My Grandfather held the World’s Record for the 50m Dash for many decades.  He coached High School Track, his 4 children, along with my entire band of cousins.  Last Friday at the school Jog-A-Thon, I found where his genes landed.  I can dash, but no amount of movement on my part could come close to catching up to one petite, very, very fast Kelly.  She refuses to wear running shoes.  Apparently, she doesn’t need them.

Every year I go to my Dermatologist, and try to act cool while he checks me over for you know…DEATH…and every year I fail.  At being cool.  Not at cheating death.  Apparently I’m a whiz at cheating death.  BUT, I’m not cool.  In fact, I’ve never been cool, suck at it, should walk around wearing a tshirt that reads, “Decidedly Uncool”.  Which is redundant, because simply having the word “decidedly” on a tshirt BY DEFINITION would make me uncool.

To be fair, I am not a quiet, cool-esh person by nature.  Which is a kind way of saying I’ll talk your ear off on a good day.  Now imagine me on a bad day.  On a day when I am perched precariously on the edge of a doctor’s office table, gowned in nothing but white paper (Who invented the 2-part paper gown?  Because that guy should be forced to face us and EXPLAIN HIMSELF.). A day when a serious, extraordinarily educated man tells me if I’m going to die, or if I should just go ahead and run those errands I had planned and fuggedduaboutit.  No one actually thinks the melanoma is coming back.  No one gives it much of a thought.  Except for that little voice in the back of my head that remembers I’m mortal, and on this day, the White Paper Gown day, that little voice…

GOES FUCKING APE-SHIT AND CAN”T SHUT THE HELL UP.

You’d think cutting a few things off my body would at least slow that voice down.  Nope.  NOTHING STOPS THE RUNAWAY TRAIN THAT IS MY NERVOUS SYSTEM SUDDENLY ATTACHED TO MY MOUTH.  Some people get high blood pressure when they walk into the doctor’s office.  It’s called White Coat Syndrome, and is very real. There was a scary 8 weeks when it was thought the melanoma might have spread to my eyes.  I now vomit every time I enter the Optometry Office.  How pleasant for me.

In my imagination, it plays out with an Optician saying something innocuous like, “Have you seen our new Ralph Lauren frames?”, and I reply, “Oh my God.  I think I’m going to puke.” In walks the Sales Rep who asks, “Are your customers loving the new Lauren line?  They are so now.” Oh they’re now alright.  I just had someone puke on them…just NOW. She literally threw up on your glasses.  Better call Ralph and tell him to rethink this entire season.

Because what the hell?  Who gets White Coat Syndrome at the EYE DOCTOR?!  What kind of freak does that?!  Yep…decidedly uncool chic.

Now imagine me entering the office where the melanoma was discovered.  Luckily, they had a cancellation yesterday, and I only had to wait 1 day for the appointment.  Give me a month of dread and my hair will turn grey.  Just walking into the office makes me short of breath.  Yet even without AIR, I can talk a mile a minute.  As I hear myself, it sounds something like, “Blah-blah-blah-blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa How are your kids? blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Nice weather we’re having blaaaaaaaaaa.  If I keep talking and refuse to shut up you won’t have a single second to tell me I’m not going to live forever……blaaaaaaaaaaaa.  And then I hear:

Hey Lori.  You’re skin looks great.  I don’t see anything to be concerned about.  I don’t anticipate hearing any bad news regarding the things we removed today.  Have a great year.

OH, thank you.  That’s wonderful news.  Sounds great.  I’m sorry.  Did you say something?  Because I think my head just exploded.  Did my brain leak out of my ears?  Where am I?  OH MY GOD I’VE BEEN TALKING FOR TWENTY MINUTES STRAIGHT, HAVEN’T I?!

I call Greg, the Perpetually Unruffled One who rarely remembers it’s White Paper Gown day.  I call my Best Friend, whom has already sent 3 texts asking if I’m dead yet, which is why I pledge my eternal loyalty to her.  I return her call so we can make ourselves laugh until we cry, reminding me while we love our husbands, our girlfriends always know just what to say.

