We spent last week at my brother’s vacation home in Beech Mtn. NC. On Wednesday, for dinner, Greg and I were in the mood to try something new. Whenever we visit Boone, Banner elk and Blowing Rock we always eat at our usual favorite spots, but we were feeling adventurous. So we yelped it and ended up taking the girls to a cool pizza joint in Boone.
It was a little ‘to cool’ for the likes of us. As we rolled in the parking lot, we quickly noticed the younger crowd in the grass-covered parking lot playing corn hole and chatting each other up with beers in hand. Greg and I looked at each other and simultaneously exclaimed, “Oh (explicit remark), I feel so old right now.” Together we decided to go to a place where “our kind” might feel more accepted. But then Greg proclaimed, “No way! We aren’t old! We are just Floridians. Every restaurant we would walk into in Florida, we lowered the age demographic by half. We are used to being around the ‘older’ crowd. We fit in more here than we did in FL, (demographically speaking of course). We are basically their age.” He was reaching with that last statement and he knew it. But he was resolved, so we ended up staying.
The outside tables were completely packed with the youthful energetic crowd, we had no other choice but to pick a table inside. While we were eating, I happened to notice all the individuals of the older persuasion were indoors while those wild and crazy youngsters were gathered outside enjoying the beautiful sunny weather. I channeled my inner Dorothy Zbornak with that last sentence. It’s official…and hard to admit, but we are no longer spring chickens.
Speaking of spring chickens, my chicks have been doing some pretty interesting stuff lately.
Abby knows and sings all the words to almost all pop songs out there. Within 3 days of a songs release, she is singing along word for word…well almost. The other day she asked me, “Mommy, is the girl in the song singing…what’s wrong with being, what’s wrong with being, what’s wrong with being constipated…or is she saying complicated? And what is constipated? ” For the record, the word in question is ‘confident’…”What’s wrong with being confident”. Luckily, Phoebe interrupted her to inform me that she just, “got whacked real hard and bad by Cecilia.” I had to administer an immediate ‘time out’ so I was not able to give Abby a definitive answer on the ‘complicated constipation’ question. I am relieved because I love these little moments…and I want to hear her sing ‘constipated’ again. The day will come when she will no longer need my help to decipher words and their meanings. Sooner rather than later I’m sure. I will just continue to write about it because I don’t want to forget how beautiful and sweet, innocence and naivety are.
We have been hanging out with my mom for the past couple of weeks. My mom keeps all my old dolls, clothes and toys. So it was no surprise when Phoebe June found my modest collection of cabbage patch dolls. Of course she removed all their clothing and after a thorough exam of Maggie, asked me, “Mommy, where’s her mouth? I don’t see her mouth? Did it fall off?” and before I could answer, she went on “So sad… I am going to treat her with love.” I was a little confused…I thought her mouth was very apparent.
Then I took a step back…Cabbage Patch dolls are kind of ugly scary little things. Their mouths, cheeks and nose are cinched so tight. Maggie, the one with yellow yarn hair is practically bald if you flip her over. Yellow yarn hair is only on the parameter of the scalp. I never noticed these things when I played with her. Looking at Maggie, I would assume Phoebe’s first question would have been, “What’s up with this dolls hair…or lack there of” instead of the mouth question.
I watched her play with Maggie and Winterfresh Gel (the brown yarn hair girl…she was my favorite) for a little bit. I know, I am awesome at coming up with names. When she became distracted and moved onto something else, I hid those cinched faced practically bald evil little things. She and I both had nightmares that night involving giant cabbage patch dolls chasing us and telling us we were going to go bald. Ok, I made that last part up, but I did imagine it as I wrote it…so I feel justified in hiding them. Honestly, If I never saw another Cabbage Patch doll in my life, I would live a happy nightmare free life. I need to add Clowns to that last statement. Let the sentence read, “…never saw another Cabbage Patch doll, clown or those damn ceramic bunnies people put in their yard, I would live a happy nightmare free life.”
Lately Cecilia has her moments of absolute love and affection. We coined the phrase “Polite Dictator” specifically for her because when she orders us around, she does use “Please” and “Thank you”. When she showers me with love and affection I always think, “This is it! We have turned a corner! She is growing up and ready to be apart of the family and do things with us, listen to us and stay with us instead of running off!” And then like clockwork, she changes from Jekyll into Hyde and yells at someone, hits or slaps one of her sisters, tosses her empty cup and/or food bowl across the room, seizes an important article from someone and catapults it in the opposite direction, loudly protests anything I may ask of her and of course lets not forget the absolute disregard for my general authority.
Other than that, she’s a joy.
Obviously, I much prefer the loving and affectionate Jekyll to Hyde. I will just continue daily grind in the trenches until she is ready to play Jekyll full-time.
Ugh, great. Now all I can think about are Cabbage Patch dolls, clowns and ceramic yard bunnies. CRAP. I will probably have nightmares tonight.