Monday, August 30, 2010

Like sands through the hour glass

This summer, the Roo-girl has developed a fondness for soap operas -- "General Hospital" in particular.
She finds it hilarious that, in my youth, I also was addicted to the hijinks of the denizens of Port Charles, as well as the folks of Pine Valley's "All My Children."

So Roo has made it her business to re-hook me on her soap, offering play-by-play and background information as we watched several days' work of "GH" reruns on the Soap Network on Sunday.

It's not working particularly, since there's very little of MY "Hospital" characters and plot lines remaining, and all the mob stuff is a little off-topic for a soap, in my opinion.

But it has been yet another opportunity for mother-daughter time, which of course I grab every chance I get.

And so it was that we were watching the Soap Network when some weird commercial/episode'ish thing came on.

It's called "What If" and seems to be a meeting of two characters from two separate ABC soaps -- in this case it was from Blair Cramer of "One Life to Live" and Tad Martin of "All My Children."

I was barely paying attention until the visual and the audio finally clicked in my head.

The Tad Martin dude on the TV screen looked like this:

Excuse me, but this guy? This guy has gray hair.

Now, back when I was young and watched "All My Children," Tad Martin was an orphan who was dumped in Pine Valley and was adopted by the Martin family.


Can I say it again? This guy has GRAY HAIR!!!!!!

When I told Roo that MY Tad Martin was 10 years old or, at the most, a teenager or young adult, she burst into hysterical laughter.

"Oh. My. GAWD. MOM!!!" she gasped. "Do you feel old now?"

Yep. I totally fart dust.

Crossposted at Mid-Century Modern Moms

Saturday, August 28, 2010

The best laid plans ...

Twenty-one years ago, at precisely 10:33 a.m. Pacific Daylight Time, they pulled 8 pounds, 4 ounces of wailing baby boy out of my belly and laid him on my chest.

I took one look in his then-blue eyes and was lost forever in their beauty and depth.

Little did I know -- at that exact moment -- that those eyes would be the bane of his existence.

All I knew -- at that exact moment -- was that he held my heart.

21. How can he be 21?

The 2-year-old who coined the word "ridiclious"  and "time a go," still part of family lexicon today.

The 3-year-old who had the first of MANY eye surgeries and followup consults.

The 5-year-old who never let on that he was reading until his kindergarten teacher clued me in.

The 10-year-old who asked for kitchen utensils instead of a GameBoy for Hanukkah.

The 11-year-old who asked me what I would do if he got a scholarship to Harvard (I told him I would dance in the streets).

The same 11-year-old who, when told that oboe players could write their own ticket for college, told me to get ready to start dancing.

The 13-year-old who made my heart burst with pride when he stood in front of our synagogue congregation, read from the Torah and became a man in the eyes of the Jewish community.

The 16-year-old who finally figured out that grades DO matter and started actually DOING his homework.

The 17-year-old who graduated from high school with an acceptance to culinary school.

The 19-year-old who graduated from that culinary school with a degree and came home to me.

The 20-year-old who had a plan to go back to school to finish a degree in nutrition -- and is following through with it.

Today he is 21. Today he planned to party all day and night with his cronies. Today he planned to take his first -- ahem -- LEGAL drink in the state of California.

But he won't.

Because today -- the 21st anniversary of his arrival in this world, in my life, in my heart -- he is running a fever of 101.7.

Who said there isn't a God?

Monday, August 23, 2010

Yep, she's back

We were sitting around on Sunday night ... just Roo, Wonderhubby and me. We were watching a little prime-time television and quietly enjoying each other's company.

It had been another too-short weekend, filled with errands, football picnics, cheer practice, our traditional $1.49 hot-dog-and-soda combo lunch at Costco. The usual.

And I sighed dramatically.

"I don't want to go to work tomorrow."

Roo turned to look at me and shrugged.

"And I don't want to go to cheer tomorrow. But you know," she continued, looking deep into my eyes, "we ALL have to do things we don't want to do ..."

*pregnant pause ...*

And I fell out of my chair laughing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

OK, people, if you haven't checked out my post on the Room 704 site, now would be the time. Leave a comment too. That way, I can look like one of the popular kids. Heh heh heh.

Crossposted at Mid-Century Modern Moms

Monday, August 16, 2010

Sometimes, all you need is a little retail therapy

I wish I could say that Roo has had a great summer, filled with friends and excitement.

But the truth is that Roo has mostly spent the summer with me.

In the last couple weeks especially, Roo and I have made multiple let's-get-the-heck-outta-here excursions.

One trip to the mall, where we took in a movie and -- in a moment of spontaneous goofiness -- we each put a second set of holes in our ears.

"This is so cool," Roo said as we left the store, giggling together, with our little list of post-piercing instructions and bottles of antiseptic.

And I had to agree.

The next trip started out less auspiciously.

