, WTF?

We went anyway and got there a little bit early; everything was fine until it was time to line up and march into the studio. Britt refused. Her teacher, Miss Meagan, tried to coax her in but it was a no-go.

Oh, and have I mentioned that all the other women there are stylishly dressed and coiffed private-school moms who drive expensive SUVs? And they all know each other? But they've all been really nice to me so it's no biggie, except that they got to witness the most humiliating day I've experienced in a while.

They said, Oh, just let her watch through the window and maybe she'll want to go on in when she sees the other girls dancing. So we tried that, and she watched and started dancing and hopping around a little bit so I told her she could go join them and she was all, No, no, and then she'd go over and open the door a crack and peek in and then she'd run back over to the window.

Finally, she opened the door and went into the studio. Where she proceeded to run about wildly. And then she'd come back to the door and peek out and laugh and yell Hi! and run off again. This went on for several unbearable minutes before I finally managed to catch hold of her and I dragged her off to the dressing room to get her dressed so we could get the hell out of there and of course she started thrashing and wailing at top volume.

So I sat in the dressing room with 40 pounds of thrashing, wailing Thwarted Will on my lap, trying to wrestle her out of her leotard and tights so I could get street clothes on her, and guess what happened next?

Go on, guess.

You'll never guess.

She peed on me.

She's not supposed to wear anything under her tights, you know, and I was about sixty seconds from getting a pull-up on her when she peed on me, leaving my jeans sopping wet. With big, dark, un-missable wet spots on both legs.

So I finished getting her dressed and then I did the Walk of Shame past all the stylish private-school moms, carrying the still-thrashing and wailing Britt while trying to hide the big, dark, un-missable wet spots with her gear bag and my purse (and coming up one arm short), and I was all, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, and they were all, No, no, it's all right, I feel sorry for you, and I was all, Great, thanks, now I'm an object of pity.

I don't know what got into her today, except that her behavior lately is... well, it's like a battle of wills over every damn thing. A constant power struggle. She's so strong-willed, hard-headed, and stubborn. And bossy.

(***sigh***)

You know, the Twos weren't really that Terrible with her, but I have a feeling the Threes are gonna be the Shits.

The aftermath

Okay, Sherri, you vulture. You wanted to see carnage? Well, here you go:







These were taken before any repair work was attempted. I trimmed it up a little last night, but it still looks like crap. Bridgie says a friend of hers just graduated from hair school so she's gonna ask her to come over to see what she can do.

Well, that would be nice, since they were her scissors.

Basically, what Britt cut off was the part I've been putting up in ponytails. There's still enough hair left to do that, but now they stick straight up.

I'm just thankful that I caught her before she got started on the back. Or before she was shorn to the scalp.

(***shudder***)

Are you ready for the freaky part? When we took Britt to school this morning and told her teacher what happened, she said that two other kids in the class had done the same thing this weekend.

Jeez, is it a full moon or something?

I knew this would happen

That's why I've always been scrupulous -- no, fanatical -- no, maniacal about keeping scissors put up out of Britt's reach.

I'm sure I mentioned this to Bridget when she moved back in. I know I did.

(***sigh***)

I caught her before she could do too much damage. To her long curly hair.

Oh, her beautiful hair!

(***head in hands***)

But she did enough. There's a big chunk gone out of her bangs. And...

Well, at least she was symmetrical about it.

She's given herself a... a... a...

Oh, God. I can't say it.

(Just breathe, Sange.)

She... she... she gave herself a MULLET!

(***gasp***)

I'm sure I'll see the humor in this later, but right now I just can't... I can't...

(***sob***)

Bwaaahahahaha!!!

Mikey and Britt slap palms. Britt yells:

High five, old man!

Britt's a girly girl, but

she has a tomboy streak, too.

This evening she played in the backyard while I cooked dinner, and I kept an eye on her through the big bay window.

At one point, I turned around and flipped smooth out when I saw that she was standing on an upended bucket, trying to get a leg up over a limb on the redbud tree so she could climb it.

Later I watched as she dropped her shorts, squatted, and peed on the grass.

Where the hell does she learn this stuff?

*****

Mikey's been trying to get Britt over her phone shyness, so he calls our house phone from his cell phone, gets her to answer it, then goes into another room while they have a conversation over the phone.

That's been going so well that he dialed up Grandma Sarah tonight and handed the phone to Britt, and she and GiGi had a long, giggly chat.

Then I dialed Bob's number and handed the phone to Britt and she had a long, giggly chat with her daddy, or so I thought. When I finally got the phone away from her, I heard a woman's voice saying "Your message has been sent." So I guess she had a long, giggly long distance chat with a recording.

Next time I'll make sure he answers the phone before I hand it to her.

Big Girl

We took Britt for her three-year checkup today, and confirmed what I was thinking: Britt's had a big growth spurt this year.

She started out tiny, and stayed tiny through her first year, with her height registering in the tenth percentile. It was in the 25th percentile when she turned two, which was still below average.

This year she's in the 75th percentile! She's taller than average! Woo-hoo!

And now, the bad news: her weight. Last year the doctor said she was two pounds overweight, which is not a lot, unless you only weigh 30 pounds. This year her weight was in the 95th percentile, and the doc didn't say anything about her being overweight. So I was all, Yay! Until I looked it up and saw that she was in the 95th percentile last year.

Anyway, her official numbers: just over 38 inches tall and 39 pounds.

Time Warp

I was bored last night so I finally clicked on one of those Classmates.com ads and spent a couple of hours looking up my old classmates.

And, y'all? That was some kind of trippy.