And then I return home, find I am emotionally bankrupt, and collapse on the floor with a bag of McDonald’s french fries and 3 cats on my head.

Hey Guys.  Good news.  I’m not dead yet.  Wear your sunscreen.

Ensemble Addition #1: Necklace

I’m on Pinterest.  Because you HAVE to be on Pinterest.  Didn’t you know?  It’s the FB of the crafty/cooky/decoratey eye candy addicts. As with all new fads of the Information Age, it has been quite an education.  Allow me to elaborate:

(1) You should be doing many things to be skinny, EXCEPT eating any of the recipes shared on Pinterest.  Cheesy Chicken Lasagna, casseroles made with Doritoes, Caramel Turtle Cheesecake…these don’t pair well with the perpetual shots of women measuring their 15″ thighs, wearing work out clothes reminiscent of Olivia Newton John’s “Let Get Physical” video.

(2) If I had time to do any of the elaborate up-do’s, I’d have time TO WASH MY HAIR, negating the need for the up-do.

(3) If I could achieve even a fraction of the manicures, I’d quit my day job and become wildly successful in the “glittery safari themed nail painting business”.

Ensemble Addition #2: Shoes

(4) Apple Pie Breakfast is neither healthy, nor nutritious (as advertised), but I’m going to eat it anyway.

(5) Apparently there are many, many things I need to tell my daughters, husband, and imaginary sons.  Most come in the form of “Lists of 20″.  Always the 20 things I need to say or do, or make in my crock pot.  So, so many lists of 20.  20: it’s the new 10.

(6) The world thinks about redecorating imaginary dream houses as much as I do.  What a relief.

Ensemble Additions #3: Earrings and Bracelet

(7) Every party should have a rainbow theme (with this, I do not disagree).

(8) If you want to be cool, cook with quinoa. 90% of recipes call for “cream of” something, and I’m just not eating it.  Sorry Campbell’s.  The gelatinous concoctions known as the “cream of…” line give my taste buds PTSD.  I’m fairly certain every person born in the 70′s would agree.

(9) Venture into the “Everything” tab at your own risk.  Some days it’s just safer to view friend-posts only.  Pinterest should consider designating a “Freak Only” day.  The rest of us should be warned, mark that date on the calendar, turn off our computers, and do laundry.  Who has time for laundry?! I’m too busy LOOKING AT THINGS.

(10) And the reason for this post: Apparently, I need to think less in terms of “clothing”, and more in terms of “ENSEMBLES”.  Where is my coordinating belt, and bracelet, and purse, and funky, unexpected shoe pairing that undoubtedly should be an open-toe wedge sandal, and the obligatory drapey fabric-like thing that should be worn with rolled up cargo shorts, even if paired with a tank top, meaning I’ll be walking around in a non-shirt, short-shorts, AND A SCARF on a 90 degree day?  It’s OK if I get sweaty. I know some good up-do’s. Forget my heat exhaustion and inability to walk in the cruel shoes…check out my blue metallic nails.

Ensemble Addition #4: Bizarrely Unexpected Pin

Completely bored with my yoga pants, old tshirts and ponytails, I decided to ensemble.  It’s a full-time job. I had no idea.  I found the denim summer dress at consignment, brand new, and it fit perfectly.  Alas, it was boring.  But what if I added my favorite gold necklace?  Nope, still dull.  RED SHOES! (Also from consignment)…nice.  Refer back to Pinterest.  I’ll need a bracelet and snappy earrings.  How many trips to the consignment stores have I made at this point?  But what this dress really wanted was some kind of pin, and one that matched the Asian flair of the bracelet.  Obviously?  Sara, my stylist who is frighteningly better at matching things at 6 than I am at 40, told me I was perching dangerously on the territory of “too much red”.  I told her I’d ditch any dreams of a red belt.  Where does one find a red pin with an Asian flair?  One DOES NOT.  But one DOES TRY.  Thank you Etsy, you did your best.

