Jen on the Edge

Elegant, “Mommy, if two’s company and three’s a crowd, what are four and five?”

Jen, “Nine.”

El, “You knew that joke already?!?”

Jen, “I was once a third grader too, you know.”

Graceful, “So that’s a really old joke?”

After much thought and consideration — or possibly just because it’s the whim of the moment — Elegant has decided upon her profession when she grows up. Because, you know, she’s seven and should probably get a jump on that. Well thank goodness the agonizing soul searching is over because…

[drum roll please]

She’s going to be a tattoo artist!

I have to admit that this is not the profession I envisioned for her, but if you think about it, this is a brilliant combination of El’s love of art and her huge love of personal adornment. Really, it’s the best of both worlds. And if anyone is going to invent sparkly tattoos, it’s going to be my girl.

I’m guessing that Elegant isn’t going to run some sort of skeevy tattoo parlor. Oh no, she’s going to have one of those cute little shops that’s like someone’s grandma’s cottage. Lots of florals and pretty things. Maybe she could call it the Pastel Palace. I’m guessing all this, because this is the look El skews toward already. If I’d support her habit, she’d do her room and pretty much every room of the house in Shabby Chic. (Over my dead body.)

(Please notice that I said “over my dead body” over Shabby Chic and not the future career in tattoos. I’m open-minded, but only to a point and that point is having my house look like a unicorn puked roses all over the place.)

*ahem*

Regaining focus…

It appears that Elegant will not be doing much trade in tattoos for the Harley crowd or Goths or anyone who doesn’t want PRETTY tattoos. She did some preliminary sketches in her summer journal and they include lots of stars, flowers, hearts, more stars, smiley faces, even more stars, a lamb, and two not-very-scary skull and crossbones. I’m really surprised she doesn’t have any kittens or rainbows. The best I can tell, Elegant is going to cater mostly to college girls who want a tasteful little flower on their shoulder blades or a possibly a butterfly on their ankles.

To make sure she really hones her craft, Elegant has been practicing on herself with gel pens and markers. Not Sharpies, however, thank goodness. She also has had her first customer, in the form of her older sister. Here’s how they negotiated the price for the tattoo:

E, “It will cost you one penny.”

G, “You know, even if you have a hundred customers, you’ll still only earn $1.”

E, “Okay then, ten cents.”

G, “So then you’ve made only $10.”

E, “One dollar?” [pause, while calculating] “That would be ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS!”

[Jen's note: A veritable fortune indeed.]

Negotiations continued until the girls agreed on ten cents. Graceful went to her wallet and found only eight pennies, at which point Elegant dropped her price to one cent again and Graceful told her to “just keep the change.”

So I can’t tell you how delighted I am that Elegant has settled upon her career and can now focus on learning her craft. Given that this is the child whose skin is so sensitive that she can’t have her face painted at the fair or wear regular sunblock, I find it highly ironic that ink does not cause problems for her.

Now if only I’d let her paint her fingernails.

Updated to add: Pete left his first-ever comment to let me know that I should include the sign Elegant posted near her easel. This would be a sign I had not noticed for some very odd reason. Here it is:

Tattoos

1 cent 10 cents 8 cents Per tattoo unless messed up

if messed up, free

And, really, there’s nothing I can add to that.

Elegant has been going through a phase in which she is very affectionate. VERY affectionate. I can be blogging and she’ll come around the corner, kiss my shoulder gently, and then dash off before I even notice she was there. Pete is also the recipient of these drive-by kissings.

At bedtime now, there is much more hugging and kissing. In fact, hugging is a lot like being choked to death, including an adult saying, “El, you’re choking me.”

Last night, Elegant had her arms through around Pete’s neck and was hugging him. As he stood up and tried to breathe freely, El said, “Daddy, you’re so lovable.”

From Elegant’s summer journal

1. She has Jess [an American Girl doll]. Shes weird. Shes nice.
2. She has Felicity [another damn doll]. Shes crazy. Shes kind.
3. She has Julie. Shes Smart.
4. She has Peg the Pug. Shes loco. She’s honest.
5. Shes pug crazy. Shes helpful.

Sigh.

It’s going to be a long summer.

As Elegant and I were walking to school on Monday morning, we were once again discussing art. Elegant has been reading some books about Monet and Van Gogh and was regaling me with tidbits about the artists.

Then she said, “You know who else I like? Georgia O’Keefe.”

