I'm currently in the throws of an impractical dilemma. In an uncharacteristic move, I've just painted my fingernails. And I chose an odd color, like that blue soup from Bridget Jones' Diary. In a totally characteristic move, I unbuttoned my pants when I walked in the door to promote midsection relaxation - before the inspired nail painting. Now I face a bit of a conundrum. Do I attempt to re-button my pants with tacky nails? Or do I take my son to soccer practice with my pants noticeably open? (I actually just looked down and realized I totally forgot to paint my thumbnail... I stink at being classy, as my open jeans loudly proclaim.)
In an attempt to solve this problem, I asked my daughter to button them. Turns out this squeeze takes a little more strength than her 5-year-old hands have. How very flattering.
Speaking of her little hands... In a totally shocking turn of events, I was notified yesterday that she was caught cutting a hole in her t-shirt at school. It's not that she doesn't know how to navigate the Fiskars; instead this was a premeditated action. She expressed some dissatisfaction with the shirt I chose for her that morning. She wasn't a fan of the hand-me-down football shirt that used to belong to her brother. I flexed my maternal dictatory will. A tomboy shirt with yoga pants and sloppy up-do combo is one we all should adopt from time to time.
Marina disagreed. So Marina took action.
We've been faced with several parenting crossroads lately. This was one of them. Oddly enough, after years of trying to shirk the authority in my mother's home, it turns out I react just like her. Marina arrived back at school today in the same tomboy shirt with a piece of Scotch tape over the hole (benevolently, I paired it with a leopard-print tiered skirt and flowers in her hair). Once, after hearing a report that my brother was drawing on his desk in sixth grade, my mom forced him to miss a field trip and stay back to clean every single desk. She meant business. And apparently so do I.
Here Marina is giving me an artistic pose (and clearly over her trauma). Don't get mad at me that I made her wear that shirt to begin with. I'm deaf to your judgment.
Speaking of stellar parenting moments, for some reason, every time we drive by the Volvo dealership, Eli calls it Volva. I can't understand why he keeps saying it. I silently laughed the first time then corrected him. Since he can't seem to remember, I've stopped correcting him. One day in junior high Health class he's going to have an epiphany.
That looks like a blue 2014 Volva...
Eli asked me to take a picture of his trashy rat tail yesterday so he could see "how awesome it looks." After seeing this picture, he confirmed that, "Yeah, pretty awesome." When it gets to be 10 inches long, he can donate it.
And lastly, in a horrendous moment the other day, my coffee went tumbling off the roof of my car where I had it balanced before work. Now it looks like someone puked on my window and door. And since I'm on a nine-year no-car wash streak, it is likely going to stay that way until the next torrential downpour. Maybe that will distract passerbys from my blue nails and unbuttoned jeans.
This blog post is a bit on the ridiculous side with several different thoughts strung together loosely with abstract segues. So basically, it's like having a conversation with me on a normal day, only with pictures.
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