I'm really glad my ladies' holidays aren't coming up anytime soon, because my goodness I am an emotional girl this week; it would be pretty bad if I threw some hormones into the mix. Part of it, maybe, is the fact that my kids are now in the "big kid" section of the school, far away from the office so it's really hard to just casually saunter past their classrooms and sneak a peek at them, which, looking at it objectively, is probably a good thing because they do not enjoy me sneaking a peek at them. I shouldn't group them together, really, because Mark doesn't actually mind. Jake, however, does. "Why did you WAVE at me? I'm supposed to be WORKING, not getting distracted." Even in lineup in the mornings, I fist bump him and then back the hell off, because that kid does not want any extra attention from his mother, JAY-SUS. If I do attempt a wave while he's lined up, he raises his chin slightly in what I take to be the world's smallest head nod in acknowledgement. What is he going to be like as a teenager? A total dick, I'm guessing. I said this to my friend this morning who answered cheerfully, "Well, you always predicted that!" True.
I was grocery shopping yesterday and found myself teary-eyed and verklempt at the sight of young mamas with their babies and toddlers in the produce section. I heard the mamas talking to their little ones in the same way I did, in a previous era, when I had to put lipstick marks into the palms of small hands instead of fist bumping while walking through the compound. This is a lemon. It's yellow! Look at this pretty red apple. It's so red and round! Let's put five in the bag. 1...2...3...4...5...I stared at the banana display for a while, swallowing hard. Thank god no one picked up a cucumber and pretended to tickle their toddler with it because if that had happened I would STILL be curled up on the floor singing Landslide* to myself. And if you see my reflection in a snow covered hill...Fortunately later in the day I found myself buying printer paper in Walmart and witnessing a complete toddler meltdown in the school supply aisle, complete with flopping boneless body and ear-piercing shrieks. I smiled sympathetically at the frazzled young mother and tried not to click my heels in joy as I went to pick up my big kids at the big kid doors at school.
Well, they're not that big, I guess, since I haven't yet started writing blog posts about teenage girls and the behavioural standards required to date my sons. Eeee. Can you imagine what kind of mother-in-law that woman will be? Here's an FYI for teenage girls: do NOT date one of the Hall boys. RUN THE OTHER DIRECTION if one of them asks for your phone number. Do boys still ask for your phone number these days? Or do they just look you up on Facebook? But I digress. Truly, just think how overbearing poor beleaguered Mrs. Hall must be, and I can only guess that this is not something that will improve with time. Girls, if you become a "young Mrs. Hall", you will be doomed for a life of in-law misery. You will never be able to vacuum often enough, is what I'm saying.
Things are tough for teenage girls these days, what with the striving to be the hottest bitch in this place and the expectation that one must stay up ALL DAMN NIGHT to get lucky. In my day, we just expressed ourselves or Vogued. Speaking of which, last night I was cleaning up the kitchen and Papa Don't Preach came on. I cranked the volume and sang along; the boys reacted with complete and utter silence. Perhaps they were struck mute with awe? Moments later they went outside where they climbed our big Mayday tree and jumped down repeatedly. I didn't think my singing was that bad.
*see, Sarah, I think we're even on the Landslide references