Princess Ball 2012

J is on the executive board of directors (that feels like it should be in all caps, or something equally grandiose) for the local Communities in Schools (CIS) chapter.  Last year, they initiated the first ever Princess Ball--a daddy daughter dance (try saying that three times fast), an "awwwww" inducing event of the first magnitude.  Raise money and get to cry your eyes out all at the same time!  Well, at least I'd be crying my eyes out.

I was all set to go pour punch and dole out pizzas, but unfortunately Saturday morning I got a phone call that my grandmother was very ill and in the hospital.  Instead of helping the princesses primp, I laid out their clothes, packed a bag and drove all balls of fury to eastern NC, where the cotton grows tall and XM radio signals don't reach.

J was left with the daunting job of helping the girls get ready.  I have already made J promise that should anything ever happen to me, he would have someone teach him how to do Pey's hair, lest CPS come knocking on his door.  He's a great dad, but he is thwarted by a pony tail holder and a brush.  Thankfully he called his twin sister over to pinch hit and get it done!

The little princesses are treated to having their nails done (I was hoping to get mine done too, but oh well), decorate cupcakes, dance to a DJ and have unlimited pizza (Lulu had 5 slices & Pey 3--they got our money's worth).

Lulu was too cool to wear her crown.  Or dance.  But Pey thoroughly enjoyed herself.

While I hated I couldn't be there, at least I got some really good pics of J & the Gruesome Twosome from my sister in law.

Maybe it was a good thing I wasn't there.  I would have pulled my best Charlene Darling and cried at "Butterfly Kisses" or "Dancing with Cinderella".  Although the cupcakes and nail painting might have made up for it.

Sweetie Bowl Party

We used to take the Sound & Fury to a Super Bowl party at a house where I didn't even know the hosts.  There is nothing like taking the Sound to the bathroom, only to find that the Fury has snuck up to the hosts' bedroom and have to feel like I'm committing a felony just by going to retrieve the Fury.  Ok, maybe not felony, but a serious case of the Peeping Toms (or Snoopy In-laws).  To make it worse, there were usually around 30 people at that party and it was just too much stimulation for the girls (or maybe for me--I don't do well in crowds). I spent more time chasing them and worrying if they were bothering people than enjoying myself. If I was going to be miserable, I might as well do it in my own house.  After all, I do a great job of making myself miserable at the house everyday.

My nerves couldn't handle another Super Bowl under the guise of that "party".  I'd rather have a root canal (not that I've ever had a root canal, but I'm betting it's right on up there with the most miserable things in the world)  The girls & I were going to stay at home and have our own version of the Super Bowl Party--the Sweetie Bowl.  What's the Sweetie Bowl?  The same thing as a Super Bowl party, only with waaaaayyyyy more estrogen (and not in the wardrobe malfunction estrogen kinda way). 

I let the girls plan the menu and it always involves more junk food than they consume in a month.  It probably involves more junk food that the population of Guam eats in an entire month. We toss a blanket out in the living room floor and have a picnic.  Once the first round of  food is gone, we do girly things like paint nails and brush hair.  Like most people who watch the game, the girls are only interested in the commercials.  Me, I was watching to pull for my second favorite Manning brother, and more importantly to pull against that "leave my pregnant baby mama for a super model", pretty boy, Tom Brady. 

Yes, Pey is wearing her bathing suit in the bottom pic.  What can I say?  Only girls here & we can do whateva we want!

This year was a total success.  Brady lost to Manning. Again.  And my nails are a beautiful shade of plum!

GOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLL!!!!!!

Something that I placed on the level of me having a nice chat over Starbucks with Ewan McGregor as far as actually coming to fruition, actually happened.  Never in a million years would I have ever thought this would happen, but it did.  It really did!  I have witnesses! I promise!

Peytie scored a goal in soccer!!! An honest to goodness goal!  And it was even in the right goal!!  My little defensive minded goalie figured out to work it on the offensive end too.  I was so proud of her that if I had a towel, I would have waved it and turned into the crazy towel mom!

What was Pey's reaction?  A cross between a mental mild mannered celebration and a physical cardiac attack from over exertion.  She asked to sit down right after it.  That's ok--she earned it!

No benches in this league, so flopping on the floor it is.

Or better yet, flopping on J.

100th Day of School

Back in the Dark Ages when I went to school and we had ink wells, carried our lunches in tins, cinched our books together with a leather strap,all the classes met in one room heated by a pot bellied stove, and my nemesis was a girl named Nellie (ok, maybe I'm confusing my history with Little House on the Prairie, but it was so long ago, I can't remember), the only day of school we celebrated was the 181st, which was the first day of summer vacation.  Now, there is a trend to celebrate the 100th day of school.  Why?  I have no clue.  Not like it means the school year is half over.  Not like they get the day off.  But it seems to be a rip roaring success with the youngsters.

At any rate, the Sound & the Fury's school decided it would be fun this year to have the kids dress up like 100 year old people, because we all know that nothing says PAR-TAY like arthritis and glaucoma.  The girls excitedly raided my closet for gear, which is what every 30 something mom wants to know--that her wardrobe rivals that of her great-grandmother.

Skirts, knee high socks (THESE belonged to the girls--not me), sweaters, some frumpy jewelry and they were almost set.  To make it more believable, we added baby powder to their hair to gray it out (irony--I'm constantly covering my gray to black it out).  To complete the look, I took gray eyeliner and drew on wrinkles.  I knew exactly where to place the faux lines, because I study my real lines every morning in the mirror.  When it was done, they looked a lot like I do on a daily basis, only without the red lipstick.

Wonder if they'll have parties in their classrooms?  Prune juice and Geritol for everybody, followed by a long nap.