Jen on the Edge

We just received word today that Elegant has been accepted into the Quest (gifted/talented) program for the coming year. As a second grader, she’ll be pulled out of her class 2-3 X each week to work with the Quest teacher on special projects and to develop her skills (such as deductive reasoning).

This should have come as no surprise to us — she is a smart kid after all.

(And can I just brag on my girl for a moment here? No? Well tough, because I am. Last August, Elegant was still a beginning reader, maybe at about an age appropriate level. She, however, thought she was still illiterate and had a lot of confidence issues. Now, nine months later, she is reading and comprehending at a fifth grade level. It just blows my mind how quickly it all came together.)

But sometimes, Elegant does stuff that’s so mindboggling stupid — such as this and this and this and this and … well, you get the idea — that it’s easy to forget how smart she is. She just happens to be a smart kid with issues related to her ADHD and sometimes those issues overshadow her greatness.

Lest anyone think I don’t love my child, let me assure you that she’s a fabulous and marvy child, as I’ve written here and here.

So we’re pleased she’ll be in the Quest program and just had to share the good news.

Today was field day at my kids’ school. Yay!!!

As always, the games included all sorts of relays and competitions, meant in the spirit of fun.

Here’s one I call the “spin ’til you puke”:


This one encourages the kids to throw things (water balloons) at each other:

And there’s the “on your stomachs maggots!”:

The tug-o-war is another perennial fave:

And at the end, everyone got popsicles!

One thing no one ever seems to talk about (or least not the crowd I hang with) is how a woman’s skin changes in her 30s. Why is it that I sailed through my teens and 20s with virtually no acne but now have the skin of a 14 year old boy? Is it cosmic retribution because I took my gorgeous skin for granted and didn’t treat it as well as I should have? I really think it’s unfair that I have now have zits. I mean, I’m already afflicted with soccer and occasional trips to Hellmart, how much more misery am I supposed to take?

And why oh why is my skin so damn dry now? I thought that wasn’t supposed to happen until menopause, which I am assuming is a LONG, LONG, LONG time from now.

Back in the good old days — when I had a creamy white complexion — my skin might be a little dry in the coldest days of winter. Now, it’s a flakefest all year long. In fact, it’s gotten worse in the past year alone. Luckily, all I need to do is roll around in a vat of body lotion and dive facefirst into a tub of facial moisturizer and my needs are covered, but I do have a couple of trouble spots.

For example, why in the mother fucking hell do I have a dry patch on the end of my nose??? Really, what is that all about? I wash carefully, exfoliate that little patch of Sahara, and moisturize AT LEAST three times a day and it won’t go away. Well, maybe for a couple of hours, and then it’s back. Just like those annoying cult members who ring my doorbell, the dry patch always comes back. I understand that a wet nose = a healthy dog, so what does a dry scaly nose mean? Too much chocolate in my diet? Better yet, not enough chocolate in my diet? That I need to buy more shoes? That I have some rare terminal illness? What is the damn deal?

(Che, if you’re reading this and have any professional insights, I’d appreciate some guidance. Thanks!)

All the women’s magazines tell us that we’re supposed to get better with age. I fully agree that my brain is improving, as is my shoe collection, but I strongly disagree about the rest.

Well, it’s happened. I am now a Soccer Mom.

Sigh…

Graceful has been wanting to play soccer for a few months now, but we missed the sign ups for spring soccer — it’s not intuitive, but SPRING soccer registrations and early practices are actually in the dead of WINTER. Go figure.

Anyway, we got information yesterday on summer soccer camps, as well as preliminary info on the fall season. I signed Graceful up for a week of camp in late July. It’s actually a pretty easy schedule: Five days of camp from 5:30-7:30 p.m., which is just enough time to teach some soccer, wear out the girls, and then send them home to sleep soundly. I’ve emailed another Soccer Mom to find out what I need to buy and where I need to buy it. Might as well deal with it now.

And Graceful is already talking about playing soccer in the fall too. I am really (not) looking forward to those practices at the butt crack of dawn on Saturdays. There’d better be a drive-through Starbucks on the way to the practice field.

