muchtooarrogant | Entries tagged with sarah

(The ALMOST entry!)

On Sunday morning, the nefarious Lizbeth lured myself and the girlitas out of bed with promises of breakfast from Taco Bell. (Yes, I know, I also formerly classified Taco Bell food as the best non-narcotic solution to constipation ever created by humankind, but the Crunchwrap™ things are actually very yummy!) Unfortunately, as the religiously astute among you will have already deduced, this past Sunday was Easter, and Taco Bell, recent menu augmentations and breakfast fanfare be damned, was closed until noon.

Gathering up my shattered dreams, I suggested, "Why don't we eat breakfast at Morelia?"

Because this restaurant was a family favorite, I naively expected that everyone would be pleased with my most excellent proposal. Alas, although the lady wife and eldest daughter immediately concurred, young Amanda strongly objected.

"I didn't think we would be getting out of the car!" she wailed. "I'm wearing pajama bottoms, and look totally ratchet. I'm not going inside!" (For the uninitiated, ratchet in this tween/teen context means wretched.)

"Oh, come on," Sarah, the elder sister, encouraged, "it's early on a Sunday morning, the place'll be empty."

I personally thought Sarah's prediction was rather unlikely, since if there's one thing most people like to do after church it's eat, but apparently we had arrived just early enough to avoid the reverent rush of after church humanity. I sat next to Sarah, and Lizbeth sat by Amanda, shielding the shamefully-clad-pajama-wearing-ratchet-child from view.

Once the breakfast bill was paid, I asked Lizbeth, "What's next on the itinerary?"

"We're going home," Amanda stated firmly.

"Actually," sweet Lizbeth corrected, " I'd like to see if Home Depot has any rugs we can use in our bedroom."

For some of us, the word spring is associated with cleaning. For others, it will forever be linked with the blossoming of growing things. For Lizbeth, the season has inexplicably become synonymous with interior design, or as in this case, redesign.

"Mommy!" Amanda cried, horrified visions of fashion police with ratchet wrenches haunting both syllables.

I too had misgivings, although my ghost tormenters weren't wearing tool belts. The previous day's numerous expeditions had been based around a similar decorationist theme, and I wasn't eager to repeat the experience. Still, my belly was full, and however ratchet (see, it grows on you) the prospect of another day's shopping made me feel, upon reflection, I decided that it had to beat vacuuming bedrooms and cleaning toilets. Thus overruled by an ornamentationist mommy, lethargic daddy, and indifferent sibling, Amanda trailed us to the car, bemoaning her lack of fashion with every step.

Home Depot, we found, had a fairly large selection of rugs, mounted on hinged metal racks that could be flipped through like woven pages in an improbably massive, not to mention overpriced, book. Alas, very few of the colors and patterns were to Lizbeth's taste, resulting in somewhat rapid page turning. Even when a particular page was deemed to be satisfactory both to the Blind husband's touch and the lady wife's eyes, it was never available in the desired size or shape.

"You should try Garden Ridge," a passing sales lady advised. "They have piles of rugs on display as soon as you walk in the door," she continued gleefully, "although it's definitely a two person job to go through them all."

"But look at this rug," I quickly interjected, thumping one of the rare selections of marginal acceptance, "it's beautiful, and today Home Depot is offering a half-price Easter special."

"Huh," the sales lady addressed herself to Lizbeth, "he's obviously full of crap!"

The nerve of some people!

When we arrived at Garden Ridge, we did yea verily discover countless piles of rugs, as well as other... Stuff. Lizbeth almost immediately found a fabulous specimen containing not only a marvelous pattern, but beautiful colors as well. The youngest child, apparently forgetting her previously underdressed state, had vanished, but Sarah and I stroked its pelt, and made appropriate appreciative noises.

The lady wife then began a tedious search for identically patterned, but smaller, rugs. Sarah's help was enlisted, but no smaller rugs were located. A salesperson's help was also enlisted, but his contribution consisted of the advice, "There should be some smaller rugs in the size you want passed those trees. In a couple of days, we'll have them all better organized."

