Yesterday, I got all weepy & sentimental, partially due to pms, and cried into my keyboard as I typed about my daughter turning 13. I am now able to label some of those feeling as mourning the loss of childhood as well as the birth of crow’s feet. (Thank you very much Ms. Childless Therapist.)
Today, I’ll giggle as I tell you about the party we threw for her last weekend.
This picture was taken as the guests were still arriving. I had to hide out like the paparazzi on the pool deck because I wasn’t “allowed” to take photographs. As we all see, I did anyway. So there.
We ended up with around 25-30 kids. (Sure, there’s a gray area. What? You expect me to keep track of them ALL?) They played volleyball, soccer and braved the Great Dane booby traps barefooted. Yes, we had quite a few poopie-footed casualties but hey, they were forewarned…and later sprayed off.
As the sun began to set, the group decided to play a round of Hide & Go Seek. Of course, there were a couple of kids that considered themselves extra clever so they opted not to be found. Things got a little dicey there for a bit (I’m not gonna lie. There were tears.) but the girls finally emerged unharmed when my husband went out in “in search” on his ATV armed with a flashlight and his bullhorn. His. Favorite. Part.
By this time, it was just about dark so the kids huddled close to the house and proceeded to scare the ever loving shit out of each other by telling ghost stories and claiming to “see eyes” in the nearby wood line. (Yes, we had a perfectly, pleasantly decorated basement with food and everything INDOORS but they wanted to be outside. What do I know? )
Well, apparently a few of the girls got REALLY scared. Like so scared they called 911. From my backyard.
“Hello?”
“Who am I speaking with?”
“Who AM I speaking with?”
“Ma’am, this is the 911 operator. We just received a call from your premises where children were heard screaming. What’s going on there?”
“Oh, well, you see, um, we’re having my daughter’s 13th birthday party and the kids are outside and I guess they thought they saw something in the woods but it was probably just a deer because, you know, we live in the country out here.”
“Well, I heard a great deal of screaming for help.”
“Help? I think they were just getting themselves all worked up and messing around. They are all back inside now and I can assure you that everything is fine.”
“I’m still going to need to get your information and talk to the sheriff about this. Whether or not we send a squad car will be up to him.”
“Greaaaat. That should coincide nicely with the droves of parents picking up their children.”
“Ma’am?”
“Nothing…sorry.”
Luck was on our side that night because Sherrif Billy Bob Jo Blow (no offense, officer) must not have deemed the screaming 911 call worthy of a drive by.
If we were somehow 13 years old at the same time, in a crazy parallel universe, I know we would be the very best of friends.
Today you turn 13.
That age doesn’t seem so far away because I feel like I was still a child myself when I had you. I remember how it felt to be 13 with the whole world in front of me. It gave me a great sense of power and strength.
I see that strength in you, too.
There is something to be said about us firstborns. We don’t need as much in some ways but require more in others. I understand the eye rolls and the shoulder shrugs but I never knew how they felt when I used them on my own mother.
Much of my struggle with you seems like karma and I tend to trust it even when it hurts.
Why?
Because if, in a few years, you and I end up as close as I am with my mother, nothing else will matter. Until then, I will continue to guide you around life’s potholes and try not to embarrass you too much.
You keep on being that strong girl with a brilliant mind and a compassionate heart. And remember that I love you with all of mine.
I can’t wait to see where life takes you.
Only I wish it would take you a little more slowly because I want to savor every moment of your sweet, young life.
Can someone please tell me what the hell I was thinking? Squatting, lifting, peeing in a cup, dancing, sweating, huffing & puffing, getting felt up and Thin-Prepped, bench pressing, flossing, scraping away tartar, sneezing and itching and tacking a pony? All in one week?
I think that deep down in places I don’t talk about at parties, I must really be out to get myself.
As you all know, my sister is getting married in July. What you may not know is that we are both total fruitcake nut jobs. The two of us have always had a fierce competitive streak - especially when it comes to wrestling and dancing. Soooooo, opting for the safety of the latter, we are having a dance competition HERE. at her bridal shower.
Why am I telling you all of this? Well. I need two Dance Captains to come in and teach a simple routine to the group which will be divided into halves. My sister and I will be on separate teams, of course.
There will be approximately 25 ladies in attendance. The older ladies, that won’t want to compete, will be the judges. You will probably have about 10 ladies on your team. I will get you the song (I’m looking for 2 funny wedding-ish-love-gone-wrong songs) and YOU do the choreography. Whatever you want. Think Flashdance.
And after? You get to stay and drink all the wine you like. Maybe even beforehand…because you can’t be shy.
Interested?
With Jazz Hands,
Kimberly
To hell with traditional shower games - we’re having a Bridal Shower Dance Off!
I’ve begged and bribed and finally trapped asked Kristen to whip up a batch of printed tanks to serve as our shower swag but I haven’t decided on what they should say. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far but none of these feel jazzy enough.
Ann Marie Needs a Husband
Dance Off for A Husband
I was Ann Marie’s Dance Captain
In Walks A Contest:
If you are the brilliant and clever person that comes up with the winning tank slogan, I will mail you a shirt of your very own (as well as kiss your nasty feet). Hell, if you’re local, you can come to the party as
our videographer because this is absolutely going up on Youtube.
Need inspiration? Here’s the happy couple representin’ how we roll here in Petroville.
Show me the shirt slogans and score yourself some shower swag!
In February of 2006, Lindsay and I launched the Perfect Post Awards in order to share personally captivating posts within a supportive community of talented bloggers like you.
If you’d like to present an award next month, e-mail me and I’ll send you the latest award button code a few days before the 1st. If you’re interested in looking through our past award posts, they can be found here. Thanks to each and every one of you for making the Perfect Post Awards such a great success!!
And now without further adieu, my Perfect Post Award goes to…
Right off the bat, you must know that every post Mir writes could be up here. I had three in mind by her just this month but I stuck with my first choice because it stuck with me.
Mir writes, “Here is the thing you need to understand about me and church: I’m something of a traditionalist. It feels funny, saying that, because I am not a fan of religions that take themselves SO SERIOUSLY that worship feels like an elaborate dance rather than an opportunity to commune with God. But on the other hand, I’m not so much interested in worship that’s sort of New Age-y or whatever.”
That is so me. Religiously warped, washed and dried me. After a childhood full of more Catholicism than my free-thinking mind could handle, I walked away. Now as an adult, It, or rather, the longing for it returns to me not as faith but more as a cozy lullaby that I don’t recall the words to. And I can’t quite make sense of that either.
I have yet to rediscover my religious groove thang but I do know what makes me uncomfortable. That feeling is precisely why Mir’s post cracked me up all the way down to my rosary beads. (Yes, I still have them. Somewhere.)
She describes it as “enthusiasm” and I think that sums it up perfectly.
