Notes from inside the suit

It was like an outer-body-but-in-Barney’s-body experience.  I’m talking about my blessed hour in a raccoon mascot suit.  5 hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes huh? Well you haven’t lived until you put in some time in one of these babies.

Was I thrilled from the moment I got the news that I’d be visiting a local elementary school as a masked rodent? Not exactly.  There was a pout here and a gnash there and although I never wanted to be “that” librarian I definitely had this fleeting thought: ‘Dress up in a who and do what?? Dude! I have a Master’s Degree!’   Nonetheless I put on the suit and walked into the school and boy am I glad I did.

Children (especially the kind that you, yourself don’t hafta feed, clothe and make something of) are such a joy.  Haven’t gotten your 15 minutes? Put on a mascot suit and go to an elementary school! I felt like Beyonce or Beiber! The kids showered me with such adoration and applause! I may not have to see my therapist this month!

So I’ll give you a quick and dirty (librarian term) report:

• If you ever agree to get in a mascot suit (and you must), make sure the fan inside the head works.  Mine didn’t and I had a waterfall of sweat rolling down my face the entire time. When I was beside myself with heat and sweat my assistant pulled me to the side and threw cold water from her water bottle through the mesh eyes and onto my face Basketball Wives style.  Between my mascara and the sweat and water I still looked like a raccoon when I took the head off.
• If you ever agree to get in a mascot suit (and you must), you gotta pay special attention to that one kid, the one that looks a little more disheveled and neglected that the rest.  They’re the one who really needs you to be their big, giant, caring, non-creepy bear.
• If you ever agree to get in a mascot suit (you know the drill), you might want to check out this or that to get prepared.  Blowing kisses and waving is all good but a mascot who Crip walks? #winning
• If you ever agree to get in a mascot suit make sure that they just, recently, some time this century dry cleaned it.  I learned this one the hard way amigos.  I smelled a faint sourness putting the suit on but  when I emerged the sourness was all the way turned up and my whole body smelled like athletes foot. I felt like I need to be tested for e-coli.
• Kids can really feel good vibrations.  Every teacher I encountered said that this is the first mascot visit that didn’t elicit screams of terror from the tots.  #pureloveoverhere

Can’t give you pictures of me as Rocky the reading rodent because I can’t associate my (perhaps) off colored ramblings with my Library’s image but I can assure you I came, I waved, I Rockied the house.

I make this look good!

A simple constitution

Saw these rules posted on my sons bedroom door. No small print. No high falutin’ language, straight no chaser. We could learn something from the elementary school set eh?

Oh! Note how “rules” is misspelled but “circumstances”? There’s not a ‘c’ outta place. Well ‘rules’ always has been one one of those tricky words with a deceptively simple spelling. **You are witnessing a mother’s defense of her son’s superfluous l’s.**
See how ‘extra’ we get with age?

Enjoy the simplicity!

In case you missed it, that’s:

Da Rulles

1. No mean ugly girls.  (Standard boy’s club contractual line item)

2. No jumping on our awesome airbed.

3. No girls come in under any circumstances.

4. No farting girls.  (Now this, I thought, was brilliant.)

5. No girl never step one step in our room. (Re-iteration. All the best documents do it.)

6. No girl will never come in our closet. (Just to clearly define the parameters of the room.) 

With a bleep, bleep here and a bleep, bleep there!

Day 38!!!

Ok. I censored the post before and chose another title when the book lottery served a little lasciviousness.  I thought about doing that with today’s title but, dangit the lottery has spoken and I will sanitize no more.  Yes, I’m a tad puritanical by today’s standards (as proof of this, I actually said ‘Oh my’ when today’s book title popped up.  If I had pearls I might’ve clutched them).   Without further ado…

Lullaby...and goodnight...

Bibliographic info:

Go the fuck to sleep 

Mansbach, Adam

Akashic Books, 2011

Summary (Library Website):

Go the Fuck to Sleep is a bedtime book for parents who live in the real world, where a few snoozing kitties and cutesy rhymes don’t always send a toddler sailing blissfully off to dreamland. Profane, affectionate, and radically honest, California Book Award-winning author Adam Mansbach’s verses perfectly capture the familiar – and unspoken – tribulations of putting your little angel down for the night. In the process, they open up a conversation about parenting, granting us permission to admit our frustrations, and laugh at their absurdity.