When Amanda finally reappeared, she agreed to be conscripted into Lizbeth's widening search, but there was a condition.

"Can I have this bucket?" she requested, brandishing a huge metal container in front of us.

"What on Earth do you want that for?" I asked. "It's huge!"

"A trash can," she responded.

"Yeah," Sarah agreed, laughing, "you should totally get it for her. She can use it to wash those pee blankets that come out of Kelly's dog crate."

Now, I'd like it known that I am well aware of what a proper parental response would have been. As Amanda's father, it is my role, some would even say my responsibility, to step on Sarah's wisecrack, and protect her feelings.

What was my response?

I lifted my right hand, and began stirring an imaginary cauldron full of dog blankets. "Boil, boil, toil and trouble," I intoned. "Stir the Kelly pee, and watch it bubble."

Lizbeth did finally locate identically patterned rugs of a lesser size, although it took an additional journey to yet another Garden Ridge. Although Amanda did obtain a few items for her bedroom, as well as a book she wanted, the bucket, phantom blankets and all, was left behind.

As for me, next weekend, I just want to sleep in.

Dan

Most kids don't usually look forward to getting braces. The process is guaranteed to be painful, takes place in an over-reclined chair which probably wouldn't have been out of place at a party thrown by the Marquis de Sade, and inevitably involves multiple individuals sticking gloved fingers and metal instruments in your mouth. Even if you're somehow able to overlook these unpleasant truths, the best possible outcome after the encounter is... A mouth full of wires.

Of course, my youngest daughter Amanda has never been like most kids. She's been pestering us for weeks, asking "When are we going to the dentist to get my braces?"

Since my wife and I didn't really want her to miss school for what we assumed would just be an evaluation by the orthodontist, we set up Amanda's appointment this past Friday afternoon, the last week day of her Spring Break. In fact, because both of our daughters were due to have their teeth cleaned by the regular dentist, we killed two birds with one stone, and scheduled them both for tooth cleanings in the morning as well. Again, contrary to what I expected, Amanda didn't care about one of the last days of her vacation being taken up by multiple doctor appointments, but instead was ready to go and "Get my braces!" Even Sarah, her sister, didn't seem to mind joining us for the excursion, although this might perhaps be explained by an opportunity to observe her younger sister being tortured?

The morning dental cleanings went as planned, and after eating lunch, the four of us arrived at the orthodontist's office. We were greeted by a cheerful receptionist, who immediately handed over a thick pile of paperwork that needed to be filled out, and began verifying that our insurance was active. My wife started scribbling, Amanda was taken away for x-rays, and I settled back in my chair for what promised to be a long and boring delay.

The waiting room's most notable feature was a flat screen television, mounted on the wall right above my head, and tuned to HGTV. As I fished out my headphones and prepared to listen to some music on my phone, I heard the featured couple above me discussing room size, beach views, and how the current property they were viewing was "right at the top of their budget." The latter appears to be an HGTV code phrase for, "This one, this one, this one's the one we're going to pick!" Which is fine, I suppose, if you like eating Ramen Noodle Soup for every meal.

I think it would be fair to say that I don't handle boredom particularly well. I had planned ahead of time for the days dull and tedious bits, ensuring that my phone was charged, and that I had a choice selection of music and audio books to listen to, but now, confronted with the reality of another long wait, I grew restless. Lizbeth, the afore-mentioned scribbling wife was busy, so I turned to Sarah.

"What did you think of the dentist this morning?" I asked. Both she and Amanda had previously gone to another dentist, and I was curious to know what she thought of the new tooth cleaner.

"She was okay," Sarah responded, "but a little rude."

"Rude?" I chuckled, caught off guard, "Rude how?"

"She kept asking me all these nosy questions, and then wanted to know if I had a job yet. I told her that I was only fifteen and still in school, and she was like, 'That's no reason not to have a job. Get with the program, lady!'"

