At approximately 6:27 a.m. Miss A woke up, called out “Mommmmmmmmmmy” and headed straight for the couch. Being the good mother I am, I brought her a pillow from her bed and covered her with a small quilt so I could possibly bribe her with letting me sleep 30 more minutes. I tucked the quilt around her and gave her a big kiss.

She looked up at me, smiled, and said, “I love kisses. Kisses are beautiful!”

It’s impossible to stay mad over losing some Saturday morning sleep when I hear something like that.

And now for something funny. I took this in the car on the way to the pet store with Bailey.

What do you think Miss A is thinking?

I wanted to take a little blog day of silence yesterday in honor of 9/11. For the past two years I posted a tribute about Peter Freund, a NYC firefighter who lost his life that day.

Off and on yesterday I thought about that day and how difficult it had to be for the families who lost loved ones. I work for a small business publishing company and was in my first few months of employment on 9/11. I was pregnant with Miss C and driving in to work when I first heard the news reports. One of our clients, Keefe, Bruyette & Woods, had office space near the top of the South Tower and lost 67 members of their firm during the terrorist attacks. We all left work early that day and although I did not know anyone who died that day, several people I worked with did.

Last week we were watching a special on PBS about the World Trade Center towers and how construction of skyscrapers and safety regulations have changed since that horrific tragedy. The girls were still up and Miss C was sitting in the hubby’s lap. Most of the show featured interview snippets with the main architect of the Trade Center towers. And then there was a short clip from the first plane hitting the building and that horrible image of smoke against blue sky that no one can forget.

Miss C gasped. “Oh my gosh look at that plane! That plane hit that building!”

She paused a moment and asked, “Did people get hurt? Did people die?”

The hubby told her yes, they did, but many people were OK.

She thought about it some more, trying to mentally grasp what she had seen.

“That plane was a mistake?”

It was a half question, half statement.

I don’t think either of us had the heart to tell her no, that it wasn’t a mistake. That it was intentional.

So we remained silent and as 6-year-olds are apt to do, she got distracted by her little sister and she never mentioned it again.

MetroDad posted a beautiful tribute to a friend yesterday (thanks to Y at Joy Unexpected for linking to it.)

Have you explained 9/11 to your children? We have yet to cross that path, but I know that it is only inevitable that we talk about what happened that day to our daughters.

Dear Unsuspecting Parent:

While your babysitter, and I use the term babysitter loosely, was watching your kids at the dance studio yesterday she all but disappeared for a good 30 minutes. I assume she went out to her car (maybe she was talking to her boyfriend on the phone, chain smoking, or painting her nails), and let your older daughter run like a banshee on crack through the waiting area at the dance studio. One mom was trying to study (ha ha, yeah good luck with that), and the rest of the parents, like me, were trying to watch our daughters enjoy dance class and had no idea we’d be discussing what prescription anxiety meds and wine we were craving by the time class wrapped up, thanks to your daughter and your babysitter’s stellar skills.

I have to admit I gave your kid several evil looks while she tore through the waiting area, dragging her tiny bespectacled baby sister with her and two other kids whose parents kept shushing and scolding them and looking for your babysitter, who was AWOL. I am sure she’s a great kid though when, you know, an adult is actually there to supervise her.

But seriously, if your baby sitter drives a white Mustang and wears skinny jeans you should definitely fire her.

Love, Blonde Mom

I vaguely remember seeing the school portrait flyer posted on the front door at daycare last week, but we use the side entrance. Yesterday was Grandma day for Miss A, so I missed the reminder they send home to parents like me who need a little mental nudge.

The hubby took Miss A to school this morning and as soon as he left he called to let me know it was picture day because I had picked out a pink and teal striped t-shirt and play khakis for Miss A to wear and even He Who Has Limited Fashion Sense knew what a color scheme trainwreck that would be with the traditional fall leaves autumn background the portrait company uses. He couldn’t run home to pick out another outfit and I have a staff meeting at the office so I couldn’t justify make the 40 minute roundtrip to home and daycare and back all for a new outfit so I decided not to sweat it and consider it at least $20 saved.

