Red-brick school, Red playground, Redhead

My sis and niece came into town for a laid-back kind of spring break visit. We had some rainy days, but a couple of gorgeous days, too. And thanks to daylight savings time, I was able to get out and play a little bit after work. On this evening, we had walked to the top of the street to what used to be an old abandoned school building. Its parking lot is where the bus used to let us off when we were in school, and now our elementary school has busted out of it's boundaries and using this building to spill over into with its youngest pupils. And outside of the old brick, there's a brand new playground perfectly sized for an extra-large 3-year-old!

I saw this posting on Beyond Snapshots after this was taken, and figured I might as well throw it in there. Because these bags are purty.

So here's for red - for lovely old memories and new ones - and ones that are still developing (and constantly talking and talking and talking) - and for pretty bags. :)

Leaving a legacy... of poop jokes?

I had a conversation today with a coworker about installing a sense of humor in your kids. He and his wife have taught their twin one and a half year olds to fart on them. Yes, they walk up to their parents, sit on them, and fart. It both reminded me of this story and made me feel better about it.

Once when my niece was younger and in diapers, before she could talk, so maybe she was one and something – she had this dirty diaper that reeked and she was avoiding being changed. So my mom, my sister, and I were indicating that she smelled, by saying “eeew!” and waving our hands in front of our noses, and the kid stopped and started taking it all in. She looked at me, sitting on the kitchen floor, she looked back at my mom, and back at me again. And she toddled over to me, went around to my back, toddled around so we were back to back, and proceeded to rub her poopy-lumped pants up and down on my back. Now, she was all covered up, so it wasn’t like I was getting dirty, but I was so grossed out by the feel of the poop, that my reflexes kicked in (and I’m not proud of this) but I elbowed her away – right into the kitchen cabinets. I immediately felt horrible and kind of caught her, and stood her back up again, and started apologizing and asking if she was ok, but she already had her eyes back on her target – my back – and toddled back around behind me and did it again.

To me, this was hilarious – plus, I knew that even though she couldn’t talk, she was going to have a sense of humor! One like mine! My sister and my mother, on the other hand, were so horrified that they won’t let me talk about it, even to this day.

But the best part was, you know how sometimes you torture your siblings just for fun? My sister and I have always been pretty different - what I find funny, she finds "weird". It's almost like a game - as in, “Oh yeah? Well, I’m going to make your kid more like ME! So take that!”

Score 1 for me.

But this is a work in progress. I've never been to visit them since they moved away over a year ago. So this week I decided to pick up and go, and paid too much for a last minute ticket. There is work to be done people, and sick senses of humor to be cultivated. She may be a mom, but she'll always be my little sister. And if I can't be there to annoy her, then at least I can give her daughter some pointers.

Conversing

Mona: He’s cute. I’d go out with him.
Me: He’s married. They have 2 kids.
Mona: I know he’s married. Pretty much everyone is married but us. Think about it - everyone’s done it. Hermes has. Everyone but us. I know what my problem is, I don’t know about yours.
Me: Soo… do you think there could be a guy out there that’s perfect for me that hasn’t gotten married yet?
Mona: No. (without hesitation, and maybe a hint of disgust.)
Me: (laughing hard. Because you gotta love the honesty.)

Speaking of aging...

In light of my last post, I would like to find out what anti-aging pills this guy is taking, and get my hands on a whole bunch of those.

I always knew this day would come

For many years - many, many years - I have, to the eyes of outside observers, looked younger than my actual age. For a long time, I didn't see this as a good thing. Take these examples:

- I'm 16, and my mom takes me and my 13-year-old sister for haircuts. The lady at the desks asks my mom for our names and ages, and when she says "16 and 13" the lady looks up, back and forth between my sister and myself, sneers, and says with disbelief, "Which one is 16?" My sister looks delighted, I feel humiliated.
- I'm 17, a junior in high school, and my friend Lob is dating a senior. She asks him if he knows who I am, and his answer is, "Yeah, the one that looks like a freshman." I never liked that guy.
- numerous times in college while trying to get into any 21 and over event
- I'm 22 and starting my first job. I've introduced myself to a co-worker my age, and am chatting until I stop to ask her a question. Her response? Smiles, shakes her head, and says, "It's like you just stepped out of high school and landed in my office!"
- A year later at the same job, I'm asked to go out for a night with a client. One younger woman, and one well-seasoned man. The man asks me exactly what my relevant experience is, and while I try to sound like I know what I'm talking about, he stares at me. When I'm finished, hoping I wait for his response, hoping I succeeded in not sounding like an idiot. His response is to continue to stare while saying, "Did you know you have dimples and freckles? How old are you?"

Sometime soon after this - as we get into my mid-twenties there, I don't mind this so much anymore, so the stories stop. But while it was still a bad thing, do you know what people would tell me? "One day you'll be greatful for this. You'll be 50, and people will think you're 30."
And do you know what I would say to this?? "Uh, no. No, no that will not happen. One day, when it becomes convenient for me to look younger, I will wake up and I will look 15 years older than my actual age. This is how my luck works."

And do you know where I'm going with this next, my people? That's right, that day has come.

The proof:

- This week my niece refers to herself as "a big girl." I ask if I'm a big girl, too. She laughs and says, "Nooo!" Well what am I, then? "You're a grown-up!" Ok, maybe that one's a little obvious, but it depressed me all the same.
- This week at my soccer game, a man on an over 40 team came up to my team - not exactly my whole team - more like just a small group of us that included me - and said he would keep his ears out for us for any over 40 leagues that may be starting up. I then witnessed our captain look each one of us in the face, trying to figure out which one of us looked so old that we were averaging the whole team out into the over 40 category. I prefer to think it wasn't me, but I was among the oldest there.
- Just tonight, I was out for a run, and may have stopped at a new Mexican restaurant to breathe in the sweet sweet aroma while looking over the menue and dreaming of margaritas - and a couple (a couple who is obviously older than me)stops on their way in and the man says, "Excuse m'am, but is that a Virginia shirt your wearing?" When I tell him it is, his wife (again, older) asks what year I graduated. Usually when I reply to this with "98", I'm used to getting "Oh! You were way before me! You look so young!" But this time it was a very surprised, "Ooh! Well. Good for you then. We were '87." Really? I mean it has been over 10 years, how much older than that do I look?
But the worst, the absolute worst of all was this one:
- I'm at the lake with friends of mine who are married, and just happen to be 1 and 2 years younger than me. Also at the lake, is our other friend's 5-year-old niece. She asks my married friends if they are brother and sister. Nooo... no we're not brother and sister, they tell her. "Well if you're not brother and sister, how come you look just alike?" (What every couple wants to hear, right?) And then she pulls this out: "I thought you were brother and sister, and she was your mother." And with that, she points across the deck to your truly. And many heads turn to stare. And there's nothing I can do but sit there and look matronly. That's right people, I have birthed a 31-year-old woman and a 32-year-old man. Would you not agree that I have taken the age leap that I have for so long predicted?

My only consolation on this last point is that the same kid thought my friends looked just alike. And I think I can disagree with her there. What do you think?