My Reaction:

Me being an insider to the biblio world (I’m a librarian. No autographs please.), I remember hearing about this book well before the mainstream media got a hold of it.  Like most people my 1st reaction was  “Thats horrible! how can you send your kids to bed with those being the last words they hear before they drift into la la land?!” But I must admit I’ve warmed to the idea a little.  If we slip an expletive or two into our exchanges with our kids in their waking hours, why not throw some in for good measure just before bed? Kidding. Kind of.

But seriously, I doubt anyone is reading this book to their kids.  I think the author bills it as a kids book for adults, kind of like that one Carrie Bradshaw pitched to an editor called “Little Cathy and Her Magic Cigarettes”.  Remember that episode? Good times.  Anyway the book is well written, beautifully illustrated and f@#*&’ hilarious.

 

It’s Tuesday somewhere in the world

Two Kinds of People Tuesday

1.) Those who know that a mirror accent wall should have been left in the 70’s to die a lonely smudgy death

2.) The geniuses who built my house

photo from thelede.blogs.nytimes.com

Dear geniuses,

Windex thanks you, my pirouetting 7 year old thanks you, I do not.

Sincerely,

Asha

photo from busybeeandrosebud.wordpress.com

My heart breaks for the Mothers who don’t…

grateful haiku (for my 4)

how sweet it is that,
i get to lay my eyes on
each dear one of them.

photo from buttonlust.tumblr.com

Your small children don’t love you. Don’t worry, mine don’t love me either.

“I love you Daddy!”

“No you don’t, cause you always whinin’!”

Truer words have never been spoken.  I heard this exchange eons before I ever entered the roughest hood you could ever dream of—that is if you get to indulge in REM sleep (AKA that thing you did before you decided to procreate).  That’s right, I’m talking about the parenthood.  Concrete jungle where screams are made.  Yall know.

I was just a girl of 9 or 10 when I heard my cousin whine those words to his father in a voice that would make fingernails on a chalk board say “Hey! get your own turf!”.  His dad aptly replied  “No you don’t”.   I wouldn’t truly appreciate the sagacity of his response until I became the proud owner of 4 of my own crumbmakers.  This might be a good time to introduce my cast of characters.

There’s plucky smurf.  The youngest.  Sample exchange: 

Me:  “So do you wanna help mommy make a cake?”

Plucky: “Why? You don’t know how to make it?”

Then there’s diva smurf.  A typical tidbit:

Diva: “Are you gonna wear that dress? It makes you look pregnant.”

Me: Blank stare.

Next there’s sensitive smurf.  I recognize my child self the most in him.  Classic confab:

Sensitive (pouting):  “The kids at school said my nose looks like a hog’s nose.”

Me:  “That’s not true! They’re just mad because you’re so handsome. ”

Sensitive:  “No I’m not. I’m hog-some.”

And lastly pre-teen smurf.  Standard style:

Pre-teen (as she looks on while Diva is dancing):  “OMG you move like Urkel’s daughter!!!”   (and then this for good measure) “Lemon citrus head!!!”

Diva(on the verge of tears):   Mommy!!!!

*******************************

No matter what they’re doing, doesn’t it always come back to that utterance: ‘mommy/daddy’?  Whether you’re in the middle of cooking, cleaning, splitting atoms or hiding in the bathroom you can expect to hear a child at regular 15 minute intervals calling out ‘mommy/daddy’!!   But take heart! They can switch it up for you so you won’t get bored.  They bellow it, they whine it, whisper it, rapid fire it, heck they might even chop and screw re-mix it for you—but they’re gonna call your name day in and day out with little care for your well being or mood.  Dictionary.com was ambitious enough to try to define love and they offer this:

love (noun)– a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.

Aint nothin’ tender about the way kids hound you.  They are passionate though, passionate about getting what they want!  So do your kids love you? They will one day.  Right now they just need you.  They need you to reassure them they don’t dance like Urkel’s offspring.  They need you to hug them up when an older sibling’s parting shot about their head resembling ovular fruit sends them over the edge.  They’ll really love you when they’re old enough to have a cast of characters of their own.

I'm not a lemon head!