A Letter to a Teenaged Punkin

My boss met with a client recently who brought along his daughter and his fifteen-year-old granddaughter. My boss was astounded by the disdain with which the granddaughter treated her mother.

I had lunch with a woman yesterday who recounted the struggles she had with her very rebellious daughter. And today my boss and I had a conversation about mother-daughter relationships and how they inevitably seem to go sour and how we both treated our mothers terribly for a while.

I can remember those days clearly -- with shame. I have no idea why I treated my mother so poorly. Frankly, I don't see how she kept from shipping me off somewhere until I came to my senses.

I hope it won't happen with me and Punkin, but chances are it will, even if just for a brief period of time (at least I hope it's brief). I don't know if my kids will ever read this blog, but just in case they do, I'd like to tell my future teenaged daughter a few things.

Dear Punkin,

I love you. I was thrilled when I found out I was having a girl. Now I had somebody to have tea parties with. Somebody to play dress up with. But also somebody to pass along my love of baseball and football too. And don't even get me started on the girl clothes!

And you and I have already had our struggles -- HELLO terrible twos! But we also have our good times. Every morning when I wake you up, I sit down beside your toddler bed and you crawl into my lap, resting your head on my shoulder while you wake up. Lately you've taken to asking me to lie down beside you. And I comply -- who could resist such a sweet request? (though I do fear for the toddler bed slats!)

Every day when I pick you up from school, you run to me yelling "MOMMY!" and I yell out "Poodle Bear" which is my other pet name for you. Or "Poodle Pants." Or "Punkin Butter." I pick you up and we give each other a big hug.

Tonight as we were getting ready for bed you said something about "My very best friend ever."

"Who's your best friend ever?" I asked.

"You are!" you said, your gorgeous smile lighting up your face as you wrapped your arms around me.

"You're my best friend ever, too!" I said. And you are.

See, you did like me once. And one day you will again.

I love you, Punkin.
Mommy

Buffy! Buffy! Wherefore Art Thou, Buffy?

Do you know who I really miss? These guys:

I miss them almost like family. This was probably the only show that I have ever been certifiably hooked on. Obsessive about. Like freak-out-because-I'm-not-home-and-forgot-to-set-the-VCR obsessive. On the rare occasion that this happened, I always had someone I could call -- usually my mom -- who would take pity on me and record it for me.

The first minute or so of my 15 minutes of fame came from this show. Sarah Michelle Gellar was taking online questions on E! Online and she answered my question first.

But I guess I'm not truly a hardcore fan. I don't own all the seasons on DVD, though I would love to. I can't call the episodes by their names. though I do know a few. But I can tell you what happened in just about every episode.

And lord did I get invested in those characters. Has there ever been a more heartbreaking moment on television than when Buffy had to kill Angel? Or when Angel killed Jenny Calendar? Or when Oz betrayed and then left Willow? Or when Spike told Buffy how long she had been dead, down to the second.

Or when Buffy told Spike that he was beneath her? Or when Joyce died? Or when Buffy finally told her friends that they had ripped her out of heaven?

See what I mean? I still get all torn up over these story lines.

Mr. Daddy used to say that I had the hots for Buffy. He wished. Don't get me wrong. She was a kick-ass girl and I liked that about her. But really it was the peripheral characters I loved most. The Scoobies. Xander. Willow. Giles. Oh my God when I thought Willow had killed Giles I nearly lost it. Spike. (rowr! I definitely have a thing for British accents) Cordelia. Even poor Anya, who bought the farm in the end.

Yeah, I miss those guys.

That Was So Fun Let's Do It Again

On Saturday morning I awoke feeling optimistic. The holiday weekend lay before me and I wasn't sure what we had planned, but I wanted to do something fun. I wasn't sure what it was going to be, but I just wanted to do....something. Anything.

When Mr. Daddy announced that he would be doing projects around the house all day, my hopes were slightly dashed. BUT, it was a gorgeous day and I was bound and determined that we were going OUT. However, we live in the middle of nowhere and with gas prices being what they are we had to stick fairly close to home.