It was 10:30 at night, and the walls -- and the mean girls -- were closing in on the both of us.

"Can we just go out and drive around?" she asked me.

I looked back at her tear-stained face.

"Let's go to the movies," I said.

"What?" she asked, incredulous.

"Seriously -- let's go. Now."

So we did.

It was a midnight show, and we were literally the only two in the theater. We put our feet up on the seats in front of us, talked out loud, shared popcorn and Sour Patch Kids.  And when the credits rolled, my baby was smiling again.

We got home at 2 in the morning. My 6 a.m. alarm was not a welcome sound, but I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Roo and I have had our moments. When she was 13 and 14, I was ready to sell her to the gypsies.

When she was 14 and 15, she pretty much wished that I would disappear.

Now that she is 16, we have discovered something pretty darned important.

We like each other.

A lot.

Now how cool is THAT?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, the very cool ladies of Room 704 have published the August edition of their very cool site (cool because -- ahem -- I'm one of them!).

Check out our posts on the theme of "growth."

Especially mine.

Crossposted at Mid-Century Modern Moms

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Me and my baby, my baby and me

Don't mind me... I'm just lovin' my phone.

... And trying to win a camera bag from Secret Agent Mama!


Monday, August 2, 2010

The old nasties

A funny thing happened this weekend.

The competition cheer squad (which, for the record, does NOT include Roo's mean girl) had practice all weekend and finished up with a surprise team builder: a whiffle ball game, cheerleaders against the parents.

Now, first of all, that's hilarious from the get-go because I am NOT the athlete. My kid did NOT get her abilities from me, that's for sure.

So -- heh heh heh -- I called the role of "official photographer" for the team. The other parents went for that as far as fielding was concerned, but when it came to taking a turn at the plate, there was no escaping it.

"Come on, Janet, DO IT!" they all called to me.

And I immediately shot back in time to elementary school -- and being picked last for any and EVERY team.

Yes, I had my own versions of mean girls, 1950s and '60s style.

In fact, when my incredibly gorgeous daughter started on the high school cheer team, I had a visceral response that I chronicled here, which I called the Sally Smith effect -- the ability for a certain type of girl/woman to make me feel instantly inferior.

My first at-bat was less than stellar, but the second? I swung, made contact, raced to first base (SAFE!!!!) and even scored on a series of parent hits that followed.

But here's the funny thing. You see, we have a little high school reunion coming up this fall. It's a big, scary number. I graduated from high school in 1970, so you can do the math.

Facebook has been an amazing tool to make this reunion happen. I have friended and been friended by people who I haven't heard from or thought about in -- ahem -- a lot of years. People who I was actually friends with, and people who were, well, um, not on my hit parade.

I guess the years fuzz out the memories some, huh?

So because I am a big girl now, I posted my photo of a-swing-and-a-miss on my Facebook account, followed by the declaration that I also got a hit and scored a run ... "so take THAT, elementary school mean girls who always picked me last for the team!"

I was unprepared for the comments that followed -- from friends who I know were in the same boat as I was ... and from schoolmates who clearly weren't.

In fact, here is the comment that rocked me on my foundation:

"I was there... I remember those awful feelings and how mean some of the girls were... I hope you didn't think I was a mean girl. That's so long ago, see you at the reunion?"

Um. Yes, my dear, you WERE a mean girl. Don't you remember?

This reunion is going to be VERY interesting ...

Crossposted at Mid-Century Modern Moms

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Weekly Winners: July 25-31

Photos. We've got photos.

The official cheer photographer is back in action, although this time we're not talking cheer mats.

We're talking the whiffle ball field.

It was the parents vs. the girls. And it wasn't pretty. (Except for the girls. They were.)

Anyway ... In these next few photos, make sure you look for where the BALL is.

Janet HITS:

Yes, that white dot way up in the upper right of the photo IS the ball!
Take THAT, elementary school mean girls who always picked me last for the team.

And Janet DOESN'T:

I know. It's kinda cheating to post photos OF me that I clearly didn't shoot as Weekly Winners.
Oh well.  Guess I'll take my bat and ball and go home! *snicker*

My girl shows why she is a competitive cheerleader, not a softball player:

Nice face, Roo.

This is what it looks like when she ISN'T swingin' and missin':

Dig the ... ahem ... eye black?

Chest bump!

From the diamond to the pool to cool off:

No, not my kid. She's blond, remember?

And one more for good measure. This is also not my kid, but one of the girls working on a standing full in the team's gymnastics class. A standing full is a corkscrew-looking thing from a standing position (no momentum) that is incredibly difficult.

This was shot (fuzzily) with my phone and sharpened up as best I could. Next time I'm taking my REAL camera to the gym!

That's it from whiffle ball central. Check out the other Weekly Winner photographers at Lotus' house!
All Rights Reserved. Planet of Janet, 2010.