I recently bought a new pair of jeans.
They were not the kind I would have normally chosen but they were 70% off, the right cut and size which never go on sale, so I ordered them. They have one rip and a bunch of paint splatters which I convinced myself was going to make me look hip and trendy and disguise the fact they are a few sizes bigger then I would like them too be. Naturally both my husband and my son made fun of me for paying for pants that look worn and old.
Julian’s first ballet performance is coming up and he has been practicing his role very hard every day. Now that he finally mastered all the steps I decided to fine tune his form a bit. There is one particular step that we worked on today that he simply wouldn’t do fluently. Appealing to his brain which is wired like a scientist not an artist I broke down ballet into physics and showed him all the moves that cause this step to propel forward gracefully. We also practiced how to keep the core strong and upper body still so he can generate enough energy to jump higher and turn easier. He repeated his pliés over and over again trying so hard to not move his upper body yet every time he reached lower he inevitably bend forward a bit.
Naturally I had to demonstrate how to do it right. I took a deep breath, strengthened my jelly of a belly and started my grand plié. Reaching near the ground I was so pleased I still had it, perfectly formed and all. And then my jeans ripped right across my bum, one end to the other, with a loud tear.
After Julian finally stopped laughing hysterically he said: well you did want this jeans to look worn and all, didn’t you?
I wish of all the things for Julian to inherit from me it would have been my ballet skills and not my sarcasm…
For all you locals who would like to attend Ballet Slipper’s conservatory performance here is the official invitation:
If you come across a grumpy tooth fairy sitting in a bar with messy hair, unbrushed teeth, slumped down wings on her 13th drink contemplating pawning her wand to get more please tell her I am so, so sorry.
My son has probably driven her to the edge. In all these years with all these teeth, shelling out money left, right and center I bet tooth fairy has never come across a kid like mine. A hoarder. Or perhaps the nicer way to call him is a collector. You know the kind of guy that just cannot part with stuff. I told you all about his hoarding ways a while ago. He just can’t seem to let go. But he really outdid himself when it comes to his teeth.
Before you panic he is not gluing his lost teeth back into his mouth. At least not that I know of. He is simply refusing to give them up. I should have known but foolishly I played along with his first tooth last year. He was so happy he lost it and I told him to put it under the pillow. Naturally he protested about tooth fairy being real but he told me his dentist confided in him that it was really him that replaced the tooth with the money. OK, because a 40 year old dude roaming around the neighborhoods taking children’s teeth in the middle of the night is less freaky then a fairy how?! But I wasn’t going to argue. I stayed up late to make sure he was fast asleep and went looking for the tooth. It took me what seemed forever looking for the darn thing. Every time Julian took a breath or moved I thought I was busted. Whoever came up with this whole tooth fairy thing was either an idiot or a glutton for punishment. The whole point of children going to sleep is so that you don’t see them until morning. That way you can watch Criminal minds or eat too much chocolate and make love to your husband. You know, adult time. Not roam around your child’s room spending hard earned money on bone matter that their body discarded and poking around finding it waking the kid up in the process.
Needless to say I finally gave up and left the dollar and the letter about ‘way to go and don’t forget to floss cause us fairies don’t pay for loss of permanent teeth’. Which I know would totally be bullocks if it was indeed the dentist who came by cause they love nothing more then to put those crowns in your mouth so they can buy a new Porsche. The next morning Julian informed me he got the money. I was faking happiness and all as he informed me that he pulled one over the fairy dentist since his tooth is still in his hiding place. Awesome. My son is hoarding his teeth.
Next tooth he lost I had a clear dilemma. Do I give him the money or not? The tooth was nowhere to be found. Wherever Julian’s hiding spot for teeth is I could not locate it. So I gave him a dollar and a letter saying ‘way to go and don’t forget to floss and this is the last time I am leaving you cash cause you never leave me your tooth and rules are rules’. He woke up the next morning and was pleased about the money but didn’t seem bothered about the prospect of never getting it again: It’s just money mom. I can earn double that when I grow up. But I can never get my baby teeth back.
As freaky as that is I guess it makes sense. I mean not to me cause I hate things. I get rid of things. If the fairy stint worked I would have collected his teeth and tossed them in the compost. Ashes to ashes, teeth to soil or something like that. But now I have 4 teeth hiding somewhere in the house. I sure hope he brushed them before he stashed them!
For the record he has been pen paling with fairy dentist. This was his latest letter upon loosing tooth number 4:
it is in the pink box but please do not take it, it is an antique and if you dare the vulture droid will attack you.
PS love Julian, dear dentist.
Well he might be threatening him but at least he has manners. That’s my boy!
I was talking to my friend the other day who’s husband is away on a ship about her car troubles and she told me about ‘deployment curse’. I have never heard of the term before but I can tell you first hand it’s 100% true and any military wife will agree. In fact any wife period will agree. If things can go wrong, they will go wrong while your husband is away.
Jason often travels for work and our garage door, which never fails otherwise always stops working as soon as he boards the plane. It is annoying and inconvinient but I can totally fix it. Except I don’t know where he keeps the WD40 and I always end up pouring olive oil in the railings to close the door in the morning so we can leave the house. Honestly I should just buy my own stash of WD40. Or a new house.
But this morning Murphy took the law to a whole new level. I was woken up by a loud and piercing sound of the alarm. I hit the snooze button but the sound was still there. It was like the smoke alarm that annoys you when you burn the toast only hundred times worse. I stumbled downstairs, following the noise and discovered it is coming from our Carbon monoxide detector. The thoughts that went through my head were utterly unreasonable: it must be the battery. But why is it plugged in the wall if it runs on battery? Check the C0 level: 0. Why is it still beeping? Check the stove: nope, gas is not on. Are the dogs farting and setting it off? Do we have gas anywhere else? OK, unplug it and check the instructions. And as I did that the alarm went bananas! I am convinced that we woke up our entire neighborhood plus some households in Canada too. I didn’t even know a small thing like that could make so much noise. Like a baby!
Julian came down running and demanded we evacuate. His exact words were: Mom let’s go, Forest BC says we must leave the house immediately and call 911. I thought Forest said life was like a box of chocolates but Julian was adamant so I decided to trust him and Gump. We grabbed our jackets and went outside and I called 911. I told her our address and that our alarm won’t quit and she told me to leave the house immediately as she has dispatched the fire department already. I gathered the dogs and we waited outside our house for the fire engine to arrive.
Perhaps it was too early or too dark or it’s a uniform thing but I swear Fire Department send me the most handsome firemen. Which would have been fantastic if it wasn’t for my dreadful hair, unbrushed teeth and stripey Christmas pajamas. Not to mention that I disturbed their morning coffee by calling them to rescue a dead battery out of my Carbon Monoxide alarm. They gave me the all clear and although I couldn’t stop apologizing they assured me we did the right thing. We got back inside and even managed to get to school in time. Maybe we should do fire drills every morning, it really was the fastest we ever got ready for school.
I was very proud of Julian, how calm and reasonable he stayed and how he followed the evacuation drill just as he practiced with daddy many times before. It truly makes a difference between life and death if our kids are prepared. Also special thanks to Victoria BC radio station that we listen to in the car; turns out it is the Fortis BC commercial about what to do in case of gas leak that taught my son what to do. Who knew?