I was surprised by this, as we have not discussed GOK’s work and I wondered where El had learned about her.

“In art class,” she said. “Ms. R. showed us some of Georgia O’Keefe’s work and then we did our own paintings of flowers.”

[pause]

El continued, “She’s very … um … abstract.”

The child with pneumonia, “Can I go on Webkinz?”

The mother of said child, “No, you just spent, like, seven hours online.”

Child, “No, it was more like six-and-a-half hours.”

Mother, “It’s basically the same thing.  Why don’t you go read a book?”

May I have your attention please?

I have it?

Good.

Elegant, at the mature age of seven-and-a-half, has announced her future baby names. In order to fully illustrate this, let’s assume that she’ll be marrying someone named John Smith.

El’s boy names, in order of preference:

1. Martin Luther Smith (or possibly Martin Luther King Junior Smith)
2. Benjamin Franklin Smith
3. George Washington Smith
4. Abraham Lincoln Smith

The girl names:

1. Rosa Parks Smith
2. Susan Beatrice Smith (as in, Susan B. Anthony — no, that’s not what the B stands for; the B comes from Junie B. Jones)
3. Sacagawea Sacagawea Smith (she likes it so much she’ll use it twice)
4. Helen Keller Smith

Graceful is thinking she likes the name Butterfly.

When I asked Elegant to repeat her list for me, she said, “Are you going to blog this?”

Graceful said, “I’m SURE she is.”

Busted.

On the walk home from school yesterday, the girls and I were discussing why they don’t like to use the bathrooms at school and why they prefer instead to hold it all day and then rush to the bathroom in a body-jiggling frenzy as soon as they walk in the door.

For Elegant, it’s because she is germophobic (we all are to varying degrees in Jenworld) and doesn’t like the idea of sharing a toilet with so many other people.  She is so my child.

For Graceful, the issue is that she’ll use the school bathroom, but she’s offended by the graffiti on the bathroom door. Not by what is written, but simply by the fact that someone would deface school property. She too is so my child.

According to Graceful, some people have written the A-word and the F-word. My brain froze in that moment, as my nine-year-old so very calmly referenced words that I had no idea she had heard of. But then again, I don’t actually know WHICH A-word and F-word she’s talking about. For all I know it could be different possibilities than the obvious choices floating through my mind.

After that first statement, Graceful added with great indignation, “And, someone also wrote ‘B— is gay.’ “

I asked her if she understood what that meant.

Graceful sighed a world-weary sigh and said, “It has to do with the sexes, but it’s really complicated.”

Knowing how much misinformation gets spread amongst third graders, I asked Graceful if she’d like me to explain it to her. She agreed so I did, with Elegant listening intently.

When I was done — and my explanation was simple and along the lines of “gay men are men who want to date other men and not women; gay women want to date other women and not men” — Graceful said, “Well I’m not gay, that’s for sure.”

I explained that there’s nothing wrong with being gay and that it’s not something she can choose; she just is who she is.

Elegant blurted out, “Well I don’t know WHAT I am. I don’t want to marry boys or girls. I don’t want to get married at all.”

Well okay then.

Why is it that loading the dishwasher is such an effort? It seems that, just as soon as I get everyone trained to do it, some people suddenly forget how to and then need to be reminded. Every. Single. Time.

Mornings are the worst and I have to really stay on top Elegant to get her dishes cleared from the table. Yesterday morning, she finished eating and then snuck off without putting her dishes in the dishwasher. I noticed it within a second of her departure and called her back to the kitchen.

No response, but I knew she was around the corner, hoping I wouldn’t find her.

Me, “El, I know you can hear me. Come back here and take care of this now.”

Again, no response.

Me, sounding more irritated, “Elegant, I’m not the family maid..”

Grumbling under her breath as she returns to the kitchen, “Well I’m not one either.”

The scene: The Jenworld Blogging Headquarters and Webkinz Zone (a.k.a. the study in our house).

The people:  Pete and Jen — each of us is at a computer.

Pete’s working on hotel reservations in That Country Across The Ocean That You’re All So Damn Sick Of Me Mentioning.

(Yes Jen, we know you’re visiting the Mother Country, now shut up, will you.).

Pete, looking at a hotel suggested by Guider, “Oh, this place has free breakfasts.”

Jen, reading stuff online and not paying close attention, “That’s good.”

Pete, “Hey, since everything’s going to cost an arm and a dick anyway, we might as well get something free.”