Remember the Muppet Show and the guy yelling, "Make-up!" every week? I do. It was always funny in that context. In regard to my own tween, it's not exactly as funny.
FirstKid is twelve and in her second year of middle school. She is a foo-foo kind of kid to begin with, but also is, in some ways, in a hurry to grow up. She tells me she sees her school peers wearing tons of make-up every day to school, and she is correct. I've checked it out, and indeed, many girls her age are wearing make-up. However, just because all the other kids' moms let them wear make-up doesn't mean I'll let mine.
I freely admit that I'm old-fashioned. LabDad is, as well, so at least we have a united front at home. I don't swear, gamble, or drink. I don't care for tattoos or odd piercings. It's just how I am. Jackie O was my fashion icon - a black dress and a strand of pearls, and I'm done. That being said, I'd love to say that I'm all for self-expression and diversity, but really, I'm not as open-minded as I ought to be.
Interestingly, over the past few months, a strange thing has happened. When seventh grade hit, FirstKid was all about make-up, accessories, the "right" shirts and jeans. Then, as party and Bar Mitzvah season hit and she found herself invited to a whole lot of fancy affairs, she made sure that the upscale dresses and heels were perfect. She started the season with the usual begging, that she really wanted to wear it, she is old enough, all of other girls are wearing it, and so forth. I admit to giving in, just for the really fancy events, and FirstKid did go easy on the goods: mascara, eye liner, light shadow, and tinted lip gloss. Somehow, though, over the past month, the party make-up has all but disappeared, and the daily routine is just mascara (she has blonde eyelashes, so I sort of understand).
Just when you think you have it all figured out, the rules change.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Turducken
I have a good friend who recently made a point of worrying about her fascination with certain words, and her subsequent brief episodes of obsession with them. While I, too, find myself fascinated with certain words and/or hung up on them, I believe my own obsession is more with the word's meaning itself. To illustrate this point, I would have you consider "turducken."
The local supermarket advertised in its pre-Thanksgiving flyer that it would be selling turducken. What exactly is turducken, you ask, as did I? It is a "roast" comprised of pieces of turkey, duck, and chicken, along with nuts and assorted filler stuff. Apparently, it is a desirable item. Or so they lead us to believe.
I guess the first scary part was that, upon seeing the ad, my husband said, "Oh, I want to try that." At first, I thought he was joking. Then he went on to discuss how it sounded like a good choice for a family meal. I suppose that the idea should not have been so objectionable to me. After all, I like turkey, I like duck, and I like chicken. Why, then, was I so skeeved out by this turducken idea?
I do not like turducken, dear,
I do not like it there or here.
I do not like those pieces parts,
That look like squid and smell like farts.
I like my poultry with a face,
Having grown in farming space.
I like a dinner that was killed,
Not mashed together from what spilled.
Turducken is, then, not for me,
So take that roast and let me be!
I tried to be rational, and the one word that kept coming to mind was "Spam." Now, to be truthful, I have never actually eaten Spam. I have seen it up close, and I have been with people while they were eating it. I even occasionally eat ham myself, so it isn't the main ingredient that's a problem. The thing is, though, that I am totally and completely grossed out by Spam. It's an irrational opinion, yet it is real. Okay, so is Spam the reason that I find turducken to be so disgusting?
I don't have an answer, in theory, but by next weekend, I hope to have a report on the real life experience of having turducken in the house.
The local supermarket advertised in its pre-Thanksgiving flyer that it would be selling turducken. What exactly is turducken, you ask, as did I? It is a "roast" comprised of pieces of turkey, duck, and chicken, along with nuts and assorted filler stuff. Apparently, it is a desirable item. Or so they lead us to believe.
I guess the first scary part was that, upon seeing the ad, my husband said, "Oh, I want to try that." At first, I thought he was joking. Then he went on to discuss how it sounded like a good choice for a family meal. I suppose that the idea should not have been so objectionable to me. After all, I like turkey, I like duck, and I like chicken. Why, then, was I so skeeved out by this turducken idea?
I do not like turducken, dear,
I do not like it there or here.
I do not like those pieces parts,
That look like squid and smell like farts.
I like my poultry with a face,
Having grown in farming space.
I like a dinner that was killed,
Not mashed together from what spilled.
Turducken is, then, not for me,
So take that roast and let me be!