Fortunately, there is a gorgeous state park near my house -- $3 per car to get in the park-- and they just so happened to have opened their pool on Saturday. I announced loudly to whoever was listening that my children WOULD NOT lie around like broccoli all day in front of the television, so I suited everyone up, sunscreamed (as Punkin says) everybody and headed off to the pool at the state park near my house.

We arrived and changed Punkin into her swim diaper and bathing suit. We probably could have skipped the swim diaper, but Punkin is in that very unpredictable time during potty training where sometimes she seems to get it and sometimes it's like we just started. I mean, usually she has no problem dropping her "friends" off at the "pool," but the peeing, well, we're just not there yet. And I didn't want Punkin to drop her friends off in this pool, so we put on the swim diaper.

So, we finally headed over to the kiddie pool, a prerequisite since neither of my kids can swim and I don't know about you but I don't want to wrangle two non-swimmers in any water over a foot deep. I don't have that kind of strength or patience. I might add that the kiddie pool was alllll the way at the end of the big pool and around a little corner. And we proceeded to have a great time until Punkin decided she had to go potty. And since there was no one to watch Bubba, we all had to trek alllll the way back to the potty.

Where Punkin decided that she did not, in fact, have to go after all. However, I did make her at least get up there and try, during which time I managed to let go of her for one second and during which nanosecond she fell, sort of, into the potty. Which at the time she found very amusing.

We do the wet swimsuit pull up struggle and then we trek alllll the way back to the kiddie pool, where we play happily for, oh, about five minutes before I hear "Mommy, I need to go potty."

And here we go again. Wash, rinse, repeat, minus the falling in but add in a little amusement-turned-- terror of falling in the potty that seems to have appeared in the five minutes between bathroom visits.

Back to the kiddie pool. Rumble, rumble, rumble. Guh-reat. Thunder. Which in pool-speak is "Everybody out of the pool!" Pool rules mandated that we had to clear the deck for at least twenty minutes after the last rumble of thunder. Again, guh-reat. Fortunately, I had planned ahead and brought snacks and drinks in the car, so we headed allll the way back out to the car.

Where we waited. And waited. And waited. After a good twenty minutes I finally spotted someone coming out of the office. "Is the pool going to re-open soon?" I asked.

"Oh, we're on pool break now. It'll be another twenty minutes." WTH? Why couldn't they have done pool break during the twenty thunder minutes? The kids barely tolerated the thunder break, but add the pool break on top of that and we were done for.

That pretty much sums up the day. Well except for these minor events: an aborted trip to the playground, some sandy, pee-filled Frocs (faux Crocs) due to my rookie decision not to change Punkin back into a regular pullup, some fear of loud toilets (Bubba), a refusal to enter the ladies restroom so Mommy could do the flushing (see: Bubba above), a meltdown of titanic proportions (see: pee filled Frocs, lack of more snacks), a bleeding, scraped knee (Punkin), a toddler chase (Mommy, Punkin) and one pissed off Mommy (self-explanatory).

I can't wait to do it again next weekend.

Two Bits

of randomness....

I left my office at lunch for a little bit for fresh (and warm!) air. As I was walking I saw a girl talking and gesticulating wildly...to no one. Upon further examination I realized that she had a bluetooth headset on. But here's a little FYI to all you headset talkers -- I know the technology exists, but when I see you walking down the street talking to yourself, my first thought is "uh oh, cuh-razy!" Also, note to girl from today? The person you're talking to can't see the air quotes you just made. Just so you know.

I am such a child of the 80s. Who besides me went "SQUEEE" when they realized George Michael was going to be on American Idol last night? I know the guy has had his share of, um, arrests troubles, but I still love him. He was probably the first in a long line of gay boys that I loved until I found out what gay was. I was talking to some moms recently who had gone to a Bon Jovi concert and I was like "meh." But George Michael? Or Duran Duran? OMG, I am so there!!

In Which We Wander Around and Finally Get Back To My Point

We've probably all heard of The Colbert Bump, but I hypothesize that there are other "bumps" out there that are just as powerful -- the Mir bump and the Dooce bump. Mir has linked to me a couple of times and I didn't know it until I checked my stats and was like "holy crap! where are all these people coming from?" And strangely enough I've been getting a lot of links from a comment I left on Dooce's site a couple of days ago. I mean, these are two of the most popular bloggers out there, so hey, yay me, you know? On the other hand, I'm pretty sure that the posts people found when they clicked over were complete crap not my best work. So the moral of this story? Don't write crap because you never know when you'll get "bumped."

