Beware the Pale Pink

It started innocently enough.

“Sweetgirl, I’m not washing clothes until later. Please put your pink shirt on today.”

Who knew that clothing color choices could cause such a ruckus?

Who knew that a six-year-old could have such strong opinions about colors?

Who knew that pale pink was so… so… evil?

Sweetgirl knew!

I will not wear that shirt!”

To which I replied, “It doesn’t fit anymore?”

Silly Mama.

To which she retorted – yes, retorted, “I do not wear light pink!” There may have even been a snooty little sniff at the end of that… retort. I’m not entirely sure, as I began to feel my blood pressure rising at a steady clip.

I just needed the child to get an ever-lovin’ shirt on so that we could get out of the house and get to brother’s play-off soccer game.

Asking this child to wear any color other than hot pink, teal, purple, black, or grey is apparently akin to asking her to cut off her pinky finger! Lest you think I kid, she literally deposited the offending shirt into the trashcan to make her point.

Where does she learn these things??? I don’t throw things in the trash when I don’t want to wear them! I might toss them in a heap in the corner of the closet. But I would never throw a piece of clothing in the trash!

Lord, draw near to me.

I want to lock this child in her room for a sweet forever.

Or, at least until she doesn’t go all crazy-cakes on the wrong color shirt.

Nana, Gammy, Aunties, be warned! Beware, The Pale Pink Anything!

We must work on ways to dial down the drama, around here. I would like, for instance, for this child to develop this sort of passion for making the world a safer place for all children. Or, making sure our local homeless have Thanksgiving meals. Or, making sure her bed is made.

But, to have a full-blown temper-tantrum over the color of shirt she wears?

Oh, but she is a spirited one!




I clearly need some community support. Lay it on me! Whatchu got?

Newness and What-knot

The times. They are a changin’.  It would seem that newness is everywhere we turn right this minute.  New leaves are turning. New friendships are forming.  New jobs, new dreams, and new favorites are all afoot.  And it is good.

One thing that isn’t new? Sweetboy’s attitude about school.  This is the conversation I inadvertently walked into last night.  And please, by all means, do insert whatever dramatic tones you can just hear in your mind as you read it – I’m quite sure he used those exact ones as he wailed…

Sweetboy:  (Almost with back of hand slapped against his forehead) ” Oh NOOOO!!!  There are only 5 weeks left until I have to go back to school!”  (Followed by much weeping and gnashing of teeth.)

Me:  “Really?  That sounds to me like 35 more days of summer fun!”

And in other news, Sweetgirl, also, hasn’t changed her stance on “I NOT!”, one iota.

Me: (Watching her fling around the new “big-girl” necklace The Nana foolishly generously sent to her) “Sweetgirl, please don’t fling the necklace around and around.  It will get knots in it and Mama will have to work very hard to take them out. (I.E. Won’t be able to take them out because, the eyes?  They ain’t what they used to be.)

Sweetgirl: (C’mon, we ALL know exactly where this is going…) “I NOT flinging it Mama, I am just playing with it and making a commotion!” (Insert shock on my part as I wonder where in the sam hill she learned the word commotion – that’s just above my pay grade, right there.)

Moments, nay, seconds, later…

Knots, anyone?

Sweetgirl: “MAMA!!! My neckwace is all knottered up!  (How does she hear these words I say???)

Oh, yes indeedy.  I’m still working on em’.  I’ll keep you posted.  Or knot.

Out of Breath

We are literally trying to catch our breath around here.  Me? Figuratively.  Sweetboy? Literally.  He’s been having lots of “fuzzy” chest feelings this past week and a half.  We attributed it to a cold that went straight to the chest.  Today I took him in to see the doctor that sees us for his asthma and allergies because we’ve nebulized this poor kid more in the past week than we have in the last 5 years! And that’s no joke.  Something’s up.

After using the “old-fashioned” peak flow meter and the “computerized” peak flow meter,another peak flow meter.  The good doctor had to leave a moment to get another peak flow meter.  Apparently, we hadn’t done enough measuring the first two times.  He determined that Sweetboy’s lungs are only operating at 70% capacity and that the number he was seeing was far below what would be expected.  He proceeded to write one prescription for immediate use of a prednisone and another one for an antibiotic to knock out the bronchial infection. He informed us that the antibiotic was “super-strong” and might make Sweetboy’s stomach nauseous.  Great.  We just can not escape the pukes around here.

After telling the doctor what bad timing this was (his birthday is this weekend and he was supposed to attend his first ever sleep-over!), the doctor informed him that he couldn’t do the sleep-over, no way, no how!  When I tell you that histrionics ensued, I’m not even slightly exaggerating.  Sara Bernhardt ain’t got nothin’ on my guy.  I took a deep breath and tried to calm him down while the doc disappeared for a moment.  Probably to avoid the massive dramatic encounter going on in room whatever-number-we-were-in.

When the doctor re-entered the room, I begged asked calmly, so as not to revive the histrionics, if there was any way he could attend the overnight since it was only a few doors down.  He replied with a “use your judgement” comment.  Dear John!  Really? I get to have the honor of deciding whether my child attends his first ever sleep-over or not. On his birthday weekend. Word. Of. Mercy.  The sheer weight of the decision left me breathless.  (Guess we know where he gets his proclivity for drama…)

I talked it over with Sweetman and we decided to let him go.  We sent him off on a wing and a prayer; and although we may be out of breath running over there a little later on tonight, we figure it’s good to get winded now and again.  Yes indeedy!