“The Chinese Denim Ensemble”

In the end, I did what I enjoy most: I made the pin using an eighth of a yard of fabric, some circles cut from cardstock, and a flower found in the loose floral section of a craft store.  Most craft stores sell pin backings, but not one a time.  Great…now I’m going to have to make a crap-load of pins.  Am I going to Pin my own pin?  Of course I am.  Pinning an actual pin is far too deliciously ironic, wouldn’t you agree? You can follow me at Indiana Lori.  See you out in Visual Candy Land, but excuse me while I check on my Unfried/Refried Beans Top 20 Summer Slow Cooker Meals…

Today Sara’s class visited 2nd Grade.  Hugs to her teacher for the heads up; we took her out to a celebratory breakfast during the visit, and she missed the whole thing.  She knew why, which meant a night of bad dreams, and her finally ending up in bed with us shortly after 5 am, ready for some real conversation.  I can’t say I minded this blip, because she’s been in a fantastic mood for weeks.  She started slowly telling her friends, and not only have they kept the info private, but they’ve given her the complete, “Whatever…see you on the playground…it’s all good” reaction.  Her relief is palpable.

This morning was no different. Total chatterbox during breakfast, which doubled in intensity after school when she realized, once again, repeating 1st grade has not brought Armageddon upon her.  After baths tonight, I looked at my petite ball of energy and asked, “Do you ever stop moving?”  To which she quickly replied, “Would you ask a circle to stop going around and around?!”

Excellent point Ducky.  Roll on Mighty Duck…roll on.

Greg asked me what I’d like to do for Mother’s Day, and I mumbled something about staying in my pj’s all day and eating fried chicken.  I had a passing thought about watching 80′s Movies, chicken leg in hand, sprawled out on the couch like…like Singleton Lori.  Stop.  No judging.  It’s Mother’s Day, which by law, is a no-judging zone. But when the sun rose and Greg and the girls told me sleep in as they left to get donuts as a surprise, the last thing I wanted was to be alone, watching movies that remind me of time when these 3 kook-a-birds weren’t in my life.

Just a quiet day with the 4 of us will do nicely, thank you very much.  Spare me the fancy lunches, elaborate cards, and obligatory bottles of perfume.  Just us, goofing off on the weekend, a habit we have down to a science.  After the ridiculously decadent donuts and coffee, I headed up to the sewing room.  It didn’t cross my mind to throw on a Mommy movie, because my Hug-Masters were hot at my heels.  Hugging.  So much of the delicious hugging today.  With one on the Cricut and the other watching Barbie Christmas movies while pinning her piles of bright fabrics into “gowns for Barbie”, I whittled away at this and that.  We tend to share that space so easily, so contentedly.  It’s my favorite room in the house, old lady wallpaper and all.

Daddy came up with the idea to hike through a park in a neighboring County.  75 and sunny…you couldn’t ask for better Mother’s Day weather.  We must have hiked passed 20 different Mother’s Day celebrations.  Picnics, barbecues, and decorated shelters covered the park.  I loved peeking in on so much goodness.

Daddy offered up any dinner of my dreams, but I had an appetite for only one thing: Mommy’s cooking.  Hey!  Wait!  I’m the Mommy!  Good thing I love to cook.  4 helping hands took to their sous-chef’ing with a serious intent I’ve not seen before.  No one complained when I set the table in the dining room.  In fact, everyone seemed quite pleased to be eating on the good china, no company required.

It was, in every way, a normal day.  A Rottweiler from the neighborhood next door escaped, growled at Daddy, but was oddly scared off by the sight of Max.  That cat never ceases to amaze me.  Later, he and Cyrus plotted an escape by scratching a hole in the screen (lovely, thank you), and proceeded to throw up grass for the remainder of the day.  Someone threw quite a fit about correcting her Language Arts homework.  Someone else decided piano practice goes best with a side order of moaning and groaning. No one wanted to go to bed after eating warm apple pie on the back porch and taking a long bubble bath. Could I blame them?  Who would want to let go of this day?