All kidding aside, the portrait company our daycare hires in the fall is not my favorite (they bring in an independent photographer for black and white spring photos that are more candid), but yet I always feel guilted into buying at the very least the smallest package. I’m just going to stay strong and save the big bucks for a holiday portrait of the girls. There’s no sense in having photographic evidence 20 years from now about the day mama forgot it was school picture day.

Driving Miss C to school yesterday, I cranked up a classic rock station, opened the sunroof, and hit all the green lights. Classic rock seems to be a safe bet in the car with the girls because with top 40 you never know when you’re going to hear a love song about a pantyless stripper.

I had promised the hubby I would help him with his business plan yesterday and I had blocked out lunch, which on Fridays is typically spent at school with Miss C.

I turned the music down to deliver the bad news.

Miss C Mommy can’t eat lunch with you today.

Miss C: Mommy, turn it up.

Wait, I wanted to tell you I can’t eat lunch with you today.

Miss C: Why not?

Well, I need to help daddy with something at his office.

Miss C: Uh, mommy can you turn up that song?

I’ll come up to school one day next week for lunch.

Miss C: Okay, okay…now mommy TURN IT UP!

In Labor Day weekend news, I’m painting our hall bathroom a lovely pale blue tomorrow (buh bye yellow) and I think the girls will be farmed out to the inlaws while I paint and hubby partakes in his manly segue into autumn-his fantasy football league draft. Hopefully I’ll stick to my paintbrushes and finish my project since I bought the paint in March. I don’t want to get too distracted with the prospect of being alone for a few hours because I might do something crazy like run off to Target and move in.

p.s. Pray that Gustav simmers down.

Last year I helped out quite a bit in Miss C’s kindergarten class. I knew her teacher, having volunteered in her class two years in a row through Junior Achievement, and because of that, her teacher never hesitated to ask me to do some additional take home tasks, such as assembling class packets, which, unfortunately, turned into the volunteer job from hell and me toting a box of worksheets from home to work and then back home again. I also volunteered in the classroom every Friday that I could since that’s my work from home day.

This year it’s a different song and dance. Miss C’s teacher is new to our school system. During the first grade parents meeting last week she asked that no parents volunteer for the entire month of September so that the kids could get acclimated to her.

You could have heard a PTO pen drop when she made her request.

Our elementary school is known for the zealous army of parent volunteers willing to take on the most difficult of fundraising tasks. We need to sell five tons of frozen gourmet cookie dough in a week? No problem! We need to organize and throw the biggest fundraising carnival featuring a special performance of Cirque deu Soleil in the school gym? Let’s do it!

Frankly, I wasn’t too surprised by her request since one of my friend’s daughters is one year older than Miss C and she’d already told me that first grade teachers don’t want as much in room volunteer time by the parents.

At first I felt rejected not having Miss C’s new teacher assign me with a volunteer project within 48 hours of school starting, but then I came to my senses and realized “Good God Woman You HAVE IT MADE!” I happily filled out the volunteer form and noted that I can help with field trips and with reading to the class, but it’s nice to not feel obligated to spend my Fridays hovering over the laminating machine in the teacher’s work room. I’m planning on eating lunch with Miss C in the school cafeteria on most Fridays, but I can merrily be on my way and not feel pressured into “just one little project” by her teacher.

I think the helicopter room moms are starting to relax with the new teacher, but I’m trying to avoid them like the plague because the only thing worse than the teacher who knows how to push your volunteer buttons, is the elementary school helicopter mom.

Here are some tips for avoiding them:

Make no eye contact with other parents. You can get away with dark sunglasses inside the school building the first week, but after the second week it gets suspicious as people may suspect you’re hung over.

Don’t linger after school meetings and never arrive early for school meetings.

Never voluntarily give out your phone number or e-mail address as it will be distributed soon enough.

