not that you asked...

Now, Cheez-Its vs. Cheese Nips is another story altogether

This last weekend was one of those ones I was looking forward to just getting though. We didn't have anything AWFUL to do or anything – it was just busy and packed with activities, two of which had the capacity to be Very Awkward, and as much as I enjoy being social with people I do not really know very well, I do not particularly look forward to potentially awkward social situations. The fact that events like these exist tends to cloud the entire weekend – it's not that I sit around DREADING them; more like I sit around thinking of a bunch of other things for which I could drum up buckets more enthusiasm.

The potentially awkward social situation didn't turn out awkward at all, except for the part where we showed up 15 minutes late and everyone had already eaten. The weird thing is that the whole thing was TO EAT TOGETHER, and we had RSVP'd that we were coming, and... I don't know, I figured even with our 15 minutes of lateness, SOMEONE would still be polishing off a plate of potato salad or something, but NO, everyone was COMPLETELY DONE and had moved on to other activities and it was just... well, it was interesting. I guess that particular group of people must be the most punctual people on the planet, because I have NEVER been to a casual function that starts exactly at the appointed time – when someone says “starts at five!” I assume that everyone is arriving at five, and climbing out of their cars or whatever, and ASSIMILATING, and then there is some basic small talk and then the eating and merriment begins shortly thereafter. That was MY impression, of course, and it turns out that my impression was very wrong. But it was fine! Kind of weird, but fine.

Also in the awkward category was something I TOTALLY lucked out of because I slept really poorly on Saturday night (two hours of sleep, I think). Dave volunteered to be the one to take Asher door-to-door fundraising for t-ball. Is there anything worse than going door to door and asking people for money on a Sunday afternoon? It turns out it was good that he went, anyway, because the other kids also showed up with THEIR dads, and I would have hated to be the chick who got in the way of all kinds of potential Man Talk. This is probably my favorite thing about t-ball so far – as adorable as it is watching the games and as fun as it is bleaching white pants week after week (HA HA NO, JUST KIDDING, THAT PART BLOWS), I love that this is an activity where Dave really is the default parent. I mean, I know moms are just as capable as being Default T-Ball Parents, but Asher's team is filled with Default DADS and so it just makes sense that Dave is the one who sticks it out at every practice and stands behind second base at every game while I let Lucy dig through poison ivy and risk getting bit by ticks behind the bleachers. (Yeah, like my job is better.)

Mostly I've just been thinking about the fact that there are approximately 2.5 days of preschool left and then the entire summer stretches out before me. And I would be all, YAY, THE POOL, except I'm pretty sure this is going to be another long summer during which the elder of my two children refuses to put his head/face anywhere near the surface of the water, and I don't know if you know this, but not wanting to actually SWIM in a pool really limits general pool enjoyability. I mean, there is only so much you can do while sitting on the side and dangling your feet in and/or wading in carefully up to your mid-thigh.

The thing about Asher is that no one except Asher himself can change his mind on any issue or experience he is the least bit scared or nervous or slightly edgy about. For example, this child will not attempt – WILL NOT ATTEMPT – to eat a Cheez-It. I know, you are thinking this is a stupid thing to take issue with ANYWAY, and MAYBE IT IS, but you guys know as well as I do that a Cheez-It is just a cheese-flavored cracker. Right? And he is happy to eat cheese, and also crackers, and also GOLDFISH CRACKERS, which are pretty much the same exact thing as Cheez-Its, please let's not argue if you think Cheez-Its are seven hundred culinary steps above Goldfish or anything, I am just trying to make my point that we are talking about DIFFERENTLY SHAPED CHEESE-FLAVORED CRACKERS here. I also realize I am expending a lot of energy on neon orange, highly processed food, but I HAVE A POINT TO MAKE, and SOMEONE IS GOING TO GET THAT POINT EVENTUALLY.

This particularly frustrated me one afternoon when Asher reported that his snack at school was Cars-themed Cheez-Its. Whoa whoa whoa wait wait wait, you mean this child will not even attempt to eat a Cheez-It when it has a mutated-looking LIGHTNING MCQUEEN STAMPED ON IT? Unbelievable! And so I very patiently tried to explain how Cheez-Its and Goldfish are made at the same factory (stay with me here), and they roll out the dough – remember how we made dough to make those big pretzels last week, Asher? Remember? - and then they cut the dough with differently shaped cookie cutters, just like we do at Christmas when we make Christmas cookies! Remember how even though we make reindeer and bells and angels out of the dough, THEY ALL END UP TASTING EXACTLY THE SAME?

Here is where Asher agrees with me – yes, all the cookies taste the same even though they are different shapes! So I continue with my gentle rant-slash-lesson, and cover the fact that a peanut butter sandwich cut into rectangles tastes exactly the same as a peanut butter sandwich cut into TRIANGLES, YES? And Asher is all, yes, I agree, Mom! And I am all, Asher, this is exactly what happens at the Cheez-It/Goldfish factory! They are just cutting out SQUARES for the Cheez-It box, and GOLDFISH SHAPES for the Goldfish box! And Asher is all, YES! I SEE IT, MOM! And then, as I am practically jumping out of my seat in near-victory and offering to STOP AT THE GROCERY STORE ON THE WAY HOME TO BUY CHEEZ-ITS, I make the mistake of asking, “So? Are you ready to try a Cheez-It now?”

Of course he isn't. HE DOES NOT WANT A CHEEZ-IT; HE DOES NOT LIKE CHEEZ-ITs.

