Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Is it Tuesday???

I am asked, "Is it Tuesday?" every single day by the older girls.

Of course it's the older girls asking. If Leila was asking, I'd be on TV showing off my talking 5 month old. I actually had a nightmare about Maddie talking when she was a newborn. In my dream, I was all excited about it and then my pediatrician gravely told me that it meant something was horribly wrong and we'd have to go the St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital. Good thing it was just a dream...

Speaking of St. Jude's, I can NEVER watch their commercials EVER. I cry. A lot. Can't take it.

Anyway, back to "Is it Tuesday??" or as Eden says, "Is it Monday, Friday, Too-day or Sat-day? Nana comin' ov-a?" Because they really don't care about what the calender says; they just want to know if our weekly dinner guest will be coming over.

My mom always comes over to our house every Tuesday. I cook dinner (something low carb, diabetic friendly) and then my hunk of a man and I go on a little date for an hour and a half.

It's a wonderful tradition and I love it. So do the girls.

Last night, as I was finishing up dinner, my Mom was holding Leila and chatting with Seth and I. Somehow we got onto the subject of how I am somewhat of a weirdo in my family. Have you ever read the "Fancy Nancy" books? It's about a little girl who is quite fancy and girly and frilly, unlike the rest of her family. Her mom and her sister are more casual, sporty, not fancy. Well I am just like Fancy Nancy. I always begged for dresses when my mom was inclined to put me in jeans and t-shirts. I wanted my hair in 2 pigtails, just like a rock star as my Mom recalls. (I have no recollection.... or plead the 5th. Either way I can not confirm nor deny.)

I remember as a little girl having a friend about my age who was delightfully girly just like me. And her mom was too. In fact, her mom was so frilly that whenever I went to my friend's house, and if we were to go out somewhere, her mom would actually have me change my clothes. Because I didn't match most of the time. Like hardly ever. Now in my Mom's defense, she did not purposefully send her little girl out the door every day in mismatched outfits. I was very opinionated about what I would wear and if I declared I wanted to wear the purple stripped shirt with the green polka dots pants, my Mom let me have at it. (Not that I actually owned either of those particular articles of clothing, but just to give the idea.) In fact, once, Mom even let me wear my PJ shirt to school. She warned me I'd get teased. But I just knew everyone in the second grade was dying to see my totally awesome teddy bear PJ shirt and I would be an instant social success for being bold enough to wear it.

Mom was right on that one.

So while I do take responsibility for some disastrous wardrobe choices, many of my fashion blunders as a youngster were a result of these two words: Puff Paint*.

*3D fabric paint. Came in every color of the rainbow. My mom liked the glittery bright ones.

My mom was a puff painting maniac. She was THRILLED when we came home with a stain on our clothes. "That's the perfect spot for a puff paint flower!!!" For several Christmas', everyone in the family (and yes that includes grown men) received their very own customized, wearable work of art. My Uncle Dave was crazy about his black Hanes t-shirt with "Dave" written on the front left side and a clever little poem on the back of the shirt, telling the world that as much as he loved trains, he loved his wife more. Boy, do I wish I could remember that little poem...

And what did little Kayte's t-shirt say? You're gonna love it. And you're gonna be amazed that I was not beat up every single day at school.

It was yellow. The front left said "Kate." And the entire back of the shirt read:

"Future leader of the free world".

I'm not joking. Not even a little. As I shared this (now) amusing information with Seth last night, my mom STILL defends that yellow shirt. Apparently, my pre-school teacher prophesied that I was bound for the US Presidency. Just goes to show that you've really got to be careful about what kind of fluffy compliments you tell parents of pre-schoolers. Or... maybe.... maybe she was right! Hey, people, I can even run until I'm 35. I'm just killing time 'til then.

That is all. Just wanted to tell you about Mom's puff paints and my possible candidacy.


1 comment:

raising4princesses said...

so hilarious! I loved this post so much. Completely understand about the puff paint. I had the coolest blue jeans in the glass. They had splattered puff paint all over them in every color of the rainbow! Sweet memories.