I tried to be rational, and the one word that kept coming to mind was "Spam." Now, to be truthful, I have never actually eaten Spam. I have seen it up close, and I have been with people while they were eating it. I even occasionally eat ham myself, so it isn't the main ingredient that's a problem. The thing is, though, that I am totally and completely grossed out by Spam. It's an irrational opinion, yet it is real. Okay, so is Spam the reason that I find turducken to be so disgusting?
I don't have an answer, in theory, but by next weekend, I hope to have a report on the real life experience of having turducken in the house.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Tweens
And I thought raising a puppy was challenging...
I have two daughters. FirstKid is 12 and SecondKid is 9. While I absolutely adore them both, FirstKid is not only higher maintenance in general, but she's also at THAT AGE. She is a true "tween" now - that scary stage that is between childhood and real teenagerhood. She secretly plays with dolls with the one remaining friend who also secretly still loves dolls; she likes to snuggle in bed with Mom and Dad every once in a while; and she is still slightly afraid of the dark. At the same time, she likes to babysit; she loves being independent and shopping with her friends at the mall; and she carries a cell phone. The trouble lays not in the process of metamorphosis, but in the attitude the caterpillar gives to Mom and Dad on a daily basis.
Tween Rules:
1. Mom and Dad know nothing, and they know less if my friends are around.
2. Mom and Dad only understand me if I yell all answers.
3. If Mom and Dad like it, I shouldn't wear it.
4. If Mom says no, ask Dad and pretend it's a new thought.
5. Treat all siblings as poorly as possible.
6. Disagree with or correct Mom and Dad at all times.
7. A huge after school snack will not ruin my appetite for dinner.
8. Television helps schoolwork.
9. Mom and Dad have to drive me wherever I want to go, whenever I ask, and immediately.
10. If I forget to take to school something like my trombone, it's Mom or Dad's job to drive it to school for me.
I gave birth to a delightful blonde baby who was full of smiles and loved to talk. My current housemate likes to correct every action I perform, is negative most of the time, and is impossible to squeeze for information. When did she make her cocoon? When did she poke a hole from which to look around and check the world out?
SecondKid is still in the delightful, obedient, helpful stage. I can only hope it lasts before that nasty caterpillar does its thing again. Of course, by then, my butterfly will hopefully be flying around, finding different ways each day to fill her life with joy.
I have two daughters. FirstKid is 12 and SecondKid is 9. While I absolutely adore them both, FirstKid is not only higher maintenance in general, but she's also at THAT AGE. She is a true "tween" now - that scary stage that is between childhood and real teenagerhood. She secretly plays with dolls with the one remaining friend who also secretly still loves dolls; she likes to snuggle in bed with Mom and Dad every once in a while; and she is still slightly afraid of the dark. At the same time, she likes to babysit; she loves being independent and shopping with her friends at the mall; and she carries a cell phone. The trouble lays not in the process of metamorphosis, but in the attitude the caterpillar gives to Mom and Dad on a daily basis.
Tween Rules:
1. Mom and Dad know nothing, and they know less if my friends are around.
2. Mom and Dad only understand me if I yell all answers.
3. If Mom and Dad like it, I shouldn't wear it.
4. If Mom says no, ask Dad and pretend it's a new thought.
5. Treat all siblings as poorly as possible.
6. Disagree with or correct Mom and Dad at all times.
7. A huge after school snack will not ruin my appetite for dinner.
8. Television helps schoolwork.
9. Mom and Dad have to drive me wherever I want to go, whenever I ask, and immediately.
10. If I forget to take to school something like my trombone, it's Mom or Dad's job to drive it to school for me.
I gave birth to a delightful blonde baby who was full of smiles and loved to talk. My current housemate likes to correct every action I perform, is negative most of the time, and is impossible to squeeze for information. When did she make her cocoon? When did she poke a hole from which to look around and check the world out?
SecondKid is still in the delightful, obedient, helpful stage. I can only hope it lasts before that nasty caterpillar does its thing again. Of course, by then, my butterfly will hopefully be flying around, finding different ways each day to fill her life with joy.
Monday, November 20, 2006
This is my first REAL post, and since I have this cool title to my blog, I'll start with black labs. The honest truth is that I fell madly in love at age eight.