So now I’m a Soccer Mom who drives a minivan and is actively involved in the PTO and Girl Scouts. What other cliches can I dive headfirst into? If I had preschoolers, I’d say I need to get some Wiggles CDs, but we are mercifully past that stage. (The Wiggles are just no fun now that Cute Greg — the Yellow Wiggle — has retired.) I suppose I could put Elegant into dance classes just to make my misery complete. A ballet recital would pretty much finalize my MOM-ness. (As if the extra flab, stretch marks, and grey hairs weren’t strong indicators…)

As a way to counteract being a Soccer Mom, I’m going to put some really non-kid-friendly music into the CD player, such as the Black Eyed Peas, vintage Prince, and the soundtrack to “Pulp Fiction” (those sound clips are definitely R-rated).

I’m off to mourn the passing of my youth…

Any residual angst I might have had from this morning’s travails with Elegant are all gone now. Why? Because I went back to see my man Richard, who gives such great hair that I could totally see us having an affair. Well, except for that whole thing about him being gay and in a committed relationship. Oh, and that thing about Pete and me being legally married and all that. But BESIDES that, Richard is a most fab man because he not only cuts hair, he tells good stories, AND he listens to whatever nonsense comes out of my mouth AND offers insightful commentary.

Oh, and all that guilt I was feeling last month about going to a frou frou hair place? All gone now.

Mornings with Elegant are not easy or fun. Today was no exception.

Jen, “Come on everyone, let’s get going!”

Pete, “We have plenty of time. It’s not even 8:00.”

Jen, “I know, but I’m ready to release Elegant to the care of other people.”

The awesome and wonderful Melissa (the better half of the Dynamic Duo of Shoe Shopping) has been on bed rest for three weeks now, trying to keep Jennifer Junior from making a very premature arrival. (I’m sure it’s because the baby just wants to get here and go shoe shopping with me.) Anyway, 3+ weeks of bedrest = a bored and cranky pregnant woman. AND, there are Melissa’s Men to consider: Rich (doting husband), Griffin (7), and Ethan (4). Really, all that hanging around the house is no fun for anyone. So the Ever-Great Jen swooped in today for a few hours of Boy Spoiling — in other words, going to see “Shrek the Third, eating a lot of junk food, and laughing over the usual round of butt jokes.

Completing our party were Graceful, Elegant, and Graceful’s friend Addie. Oh yeah, and Pete. Poor Pete. Pete likes movies, but Pete does not like movie theaters. There are ads and movie trailers. People talk. People bring their babies. People chew popcorn loudly and blow their noses loudly and do a lot of other things loudly. Consequently, Pete had not been to a movie theater in 15 years. Really. I am not making this up. The last movie Pete saw in a commercial setting was the James Bond flick “Goldeneye” and it was in 1992.

How did I get Pete to go to the movies with me and five children, you might ask? Well, the girls and I decided back in December that we were By God going to see “Shrek the Third” in the theater and not wait until it came out on DVD. Because if we saw it in the theater, we’d surely want to talk about it endlessly, which we would not be able to do if Pete had not seen it, as that would ruin it for him. So we ganged up on him and told him he would be coming with us. He grudgingly consented. Only later on did I decide to add three more children to the mix.

Did I mention that Pete was unhappy about this outing today?

And it had nothing to do with the extra kidlets. Like me, Pete loves children and enjoys having extra ones around. We all even joked on the ride over that we could pretend that we were one really big family: Graceful and Addie were the first twins, Griffin and Elegant were the second twins, and Ethan was our baby. Not that Ethan is a baby. No sirree he is most definitely not, even though he says adorable things like, “My LOVE chocolate!” You got that right: Ethan substitutes “my” for “I”, so everything he says is too cute for words. Plus, he’s an amazing candy hound and can just pack away M&Ms, Twizzlers, etc. with no apparent ill effects. (Or maybe that came later. If so, sorry Melissa.)

The children all pretty much had free rein with the movie theater snacks. This was a problem for Griffin, who doesn’t care for sweets much (I know, I have no idea how he was birthed from Melissa if he doesn’t dig sweets) and really didn’t want popcorn either. I told him he could just skip the snack and that he shouldn’t feel pressured to eat food he didn’t want. His response, “But how am I supposed to satisfy myself?” Since he’s seven, I didn’t even allow myself to THINK of the many responses I could have made.