I laughed again, "Did you explain to her that your a princess, and that people work for you, not the other way round?"

"Very funny," she said, shoving me with one hand. "I just ignored her after that."

"Well, come on, lady," I retorted, returning the shove, "get with the program!"

Shortly after that, Amanda returned from being x-rayed, Lizbeth handed over the completed paperwork, and we were guided to a small room where we could await the mighty orthodontist. There was just one problem. Amanda, of course, got the large chair in the room's center, Sarah snagged the left side of a contraption that looked like two normal chairs which had been fused in the middle, and Lizbeth took the right. I was--as usual?--the odd man out.

After a few moments where I stood by the room's open door, a little bit like a servant awaiting the summons of a nobleman to refill his wine goblet, Lizbeth said, "Sarah, why don't you let your dad sit there, and you can sit on his lap."

To her credit, Sarah agreed immediately, and I was seated. Although I was marginally more comfortable in this new arrangement, there was still the earlier unresolved boredom issue, compounded by Sarah's inability to sit still. She sat quietly for a few minutes, and then began to wiggle. I shifted my legs, trying to discover a more comfortable position, and she wiggled again. Eventually, tiring of this repetitive game, I poked her in the ribs. This elicited a screech of rage, followed by a retaliatory elbow thrust to my stomach.

"Children!" Lizbeth warned us both, casting me into the juvenile under class.

After another blessed moment of silence, Sarah's attention was captured by the collar of my shirt. "Why is this top button open?" she demanded, tapping my neck accusingly.

"Oh no," I exclaimed, shock and embarrassment evident in every syllable, "thank you so much for pointing that out." Gesturing at my collar bone, I lectured, "You know, for girls, too many open buttons means that other people can sometimes see your cleavage. But this," I fumbled with my shirt's collar, finally succeeding in tapping the exposed bone, "is almost as bad. What you see here is clavage!"

"Oh my god," Lizbeth cried, performing a classic facepalm, "Dan, other people can hear you!"

In my lap, shaking with laughter, Sarah had slumped against the wall to our left, and was slowly banging her head against the painted plaster. In her chair at the center of the room, if not the center of attention, Amanda appeared to be having difficulty breathing. Calmly, I refastened my shirt's top button.

"Yes, I'm sure everyone can hear us, and see us too," I said to Lizbeth. "When it's as quiet and uneventful as it is today, they change the channel in the waiting room from HGTV to the patient rooms back here." Raising my hand, I waved at the imagined location for the video pickup. "How ya doin'?"

Predictably, it was then that the tooth straightener of doom materialized. "I believe I'm going to have to pull this car over," he said, "you guys are having too much fun in here."

The doctor, who never once sat down during our meeting, popped Amanda's x-rays up on a computer screen, and explained the treatment plan he was recommending. He was a talented presenter, and by the time he was done, I felt as though I had a clear understanding of what they would do, how long it would take, and even how much it would cost. The best part of all though, for Amanda at least, came when they checked their schedule to see when it all could begin.

"Actually," the lady looking at the calendar announced, "I have a spot available this afternoon."

So it was that my young Amanda acquired her first set of mouth wires on Friday, and I added a new word to the English language.

Clavage: a shocking and unnecessary display of the hollow between a person's collar bones.

Dan

LJ Idol, Week Ten

The upper story in our house has become the exclusive domain of my two daughters, collectively known as The Girlitas. We didn't really plan it that way when we first moved in, but since the master bedroom's located downstairs, I guess it was inevitable. In fact, as they've grown older and play dates and sleepovers with their friends have become more common, my wife, Lizbeth, and I have grown to appreciate the separation.

The only problem with this adult/child segregation is that sometimes--okay, okay, more like once a week--we're forced to crack the whip, and demand that the upstairs be cleaned. Not a big deal, except for the fact that actually getting an eleven-year-old and a thirteen-year-old to work cooperatively, stay focused, and complete such a task can be … rather challenging. Tuesday, January 3, was such an occasion.

