Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Shake-a Shake-a Boom

We have developed a little problem around here that I can't quite shake (please note there is a pun there, and you will get it in a moment).  It has started to hinder our lives a bit, and really hinder my ability to sleep.  Neither of which is good.  The Big One has developed a serious fear of earth quakes.
Having never been in a real one, I'm scared of them too, but the vast majority of time,it never enters my mind.  Her problem is that it is always on her mind.
I think the recent quake in VA set it off.  I had started using the news as a tactic to keep the kids from watching TV with me.  IT stopped working at some point in time, and The Big One came in and watched a lot of the quake coverage on TV.  IT wasn't a bad one, but because it was so uncommon in that part of the US, it got a ton of coverage.  Hence it seems much bigger than what it was.
Now, she is absolutely, completely, terrified of them, and sure that one will strike at any moment.
Saturday night, she was supposed to spend the night with a friend.  This is a friend she has had since Kindergarten, and it was the first time they had spent the night together, just the two of them with out their Girl Scout troop, or any other friends.  They were ridiculously excited.
Then, about 11pm that night, I got a phone call.  The Big One was in tears and wouldn't calm down.  She wanted to come home.  After I went to get her, we started talking about what scared her.  Her Friend had fallen asleep, and The Big One was left laying in the little girl's room, thinking about things.  The girl has bunk beds, and The Big One was terrified that there would be an earthquake, and the top portion of the bed would fall down on her and crush her.  I suppose a valid concern in some regard, but I would venture that the beds were well constructed enough to handle all the torture and extreme stress brought on by younger children, and they would probably survive the kind of small quakes we get frequently around here.  Regardless, she wasn't about to be there any longer, and I had to get her.
I'm really surprised by this sudden onset of earthquake fear.  While she wasn't born here, The Big One has been raised in CA pretty much most of her life.  We moved here when she was 15 months old.  I had always thought that kids who were raised here would develop some sort of environmental immunity to the fear of earthquakes.  They happen so much, that they should be routine.  I may have miscalculated that.  The Big Little One hasn't gotten scared.  Perhaps you need an actual CA birth certificate to get that immunity.  I'm not sure.  Maybe there is an earthquake immunity booster shot of some sort that I can give her.
I realize that a little bit of fear is actually healthy.  We need to be aware that quakes are real, and serious, and respect that their potential power enough to always be cautious, but there is a line you have to draw in being scared.  Too much fear is a bad thing.  I'm really just hoping this will pass and she will get back to her normal self soon.  I don't want any of us to miss out on life because of fear.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

The Cake Leg Conundrum

I shaved my legs today.
I don't do it every day.
In fact, during the winter,  I shave just enough to keep my husband from mistaking me for a stuffed animal left in our bed at night.
During the warmer months, any month I might wear something other than jeans in public, I try to do a little more upkeep.
Honestly, though,  I tend to shave my legs more for my husband these days than I do for myself. It is something I know he appreciates.  Therefore the effort is worth it to me.
Today, though, I shaved my legs and afterward I wondered why. He isn't here to appreciate it. No one else is going to be feeling up my legs. So, who would have noticed my incredibly blonde leg hair but me. 
The more I think about it, I realized shaving my legs is a little like baking a cake for me, which I also did today. (Well, cupcakes, but you know what I mean).  When you bake a cake, you do it to enjoy it, but it just isn't the same if someone else doesn't get to enjoy it with you, and tell you how wonderful it is and what a great job you did. Tonight, I went through the effort of making vanilla cupcakes from scratch with The Girls. Afterward,  they went on and on about how good it was and how happy they were that we made them.
See, if I am going to go through the effort of shaving and them exfoliating my legs like I prefer to do, I need those accolades afterward to make it worth my while. With my husband deployed,  I just don't get it.
The Girls do occasionally touch my legs, complain about how prickly I am and request that I shave. So perhaps I could show them, just to get some kind of reaction, even if it is relief that they no longer get poked when they try to snuggle with me.  That really isn't the same, though. 
I don't think This is a major break through of any kind. I'm sure I will still have to begrudgingly shave my legs a few time over the next few months even though he won't be here to appreciate it. Moreover, I am absolutely positive That I will making cupcakes for and with The Girls again as well, perhaps even more often than I will shave my legs. After all, at least they really appreciate that and will even go so far as to clean up after only being ask once for the cakes. That is worth way more than a smooth leg to me right now for sure.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Glitter is the Devil

I have three girls.  I know this.  I should be ok with all the gurly things that come with that must estrogen.  We have naked Barbies littering rooms, and I can deal with this.  We have Little Pet Shop bins overflowing with tiny little funky eyed animals, and I think it is fine.  And while I absolutely love fun craft projects that my girls adore doing, I have to say that I have reached my limit when it comes to one thing: Glitter.
Glitter is the devil.
I have started to hate all things sparkly, and believe me, we have a ton of it.
For her birthday, someone gave The Big One a jewelry box.  This is no ordinary jewelry box, though.  It is a Velvet color yourself one, like those posters we all used to have at just her age.  The cheap black velvet with the crazy drawing taken out, so that you can color it to your hearts content.  Her box even takes it a step further with glitter glue and wait for it...sequins.  Yes.  Sequins, velvet, and glitter, oh my.  Its the ultimate little girls fancy material project.  And I abhor it.  It isn't so much that I hate all the glittery goodness of the box itself, it really comes down to one thing: will the glittery things end up all over my house.  The answer is yes and therein lies the loathing.  I may not hate it as much if we didn't have The Littlest One.  She is here, though, and I have to be protective of her in her tiny, I will put anything in my mouth, state.  Her big sister loves her, sometimes a little too much.  So, The Big One play with the box, washes her hands as is the rule, and then plays with The Littlest One.  No matter how much washing she does before hand, there always ends up random glitter on the baby.  Usually in the froward, hair zone.  That alone is enough to hate the stuff, before I even think about the fact that I am always cleaning it off the floor, the counter tops, and my poor dining table.  I even made the rule that it all has to stay in her room now, but it doesn't seem to prevent the sparkles from ending up all over the house.

To add to the glitz that bejewels my carpets, both of The Bigger Girls have clothes with glitter on them.  That would again be all fine and dandy, if the glitter actually stayed on them.  My dryer lint could often be used to make an barely there top for a Vegas show girl.  I will admit that I could control some of that by simply not purchasing the clothes with the glitter, but being a girl myself, it is really hard to pass up a little girl's t-shirt with  a skull and cross bones made of glitter, especially if the bow on the top is of hot pink glitter.  I can only have so much self control when it comes to clothes like that.

So, here we all live, in a sparkled out house that seems to be as girls as possible.  I supposed I shouldn't complain too much, though, as least as I stated before, I am a girl.  I imagine it is much worse for My Husband, who has to live in the land of all things girly.  I know he goes to work with glitter on him sometimes, because I often find it when he returns.  My hope is that somehow, some of that glitter ends up on the inside of his helicopters, because heaven knows, they could use a little glitz and glam.