I didn’t stay in my pj’s for more than an hour.  I’m not sure I even glanced in the direction of the TV, let alone found the time to watch a John Hughes marathon.  I didn’t make a fuss, participate in a fuss, or put up with any fuss.  I enjoyed every second of being a Mother today, and realized, that maybe for the first time since becoming a Mother, I am neither under-rested, overweight, underpaid, nor thoroughly exhausted.  I didn’t wish to be at a spa, in my old career, or hell…let’s be honest…just taking a nap.  I wanted for nothing and felt as if I had everything I could wish for.  But with that being said, you know I have my standards.  There are certain things I simply cannot do without.  I HAD MY FRIED CHICKEN.  Lots and lots of cinnamon fried chicken.  I wish for you this kind of happiness my friends.  Godspeed, and Happy Mother’s Day.

My Dearest Sara,

Should you ever decide to climb on the vanity, grab the magnetic key off the light in the bathroom, use it to open the tot lock on the medicine cabinet, root through the sundry pharma products inside, leave a bottle of melantonin sitting on top of the cabinet, and then proceed to lock the key inside the cabinet…well honey…YA’ GONNA GET CAUGHT.

I think you’d feel better if you rid your conscious of things I haven’t yet caught you doing yet.  Go ahead.  I’m listening.

We may have different hair.  We may have different skin.  But we are family FO’SHO’:

Kelly: Mommy, skip to the “Yellow Diamonds In The Sun” song.  It’s my favorite.

(Sounds of Mommy, Sara, and Kelly quietly singing along….”We fell in love in a huh-huh place..”)

Mommy: Hey guys.  What are you saying?  I don’t think you’re saying, “We fell in love in a hopeless place.”

Sara: We’re not.  Kelly just said, “We fell in love and a hole displaced.”

Mommy: Do you even know what that means?

Kelly: I have no idea what I’m saying.

Sara: I was singing, “We fell in love and a whole disgrace.”

Mommy: That’s sad.

Sara: OH REALLY? Because what are YOU singing Mommy?

Mommy: Um, well, I was singing, “We fell in love in a homeless place.”

Sara: That’s awful!

Mommy: I know!  I can’t help it.  It comes on the Kidz Bop CD right as we drive into downtown every morning, and we are always passing homeless people when the song plays, and I can’t get it out of my head!

Sara: No really…awful.

Kelly: How does someone fall in love in a homeless place?  What is everyone talking about?!

Sara: Hopeless place.  That doesn’t even make any sense.

Kelly: We should change it to the Hello song.  This isn’t my favorite song anymore.  I need a donut.

* You still carry your dice around like loveys.  They quickly overflowed the bag I made for you, and have since taken up residence in this little suitcase.  You were sad you could only take 100 to One Hundred’s Day at school.  How could you choose ONLY 100 dice?

* You have a love/hate relationship with piano.  It’s not a pretty thing to watch.  A child who screams at the keys and then plays “Ode To Joy” is much like watching a madman invent Frankenstein.  I’d like to explain this heated learning curve, but as your Momma who gave it to you, I know it just comes with the package.

* You absolutely despise being 4.  It’s a daily mantra.  “I’m almost 5, I’m almost 5, I’m almost 5″.  You’re so over the chant, you’ve started telling strangers you are 5, following the pattern you’ve followed since you were 2.  You won’t outgrow this stage until you’re 21.  Ugh.

* Getting time alone with you is like taking a Time Machine to my own childhood.  You rattle on and on, this way and that, almost nonsensically, unless I’m really paying close attention.  Within those threads of broken conversation is a sense of humor so deep, so unexpected, that to miss even a fraction of it is like throwing a diamond into the sea.

* You are so quick.  You seem to learn when no one is noticing.  My educational curve with you goes something like, “Wait…I don’t remember teaching you to do that…”.  Writing your name, reading, counting, adding…you just do it.  I waiver between stunned silence and celebration.  Last weekend you walked upstairs holding “Hop On Pop”, cuddled up on the couch next to me and Aunt Jenny and Aunt Lydia, and read the entire book.  Like it was nothing.  Like you knew how to read, and excuse me, but when did that happen?  To keep you busy during Sara’s homework, I gave you an addition worksheet last night, and a bag of blocks.  Done.  Nothing seems to take you more than 5 minutes.  Except “Ode To Joy”.  Don’t get me started again.