But the above is not actually what I started out to write about tonight. What I really wanted to write about was writers who really put it all out there. Who don't hold anything back and write honestly -- and wittily -- about what's going on in their lives. And how I wish I could do the same.

I think I'm probably one of the last people in the world to read Dooce. I know, I know. What was my problem? I'm not sure. I have this very weird aversion to things that are too popular. I could probably dig deep into my psyche to try to figure it out, but I guess it boils down to the fact that if the masses love it, it must be pablum and not worthy of my time. I really need to get over myself because I've been proven wrong a lot in my life. Grey's Anatomy? Love it (or did, anyway, once). Blogging? Hooked. Mir? Fangirl -- though in a way she doesn't count because I didn't really realize how popular she was when I started reading her. She was, after all, only the second blog I ever read. And now Dooce? I'm hooked. (I should probably give Miami Vice and ER a second look -- both popular shows of which I have never watched a single episode due to the above quirk).

Maybe it's because I discovered Heather's blog when she was "under fire" from Kathie Lee and I felt a kinship with her because I, too, am a "mommy blogger." Maybe I felt the need to circle the wagons. I am just fascinated by the way that Heather and Mir are able to open up about so much that's going on in their lives. I'm sure they don't share every detail, but I'm certain they share a lot. And I envy that a little.

In real life I'm a little bit reserved. I've always been one to hold back a little and sometimes I hate that. I think this reserve has, on occasion, kept me from making friends. Sometimes I wish I could just let go of this shell and relate more openly with people and in my writing. We've had a lot go on in our life in the past two years and sometimes it feels like a heavy weight on my shoulders, or like my finger stuffed in a crack in a dam. It would just be such a release to let it all go.

But sometimes it's easier just to keep it all in.

It's All Relative

Today I had something kind of weird happen. Something that made me feel a little uncomfortable. I went to my second weight watchers meeting and I felt, well, not unwanted exactly, but I definitely got a vibe of "what are YOU doing here?" from a couple of women -- not any of the counselors mind you, but some of the other people at the meeting. This one girl WOULD NOT STOP STARING AT ME. I'd like to think it was because I was so stunningly gorgeous she couldn't look away, but every time I looked her way and smiled my friendly little half smile, she would look away. Not smiling. Sure, I could just be paranoid but I'm a pretty good reader of people and body language and there was a definite chill.

The truth of the matter is that I was one of the skinniest people there, but you know, skinny is a relative term. Sure, I might have been smaller than most of the women in attendance, but I am a good 20 pounds over my physician identified ideal weight, which I'm pretty sure qualifies me as overweight.

This has actually happened to me before. I joined Weight Watchers years ago when we still lived in our hometown. I joined with a friend as moral support, though I did need to lose about 15 pounds at that time. At my first meeting I ran into the father of a guy I went to high school with and he laughingly said to me "What are you doing here? You don't need to lose weight! We beat up girls like you after class." He was only kidding and we all had a good laugh, but still.

So, why do I feel like I need to give my fat "pedigree" to feel legit? Do I need to tell them that several members of my extended family are what is now termed morbidly obese? That I struggle with food all the time? I love to eat, but if I ate everything I wanted to eat, I would be huge. It's a constant battle of wanting more of whatever it is that I'm eating and then immediately feeling guilty after I eat more.

I'm doing this to get healthy. To get thinner, sure, I'm not going to lie. But mostly I'm doing this because I want to be healthy example for my daughter. How fantastic would it be if she could have a healthy relationship with food? THAT is my real goal.

And guess what, y'all? I lost four pounds. And it felt great.

Beautiful

Rain is gone. Sun's up.
Rays peek through the trees, as though
Heaven has opened.

Glad to be alive--
Hope springs eternal -- this is
the good life I've got.

Happy Friday, everyone!

For more Haiku, visit Jennifer over at Playgroups Are No Place For Children and Christina at A Mommy Story!