(Sung to the tune of "Copa Cabana")
His name was Pepper
He was a blockhead
With no leash upon his neck
He was really smart as heck
His owner brought him
Each week to practice
I rubbed his back and face and chin
Then my girlish head would spin
I knew I loved that pup
And when I grew up
I just had to have a lab
I had that canine "kup" (that's Yiddish for head or mindset)
Okay, okay, I'm just being silly. It is the truth, though, that I fell for a dog named Pepper at choir practice. His owner never had him on a leash because he didn't need one. He obeyed. He sat quietly. He endured children including me. He was smart and friendly and I began my fantasy of owning a black lab of my own some day. Six weeks after my husband and I bought our first house, we had a baby girl - an AKC registered female named Cricket. She was the sweetest thing - probably the dumbest, as well, but sweetest. I say she was dumb because if she was in the bathroom which had two doors and one was shut, she couldn't find her way out. On the other hand, she figured out how to work the step-on mechanism on the trash compactor and used it as a self-serve snack machine.
I'm going to fast forward to many years later (I'll post on the middle years at a later date.), a year after Cricket passed away and we were a family with a palpable hole in it. We heard that a direct descendant of the original Pepper was pregnant and expecting a litter of all blacks soon. Well, we just HAD to have one of Pepper's great-great-great...grandpups, and shortly found ourselves bringing home an eight week old, fifteen pound bundle of joy whom we reverently named Pepper.
Pepper is presently a 95 lb. GORGEOUS boy. He has a perfect block head, big paws, and a picturesque physique worthy of a calendar. While he has outgrown the obligatory mischievous puppyhood, he still has a few moments when he deserves the "I can't control myself" sign hung on him as he faces the wall in the corner. He cannot resist eating flip-flops; he nibbles trash novels; he gets high off of dirty sweat socks. On the other hand, he almost never barks, he freezes when he sees a squirrel or cat (like when the kids play the statue game), and he doesn't drink from the toilet. He is always in a good mood, and always has a wiggle for visitors. Regrettably, he is not a kissy dog, but he does prefer closeness, and his snuggle on the couch is worthy of attention. At two and a half years old, Pepper is the near perfect model of a suburban dog.
I'll tell you more later, but for now, suffice to say that I am truly in love with this beast.
(Sung to the tune of "Copa Cabana")
His name was Pepper
He was a blockhead
With no leash upon his neck
He was really smart as heck
His owner brought him
Each week to practice
I rubbed his back and face and chin
Then my girlish head would spin
I knew I loved that pup
And when I grew up
I just had to have a lab
I had that canine "kup" (that's Yiddish for head or mindset)
Okay, okay, I'm just being silly. It is the truth, though, that I fell for a dog named Pepper at choir practice. His owner never had him on a leash because he didn't need one. He obeyed. He sat quietly. He endured children including me. He was smart and friendly and I began my fantasy of owning a black lab of my own some day. Six weeks after my husband and I bought our first house, we had a baby girl - an AKC registered female named Cricket. She was the sweetest thing - probably the dumbest, as well, but sweetest. I say she was dumb because if she was in the bathroom which had two doors and one was shut, she couldn't find her way out. On the other hand, she figured out how to work the step-on mechanism on the trash compactor and used it as a self-serve snack machine.
I'm going to fast forward to many years later (I'll post on the middle years at a later date.), a year after Cricket passed away and we were a family with a palpable hole in it. We heard that a direct descendant of the original Pepper was pregnant and expecting a litter of all blacks soon. Well, we just HAD to have one of Pepper's great-great-great...grandpups, and shortly found ourselves bringing home an eight week old, fifteen pound bundle of joy whom we reverently named Pepper.
Pepper is presently a 95 lb. GORGEOUS boy. He has a perfect block head, big paws, and a picturesque physique worthy of a calendar. While he has outgrown the obligatory mischievous puppyhood, he still has a few moments when he deserves the "I can't control myself" sign hung on him as he faces the wall in the corner. He cannot resist eating flip-flops; he nibbles trash novels; he gets high off of dirty sweat socks. On the other hand, he almost never barks, he freezes when he sees a squirrel or cat (like when the kids play the statue game), and he doesn't drink from the toilet. He is always in a good mood, and always has a wiggle for visitors. Regrettably, he is not a kissy dog, but he does prefer closeness, and his snuggle on the couch is worthy of attention. At two and a half years old, Pepper is the near perfect model of a suburban dog.
I'll tell you more later, but for now, suffice to say that I am truly in love with this beast.
Look out, bloggers, 'cuz here I come!
I've been secretly wanting to create my own blog for a while now, but it took a friend's gentle shove to get me to do it. I feel as if I just moved into a gigantic empty house - the potential is so exciting! I have to stop writing now, just to see what this looks like. I'll be right back.
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