"How is the cleaning going?" Lizbeth asked me over instant messenger around 4:00 PM.

"They've made some progress," I answered, "but have got a ways to go before it's really clean up there. There's been a lot of giggling and running around this afternoon, so I'm kind of doubtful that they'll be done by the time you get home."

I was working in my home office, trying to reach groggy customers who had only recently returned from their holiday break, with the objective of scheduling a meeting, and maybe even selling them something. Both kids returned to school the next day, and, feeling benevolent, I hadn't really had the heart to push them too hard.

There was a pause, and then she responded, "Tell them, if they do finish by the time I get home, I'll buy them each one book and one app for their Nook."

Both girls had received a Nook Tablet for Christmas.

I laughed, and typed back, "Ah, parenting by bribery. I like it!"

I called both girls down stairs, relayed the message, and asked if they had any questions.

"We each get to pick one book and one app?" questioned Sarah, the eldest negotiator.

"That's right," I confirmed.

"I'm going to get a book by Justin Bieber," was my younger daughter's predictable response.

I sighed. "Okay Amanda," I told her resignedly, "just be certain it's really the book you want."

"I have no idea why you'd want a book written by that girl," Sarah scoffed, in true big sister fashion.

"It's her choice," I told her, "so don't worry about it. Do you have a book you want?"

"A book called The Hunger Games," she answered, "all my friends are reading that series and say it's great."

"Okay. Well what both of you need to concentrate on right now is finishing before your mother gets home. You only have an hour and a half, so I suggest you get busy."

Remarkably, they did, and even finished a little ahead of time. When I inspected their domain, I found that all the toys had been picked up, laundry had been folded in drawers or hung in closets, dolls had been arranged artfully on shelves, desks had been cleaned, and beds had been made.

"I think this is the best job you've ever done," I praised them.

When Lizbeth got home, the girlitas gave her a tour of the upstairs as well, and then promptly asked for their reward.

"Let's eat dinner first," she countered, "and then we can look at what you each want to get."

After dinner was prepared and devoured, Sarah decided that she was going to take a shower in preparation for the next day at school, and Amanda said that she'd come show us her book and app selections in a few minutes. When she finally arrived in our bedroom though, there was a surprise.

"You got everything picked out?" I inquired.

"Yes," she said quietly, handing the Nook to her mother.

For some reason, her excitement from earlier seemed to have vanished. Before I could ask her what was wrong, Lizbeth said, "The Hunger Games? I thought this was the one Sarah wanted."

"Well," she mumbled, "Sarah told me about it, and I think I might enjoy it too."

Smelling a rat, I asked, "What about the Justin Bieber book? You seemed pretty excited about that earlier."

"I was, but …" she trailed off.

"But what?" I prompted, although I now had a pretty good idea what was going on.

"Sarah said that it would be stupid to waste my money on that," she said in a rush.

Suspicions confirmed, I sighed. "Amanda, this isn't Sarah's choice, it's yours."

"I know," she said sadly, "but she told me that she really wanted to have the first two books in this series."

I motioned her over to me, and gave her a hug. "I don't want you giving up something you want, just because your sister doesn't like it. When she finishes the first book, she can earn the second one by doing something else. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," she sniffled, her face buried in my shirt, "but I also made a new year's resolution to try and be nicer to her."

I resisted the urge to sigh again, wishing that it had been my eldest child who had made that resolution instead.

"Being nice to someone doesn't mean giving up something you've earned to try and make them happy," I explained patiently. "Especially when they call something you want stupid."

So, the crisis was averted, and after we had a stern conversation with Sarah, a lesson was learned, hopefully by both kiddos. Still, with one child having already broken through the teen barrier, and with another on the verge of adolescence, I wonder how long it will be before the upstairs girlita domain splits apart into two warring sovereign states. The more I think about it, the more I think we'd all be safer if they were separated.

Dan