So, you know. His head isn't going underwater any time soon, I don't think.

Allow me to word-barf the entire month of April

April was definitely one of the craziest months we've had in a while, and that's even if you don't count the roughly 17,000 hours I spent dyeing, un-dyeing, RE-DYEING, re-UNdyeing and then thinking about/panicking about/hating/accepting/shampooing my hair. April 2012 will be recorded in history as probably my top shampoo-consumption month of ALL TIME. I should tell you that at one point I read that Prell shampoo was great at fading hair color, so I bought some, and not only did it not do anything (seriously, NOT A THING), it also smelled exactly like whatever they use to try to cover up the smell of a port-a-potty. You know that smell? I know you know that smell. It's not a NICE smell, it's just a STRONG, faux-floral smell that isn't even all that much better than feces, and YES, I was lathering up with it a couple times a day.

Anyway, my hair is still a shade or two darker than my natural color probably is, but it isn't HORRIFYING anymore, although I'm not sure whether that's because I actually succeeded in fading it a bit, or if I just finally got used to it. Either way: EH. I'm over it. I have no more brainpower left for thinking about hair. I am OVER THE HAIR.

(Is not so bad anymore?)

In April, Asher started t-ball, which has been pretty great. Oh, it's not like he's actually TALKING to anyone on the team, but he listens to instructions and he gives high-fives to his coaches and grins when he runs the bases and really likes going to practice and to his games, and that's enough for me. Is he grasping the concept of baseball? Well, probably not, as seen by the fact that he ran straight at the pitcher's mound last week after his turn at bat, but he's learning to swing a bat and throw a ball, and the experience of being part of a team has been really really good for him.

In April I also registered him for kindergarten, which was disheartening. When he was two, Asher had a LOT of trouble separating from us just for Sunday school (all one hour of it) – it took probably three months to get him acclimated to his class, and that's probably because his teacher let him sit on her lap for the majority of those three months. But once he got used to going, he never looked back, and he never once cried at preschool dropoff, even on the very first day. But kindergarten orientation required the parents to meet in the library, and the upcoming kindergarteners to stay in their classrooms and I know the school was just so big and there were so many kids (60, at least) and he absolutely fell apart when I left him. I know he was fine after a few minutes, but it was really, really hard, and now I'm completely paranoid about the first day of school. So paranoid that I don't want to really talk about it, not yet, at least. I know that he will acclimate; I know that it takes a lot of getting used to. But I wish we could just push past that first stage and arrive immediately at the part of kindergarten where he loves school and his teacher and recess and riding the bus home at the end of the day and I can stop mainlining antacids.

We have grand plans to bribe him through his first week of school by promising him a trip to Richmond to see a NASCAR race. Which reminds me that I haven't told you yet about the fact that Asher is suddenly a HUGE NASCAR FAN, WEEP. Sometime recently, after a very longstanding obsession with the movie Cars, he figured out that car racing was REAL, and that REAL PEOPLE DO IT, and we turned on a race one weekend afternoon and he sat like a statue in front of the television, completely enthralled. He will watch ANYTHING race – cars, trucks, three-legged dogs – just as long as they all have numbers painted on their sides so that he can keep up with who is winning and losing. It is... weird, actually. NASCAR racing? In MY HOME? I would have NEVER believed it, but it turns out that when your kid thinks something is really super awesome, you kind of find yourself picking it up too, as horrifying as it is for me to admit. It's just that enjoyment I get out of watching him love something. And this is coming from someone who has been in Talladega, Alabama during a race weekend (and you people familiar with NASCAR will know what I am talking about). IT WAS A LOT OF TANK TOPS, is what I'm saying. A LOT OF UNNECESSARY TANK TOPS.

Lucy, despite being three, is not conforming to ANY of the stereotypes I expected her to at this age. She is pleasant and reasonable 98 percent of the time (I thought she would be an AWFUL three-year-old) and she has very little interest in girly things, like dolls or princesses or picking out her own clothes. Actually that's not true, she does like to pick out her own shirt every day, but she only wants to wear shirts with ANIMALS on them, of which we have approximately three. Also, if she wears a shirt with a dog on it, then she wants to take a matching stuffed animal along in the car with us, which poses a problem when she is wearing, say, a shirt with a butterfly on it. WE DO NOT HAVE A STUFFED BUTTERFLY. This is, FUNNILY ENOUGH, the two percent of the time when she acts COMPLETELY UNREASONABLE, but usually we are able to talk through it. The last time she wore her butterfly shirt and we did not have a stuffed butterfly to tote along with us, we simply brainstormed to think of an animal who might be FRIENDS with a butterfly. This led us to Bambi, who has a butterfly on his tail in the movie, which led us to Thumper, WHO WAS SITTING RIGHT THERE ON HER BED, problem solved. Thumper goes with her butterfly shirt, but please don't ask her about it if you run into us, because it takes her about an hour to explain the process of deciding on Thumper and WE HAVE PLACES TO BE, OKAY? I also want the record to show that today she changed her mind and decided that she no longer wants to be a drummer when she grows up; now she would instead like to be a singer.

“Like Erik?” I asked her. Erik, my brother, heads up the worship band at our church.

“Yeah, like Erik,” she said.

“Well,” Asher piped up, “She can be a singer like Erik, but she has to stay a girl.” SO GLAD HE POINTED THAT OUT. Also so glad he's right. I'm keeping this girl.