* You are scared to your bones about Kindergarten.  I know because every time we pass the Kindergarten team of teachers, you tell them how much YOU CAN’T WAIT FOR KINDERGARTEN!!  That’s Kelly-Code for, “Oh My God, I’m so frightened, I think I might die right here in the carpool line.”  You told Aunt Lydia you can’t possibly go to Kindergarten because you can’t read or do math. I can’t wait for the pleasant surprise of Day 1 when you discover, yet again, the world is your oyster.

* While your uni-mood has been switched out for a rainbow of emotions that change per minute, you somehow make it work.  We’ve so bought into your character that you could wake up writing Chinese and we’d still see YOU.  Everything works on you: whining, laughter, singing, screaming…what can I say girl?  You look great in every hat.

*The flavor which permeates the right now and will last forever tastes something like: we love you, we love you, we love you.  This house of people, cats and chaos simply adores you.

Your Historian,

Mommy

P.S. Thanks for the Chinese “I Love You” Mother’s Day Card written in hanzi.  Seriously…hanzi Kelly.  You wrote in hanzi and I can’t get you to shampoo or brush your own hair.  I may be stretching here, but sometimes I think you’re holding out on me.

Oh, my sweet Little Bear.  You came with me, sneaking away into the inside corner of my closet, where you taught me to read.  You showed me the way to the Moon.  I believed Ducks would surely join me at the my next Birthday dinner.  I can’t imagine I was alone in loving you.  I brought you with me into adulthood, along with these carefully tended pages.  My girls love you too, maybe even more, as they’ve seen you come to life on the screen.

Goodnight, Little Bear.  Rest well in your fur coat, with belly full of Birthday Soup, surrounded by Lucy and the crew.  Thank you for the memories.

If you recall, a couple of weeks ago, I mentioned the girls are participating in their school’s annual fundraiser, and I am the “Coach” of Sara’s class.  I am Kelly’s Class Calendar parent, which is an all-year position, and PERHAPS I should have taken into account my dedication to her scholarly efforts this year…alas, in a fit of madness…I simply forgot.  Forgetting we created these tiny humans and expend 150% of our energies and dollars keeping them alive is where Mommy Guilt begins.  It’s important to note Mommy Guilt relies very little on logic and/or math.  But I’m guessing you already knew that.

To recap, I was on a mission for Sara’s class to win, having the most kids participating.  Those bragging rights traditionally go to a grade somewhere between 3rd-5th, and I figured…we can take ‘em.  This ain’t my first trip to the School Fundraiser Rodeo. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine a preschool grade would have tried to catch our heels.  I certainly never envisioned little Kelly and her band of highly emotional 4-5 year olds as our major competition.  Kelly.  Who, because of me, finished in the world’s closest 2nd place.  When Kelly found out, she cried.  Oh-So-Loudly.  Which felt nothing like a dagger being shoved through my heart.  It’s a good thing I’m the President Elect of the PTA next year, because I think we can all assume I won’t be coaching again.

I did the only reasonable thing imaginable: I ordered the entire Pre-Kindergarten class trophies, and made labels for our “Early Childhood Champions”.  It is the absolute truth; Sara’s class may have been the All-School Winner, but Kelly’s class certainly showed her Division how it’s done. After they run and have their celebratory popsicles, they will make a quick stop by the Music Room for a little dancing with balloons, where they will receive their trophies.  Because who doesn’t love a trophy and a high-five for School Spirit?

When it’s all said and done on Friday night, I’ll relax with my Mommy Guilt Trophy, which looks a lot like a cold beer and a bowl of popcorn.  There won’t be music, but Greg will tease me and roll his eyes several times. I laugh pretty hard when my career friends ask me if Stay-At-Home Moms ever have guilt.  HA HA HA HA HA HA…Mommy Guilt is an even playing field.  Every Mommy plays.  Every Mommy loses.  Cheers My Friends!  (sound of our bottles clinking in unison…)