The five children sat in a row with Pete and me on one end. When the movie started, Pete and I looked at the kids to our left and saw five faces, utterly rapt, gazing at the big screen. Very cute.

The movie itself was fun and funny. Lots of jokes that had me snorting, laughing, guffawing, chuckling, etc. I can’t wait to get the DVD later this year and I’ve already ordered the soundtrack, which looks to be as good as the others. I mean, come on, it has Led Zeppelin (VERY funny moment in the movie), Fergie doing a cover of “Barracuda,” and a hilarious song performed by Donkey and Puss in Boots (Eddie Murphy and Antonio Banderas). Since Justin Timberlake’s in the movie too, I’m assuming he’s on the soundtrack in some capacity.

Afterward, I returned three sugared-up children to their parents and took my own two sugared-up girls home. Dinner was very healthy tonight and included large glasses of milk and big bowls of green peas.

What a fun afternoon.

I’m feeling really special right now. Really, mucho, super special.

Why?

Because I am Robert Redford’s friend.

It’s true. This very weekend, I received a letter from Bob and it starts off “Dear Friend.” Really, can’t you feel the friendship leaping out from his salutation?

The letter’s first three words are “You and I” — another indication of our deep and abiding friendship.

My good friend Robert Redford has invited me, his friend, personally to join in the fight against global warming: “I’m inviting you to join me…” Damn, that sounds like an invitation for friendship alright.

Oh I’m so excited. I need to go shopping. What exactly does one wear when fighting global warming with a close and personal friend? Hemp shorts? Pleather shoes? Organically grown cotton t-shirts?

Wait, since this is a personal invitation from my dear friend Bob, maybe there’s more to this. Maybe it’s like that craptacular movie “Indecent Proposal” in which my friend Bob’s lecherous character propositioned Demi Moore’s lame character. Demi’s character’s marriage to Woody Harrelson’s even lamer character falls apart, blah blah blah, sucky movie, bored Jen. But, the important thing is that Demi’s character had great clothes and those clothes attracted the attention of my good friend Robert Redford, who has now extended an invitation to me personally.

Hmm… This bears pondering.

[pondering]

Okay, I’ve given it some thought. I’m going to turn Bob down, even though our friendship could suffer. There’s just too much at risk. What if I accept his invitation and it turns out that global warming is not all he has on his mind? I’m not going to ditch Pete and the girls for an aging Hollywood Romeo with liver spots, no matter how cute he was 30 years ago or how fervently he pleads in his letter.

I’m sorry Bob, but your letter is going in the recycling bin.

We drove to New York state this weekend for a gathering of Pete’s family. Instead of traveling the path through Hell (the I-95 corridor), for the past few years we’ve been driving the western route, which takes us through Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York.. So instead of seven hours of Hell (three major cities before we’ve even hit the NJ border + a dozen tolls that are always major back-ups), the drive is now mostly seven hours of heaven, with occasional sidetrips into purgatory.

Elegant hooked into the Leapster (aka “the Crackster”)

In Pennsylvania, we pass a horse trailer, which I remark on to the girls. Elegant’s reply, “All I see is a bunch of horse butts.” She’s right, and they’re enormous.

I don’t know if you can see it in the distance, but that’s Dorney Park and Pete is pouting because I wouldn’t sanction an amusement park pit stop. I told him before we even left that stopping for a couple of hours was not part of the plan. I made it abundantly clear that it wouldn’t happen. Yet, he still put his annual pass in his wallet, just in case.

Elegant made her grandfather a card for his birthday. She wanted to give him something special, so she thought and thought, and decided to give him what she would like to receive herself. Consequently, Grandpa Warren was a bit bemused to receive $1 in his card from his six-year-old granddaughter, but he very graciously thanked her.

Also, this photo:

A blurry photo, but the expression on Elegant’s face is priceless.

I should explain. Several years ago, we bought Pete’s father and stepmother a hammock for this shady corner of the yard. Every year during this family reunion, there are always children piled into the hammock for pretty much every minute of every day. I think as many as six or eight have piled in. One game the children have come up with is to have one person lie down and hold on as tightly as possible, while the other children swing the hammock and eventually get it to spin it around. The goal is to stay put, but falling out isn’t a problem either, except that the ground is rock hard underneath.