The Butt Monologues - June 23, 2012

When I picked Babyface up from gymnastics the other day, she was missing.  Kids ran out giving their parents hugs and kisses as I slowly seeped into a moment of panic.  When I pick her up from anywhere, there’s about a 30-second grace period before I have a full-on freak out, if she’s not within eyeshot.

 

Her friend came out and announced that Babyface had fallen and was crying.  Kids don’t give details like, “this happened earlier today.”  They don’t comprehend tense.  They make it sound like it happened right at that moment and it always sounds catastrophic.

 

I ran into the no-parents-allowed section, with my shoes on, defying the rules to get to her. 

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Help Karen Retire - June 21, 2012

I saw two demons today, but listened to four in total.   I feel sick.  I have that horrible nausea at the pit of my stomach.  It’s full of dread.  The kind of dread and worry you feel, when a loved one is being wheeled away into surgery.  I’m worried about our future.  What will it be for my daughter, with demons like these walking around?

 

I watched these kids berate this poor woman.  Many have watched it.  It goes from bullying to committing a crime, packed full of violent threats.  Unfortunately, I know these demons look just like you or me, or I would warn my daughter to look the other way. 

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Better Perks Than Google - June 21, 2012

Driving home from my daughter’s gymnastics camp yesterday, I passed by the Google campus during the lunch break.  I kept spotting people riding the same yellow bike.  It was déjà vu at every corner.  Then, it dawned on me.  Is bike rental a Google perk?

 

I felt like I was driving into Judgment City from Defending Your Life, only no one was wearing a white gown. Employees strolled along laughing together eating frozen yogurt or carrying takeout from one of Google’s 25, gourmet cafes.  There’s a little park where employees were doing bicycle kicks together, as part of a fitness class. 

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Cheater, Cheater - June 20, 2012

I try to cheat in poker, and my husband is ready to call the PoPo.  My daughter cheats and it’s just adorable.  At what age does cheating stop being cute?  I mean, when do I have to stop pretending that she climbed UP a SLIDE in Chutes and Ladders?  When do I get to stop skipping my turn, so she can win?  When do I get to sound like a spoiled sport and shout “cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater”?  (What the heck does that mean, anyway.)

 

Babyface is going to gymnastics camp this week.  She’s only three, so I assumed there would be some simple tumbling and maybe dangling from the parallel bars. 

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Freddy’s Coming For You - June 19, 2012

Yesterday, I saw a little girl who looked like she was seven walking home from school by herself. I’m hoping she was just small for her age.  She was alone.  She wasn’t walking firm and with a mission in mind, either.  She was kicking rocks and staring at the pavement, slowly making her way to wherever she would spend her afterschool hours.  There was no one around for blocks.

 

When I was a kid, we would do this too.   We walked everywhere by ourselves without a second thought.  Our parents would let us go to a new friend’s house without meeting the parents. 

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Pump Yourself Up - June 18, 2012

Yes, we know it’s a giant petri dish, Pump It Up.  They have one in almost every city.  Maybe it goes by a different name in yours.  There are HUGE, inflatable slides and obstacle courses.  It’s fun, but the pain that comes with it is as bad as paint ball.  The bruises still create mounds and welts, black, red and blue to match the décor.

 

There is music in the background, but the real symphony is the bumping, falling and crying.  The crying and screaming breaks for intermission, but it isn’t for more than a few seconds.  There is always a new casualty and a parent running to the rescue.

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My Big Rock - June 17, 2012

My husband was recently subjected to an upper endoscopy for some stomach problems.  It was simple.  There was no surgery.  But, my emotions tipped the scale of a life or death situation.

 

They called his name to take him back, and I took a breath deep enough to spark possible hyperventilation.  I refrained.  They brought him to a small room and told him to shed his clothing and put on a floral, hospital gown.  I nervously laughed about how stupid he looked with his black socks pulled up to the knee and how he was bare butt for all to see. 

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Mastering the Unconditional - June 17, 2012

Many of our parents complain that they had nothing.  They wore minimal clothing and walked in six feet of snow to get to school.  My father bared the breathe of it all.  It was true, in his case.

 

He landed in this country from India with a piece of paper stating he had a scholarship to Syracuse.  That was it.  Subzero temps and no real clothes to show for it.  No proper jacket and no proper shoes.   His host had to be a saving grace and share what he wore to keep him from shivering.

 

My father is my saving grace. 

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Mamarazzi - June 14, 2012

Lights, camera, action!  Nope, no movie star here, just a mom who either turns every Memorex moment into a confessional or a freak show.  Can someone please give me warning before you put on the red light?

 

Before Babyface, I hated to be in any kind of photos, professional pictures or video.  Now, there are red lights flashing and camera shutters echoing everywhere.  I’m surrounded.  Mother’s and father’s love catching their child’s first steps, their first words and even their first poopoo on the potty.

 

Recitals resemble the front lines.  There are ongoing flashes, trampled toes and elbows to the chest, just to catch a glimpse with a lens. 

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Her First Kiss - June 13, 2012

I watched my daughter have her first kiss today.  Not many parents get to experience that.  Of course, she’s only 3.75 years old.  After a few seconds of “aw, shucks, that’s so cute”, it sunk in and I realized this is only the beginning.  Nausea is the way my body has decided to absorb this event.  And, I’ve been nauseous all afternoon, in-between giggles, of course.

 

The lowdown: they were sitting on the steps, ready to be signed out of summer school; he turned to her and smooched her, ever so sweetly.  This isn’t Harlequin or Sweet Valley High (yes, I am old). 

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