Consider setting up a separate e-mail address that you only give out for school information.

Always be prepared with a pat excuse for rushing off after school (i.e. we have soccer practice, dance class.)

Use your other children as an excuse. (i.e. “I’d love to talk more about the XXXXX, but I need to pick up Sallie Mae by 3:30 for a dental appointment.)

Use your spouse as an excuse. (i.e. “I’ve got to run, hubby needs me to drop something off at the post office.”)

Use your dog as an excuse (i.e. “Fluffy’s in the car, gotta run, byeeeeeeeee!”)

So do you have any tips for avoiding signing your life away to the PTO? Is there a balance?

Friday, 6 p.m.

Hubby: Do you need a glass of wine?

Me: YES.

Hubby: Do you need a Big Gulp of wine?

——————————-

Saturday, 8 a.m.

Miss A: My elbow hurts mommy. (She is laying down on the couch and rubbing her forehead.)

Me: Do you mean your temple?

Miss A: Yeah.

——————————

Sunday, 7:45 p.m.

Miss C: My sister is the best girl in the world!!!!!!!!! (Hugs Miss A as they both scream with glee while I push them home from the playground in our bike cart.)

—————————–

Sunday, 8:15 p.m.

Miss A: Mommy is plankton real?

Me: Yes.

Miss A: Where does he live?

Me: In the ocean. Wait a minute, do you mean Plankton on Sponge Bob?

Miss A: Yeah. (Clearly we are downing the Sponge Bob Kool Aid around here.)

—————————–

Monday, 3 a.m.

Miss C: MOMMY!

Me: Yes, baby.

Miss C: I didn’t have a nightmare, but my throat hurts really, really bad.

Me: Oh nooooooooooooooooooo.

I had serious trouble falling asleep last night. Typically I get a Sunday case momsomnia as I think about the week ahead, but it hit me last night. Miss A had a run in with bullies for the first time on the daycare playground yesterday and it broke my heart to hear her talk about it. One boy, in particular, she kept mentioning by name. He was apparently teasing her and calling her a “baby.”

Little boy whose name starts with C?

I’M SO ON TO YOU PUNK.

As Miss A and I snuggled in her bed after story time last night she had a request.

“Mommy will you turn off my turtle lamp?” There is a white ceramic turtle lamp on her dresser that was mine as a little girl.

“Sure baby.”

“Those big boys make fun of my turtle lamp mommy?”

“Do you think they’d make fun of you because you sleep with the lamp on?”

“Yes.”

It dawned on me that the boys are not only targeting her because she is the newest and youngest member of the 3-year-olds’ class, but perhaps because her speech is easy to target. Miss A has trouble pronouncing her “Rs” properly. She says “wain” for rain, “wabbit” for rabbit, etc. She also sucks her thumb at nap time.

Miss C, taking on the role of big sister, was full of sage advice concerning playground social semantics (don’t get me started on the “boyfriend” chasing thing that is apparently the first grade girls’ idea of recreation as Miss C has not one, but two, beaus.) This morning she asked Miss A to come back to her bedroom. Because Miss C normally bans her baby sister from her bedroom, I stood outside her door, just in the hallway, so I could observe. She dug around in her dresser drawer and pulled out a sparkly fuchsia headband, one of her favorites. She expertly placed it on Miss A’s head “so the mean boy wouldn’t bother her.” Apparently bullies hate the blinding girl power of girly bling.

Now Miss A is my spunky girl, full of enough social moxie (not to mention herself) to work the toughest of crowds. I’ve never seen her discouraged about school and she’s been very excited about her new room and new teacher. This morning I kissed her on the cheek as she watched TV.

“No school for me today mommy?” Her big brown eyes looked up at me.

“You’ve got school today, and grandma day tomorrow!”

I reminded her that her daddy was taking her to school.

“Do you want daddy to say something to your teacher about the mean boys?”

She paused, plucked her thumb from her mouth, and said, “No, I DO IT!”

That’s my girl.