October 15, 2010
First things first, I'm running the Baystate Marathon on Sunday, and seriously, I'm gonna qualify for Boston. Good vibes, positive thoughts, and so on and so forth would be totally appreciated between the hours of 8 and 11:40am on the 17th.
And moving on...
When it come to mothering, I tend to operate in the extremes--hyper attentive or hideously neglectful, there's really not much of an in between. For example, last Saturday James's soccer coach gave the kids a two minute water break. As soon as he blew his whistle, the players dispersed like an army of ants to their moms and dads who all seemed to be holding BPA free water bottles chilled to just the right temperature.
Then there was me. I was like, "Here, take a few swigs of this organic goat milk from your baby sister's sippy. Water's for sissies, real soccer stars drink this sweet nectar....from a princess cup."
Can you see the extremes in that situation? In one corner, I kid you not, we have local/organic/raw goat milk for the baby. And in the other corner, we have a mother who can't remember that her other kid miiiiight get a smidge thirsty after he runs around kicking a ball for two straight hours.
Earlier this week, James came home with the folder that was supposed to carry his school pictures, and it was--you guessed it--empty. From the outfit, to the sweet hair-do, to the check for $17.99, I forgot all about picture day--and Lifetouch had to send home an empty envelope just to knock the you'reasuckymother ball right out of the park. Next year, maybe they'll start scrawling DOUCHE BAG across the outside of the package, too.
So there you have it, my extreme crappy mothering. But thanks be to all that's good and holy, today I had the chance to redeem myself--it's crazy hat day. And I'm happy to say that a few minutes before nine o'clock, I actually remembered this most joyous event. According to the kindergarten calendar, it's also black and white day, so I decided I'd smoosh the two together--like Christmukah, only better.
I had some white fleece in the basement, so I pulled it out, got to work, and three minutes later we had a hat that transformed my son into something eerily close to a klansman. Never good. Never ever. "James," I said, "you look like you're int the klan, we need to change this up."
"But mom," he said, "I want to be a clam! I really really reallyreallyreally want to be a clam! Puh-lease can I be a clam?"
How could I say no to that?
So I got to work, and an hour or so later, we had this beauty planted on his over sized head. Behold the clam hat:
I don't want to be all self-inflated or anything, but I'm ridiculously proud of this one. Totally made up for the school picture thing:
When I was halfway through the project, I was pre-thinking how I'd attach the eyes. I took a break from sewing and did a Google search to see if anyone else on the planet had ever put eyes on a clam hat.
Let's just say I was shocked with what the Urban Dictionary had to say about my creation.
After my discovery I really didn't know whether or not I could send James to school wearing a clam hat, so I called everyone in my fave five and asked, "What doe the phrase clam hate mean to you?"
They were all like, "Uhhhhhhh......nothing?"
So I sent him to school wearing the clam hat, and all day long, I just can't help but wonder if the principal reads the Urban Dictionary.