Granted, it's been 27 years since my class graduated, but sweet Lord Jesus! The ones who had pictures posted looked so old! Way older than me!

Do I look older than I think I do? It's all right, you can tell me. I promise won't get mad (***fingers crossed***).

But what really surprised me was how many of the names didn't even ring a bell anymore. And then some of the names were familiar, but I couldn't put a face to them. I would look 'em up but I don't think I still have my yearbooks. Or, if I do, they're stashed in some box that got packed four or five moves ago and they aren't likely to surface anytime soon.

Another thing I noticed is that some of my classmates have more grandkids than I do. I didn't expect that, for some reason, and now I'm jealous.

I've never gone to any class reunions -- well, I started to go to my tenth, but poison ivy and a bad reaction to Caladryl left my face looking like hamburger meat so I skipped it. But I just haven't been interested since then. My teenage years were not the happiest of my life -- mostly my own damn fault -- and I really don't want to relive them, even though I turned out pretty all right after all. Eventually.

Well, at least I think I did.

Ballet day

Eager ballerina:



Mobile ballerina:



Curious ballerina:



Dancing ballerina:



Tired ballerina:

Triker Chick

It's late; everybody's asleep

except me.

I'm sitting here in my office, in the middle bedroom, and I can hear Bridgie snoring in the room to my left and Mikey snoring in the room to my right.

Like buzz saws in stereo.

She's three!

We had Britt's birthday party over at Grandma Sarah's yesterday.

Britt knew it was the day, and she couldn't wait for things to get started. She kept running around the housing yelling, "Party time! Party time!"

Mad props to Mikey for doing ALL the food shopping; he put together a mighty fine sandwich buffet with all the trimmings. Well, us girls had to get everything fixed up and laid out on the table but, still, he did good!



Do remind me, though, not to consult with him about cake size next year. I should've just ordered the half-sheet like I always do, but I screwed up and discussed it with him first. We counted up how many people would be there and he said the quarter-sheet would be enough, since we had so much left over last year.

Now I personally don't see any problem with having leftover cake because I happen to love cake and ice cream (it's not a birthday cake without ice cream; it's just cake and that's not the same thing at all), but I followed instructions and ordered the quarter-sheet.

And after I sent him over to pick it up, he called me from the bakery and yelled at me:

Why did you order the quarter-sheet?

So I yelled at him:

Because you told me to!

So he picked up an extra cake just in case. A really ugly one. And so Britt had two birthday cakes this year.



And then there were presents!



Lots of presents!



Lots and lots of presents!



The only other glitch besides the cake dispute was that the mosquitos were thick at Grandma Sarah's. The kids spent a lot of time outside and we spent a lot of time outside watching them, so we all got eaten alive. Britt spent part of her time outside "digging for tweasure," very near the spot where we buried our beloved Kitty. Luckily, she didn't find him.



The boys dug a fire pit (supervised by my brother-in-law) and had a fire going until a neighbor threatened to call the fire department. Candy opened the storage building and got out a bunch of glow-light necklaces for the kids (just one of the advantages of marrying into a family of wholesalers; all kinds of delightful things stashed away for just such an occasion).

And then it started getting late, so we cleared up the party debris and loaded Britt's presents and the leftover food and an extra kid or two into the car and headed home.

While we unloaded the car, the girls used their glow-light necklaces to make themselves a disco in the kitchen.



And then they settled in at the kitchen table with Britt's new paint set, until it was time to call it a night.



It was a long day, but a good one.

First day of ballet school

So today was Britt's first dance class. As soon as we got home from school I fixed her hair and then got her dressed.



I may have yanked her tights up a little too high. Ya think?



She's not supposed to wear her slippers outside the studio, but I just had to see the whole outfit together. Those are Aunt Bridgie's gnarly feets in the background.



And she has to wear some sort of covering over her leotard outside the studio, so we put that on and grabbed her adorable little gear bag, and then we were on our way.



I didn't get any pictures of her during class because the viewing window would've bounced the flash back at me. Plus, no one else was taking any pictures and I didn't want to be the only one.

I was afraid Britt might wander around doing her own thing instead of participating with the rest of the class, like she tends to do, but she did great! She followed instructions as best she could and she didn't always get the steps right, but she did it all with enthusiasm and a huge smile.

And? Oh. Migod. I damn near needed a shot of insulin by the time we got out of there. The sweetness was that intense.

Also, I had to blow my nose because I was all misty-eyed pretty much the whole time.

It was just the cutest damn thing ever.

Bridgie has a job!

She starts Monday. At another mortgage company.

Another mortgage company?
Yep.
So what are the odds that this one will go under, too?
Pretty good.

Oh, well. It's a job, anyway. Which is better than no job.

Holy crap!

My mom just won a won a new car at the casino.

A black 2007 Corvette, no less.

I can't quit laughing, picturing Mom tooling around town in a 'Vette.

She's 75 years old.

Hold on, I'm still on the phone with her...

*****

She was still at the casino when she called, waiting for them to bring her the title and stuff. She can't take it home until she gets insurance, which will be on Tuesday since this is a holiday weekend.

I asked if she was gonna drive it home and she said, "Oh, no, I can't drive that thing!" I told her she ought to at least take it for a spin before she lets it go. We definitely need a picture of her sitting in it.

She said three people had already offered to buy it from her; she got their names and numbers but it sounds like my sister Margie and her husband want to buy it. She's gonna use the money to get herself a more sensible new car.

And her picture's gonna be on the casino's billboard out on the highway; we'll have to get a photo of that, too.

My sister Debbie and I haven't been too thrilled about Mom's casino habit, but I guess this will shut us up for awhile.