Daring Young Mom

My big sister was my best friend from the day I was born. Legend has it that when she came to visit me in the hospital and the nurse wheeled me back to the nursery, 2-year-old Heather yelled after the woman, “Hey LADY! You take good care of my baby!” For the first months of my life, she nearly smothered me with love and then she started taking care of me herself.

She played games with me. She helped me learn to imagine.

She was Leia. I was Luke. (I was younger and had shorter hair)

She was the Princess. I was the Prince. (shorter hair excuse again)

She was Sandy. I was Danny. (yep. Shorter hair.)

She was Mary. I was Laura. (This one I liked. Mary was always the boring goody-goody who cried all the time and threatened to go tell Pa. Laura was the risk taker, the one who could kick Nelly’s trash. Laura married a guy named Manly. On the other hand, every bad thing that could possibly happen to a person happened to Mary. She even went so far as to go blind and, as if that weren’t enough, the blind school burned to the ground.)

Okay. End of tangent.

She swung higher than me. I looked to her to teach me.

I was the “brave one” but she was the one who let me sleep with her until I was 12 because I was so scared of the dark.

She was the voice of reason and I was the mischief. She was ladylike and I liked to jump out of trees to see if I could break my arm and get a cast.

She read great books and told me the stories at night because I was too lazy to read them myself. Besides, I still believe she told them better than the original writers. Eat that L.M.!

We went on a game show together, lost (darn you blue team!) and still remained friends.

She did my hair like THIS for the first day of Junior High.

We were, and still are, silly together.

Although we went through periods where we divided our shared bedroom with tape and even occasionally with a cardboard wall, when we got to college we chose to room together. We graduated at the same time because she had taken 2 years off to serve as a missionary.

She spent the summer with me in Quebec and told me I had a great French accent. She translated for me when I needed help. One thing I know – If someone shouts “Vive Quebec!” on St. Jean Baptiste Day, you’d better shout it back!

She dressed like a tween with me and went to see the Backstreet Boys in concert because, “They’re so lame that they’ll break up any minute now. THIS MAY BE OUR LAST CHANCE TO SEE THEM IN CONCERT!” She was a High School teacher at the time and me a Librarian.

When I found a new best friend and moved out of our apartment, she celebrated with me, although I know it was hard.

She cried when she held my baby for the first time, so amazed that her baby sister had made a person and so instantly filled with love for Laylee.

When Magoo was born and my world fell apart, she got on a plane.

We’re learning how to be mothers together. I guess we’ve been learning for a long time. I do hope we’re nicer to our kids than we were to my brother. 🙂

When I describe Heather to people, I always say, “She’s a lot like me, only nicer.” And it’s true. She is the truest friend, the most loyal and compassionate person. She is talented in so many ways. She works hard and she is hard on herself. She is vulnerable. But her very vulnerability and her willingness to share her insecurities makes her more likeable.

And no, she’s not dead. This is not a eulogy. I just like her. (Besides, her eulogy would talk more about how wonderful she is and less about Laura Ingalls Wilder and the Backstreet Boys.)

One of the first times I read Chris’s blog, she was talking about a horror story that unfolded when her family decided to use their hot air popper for the first time. I laughed so hard at the way she told the story, but especially at the observations she made about the descriptions on the popper’s packaging.

Recently the Daring family has made some observations that I think are worthy of note.

While reading Hush Little Alien for the eleventy bazillionth time the other night, Laylee stopped me, appalled. “No mommy. That’s NOT RIGHT! That guy has THREE ARMS!” This exclamation was followed by a face that clearly said, “This is the most ridiculous children’s story EVER conceived by a nincompoop of a writer in the history of our universe.”

She apparently has no problem with the people being green, capturing astronauts to use as play-things, melting things with laser beams, destroying highly expensive government surveillance equipment, or the existence of the FOURTH arm.

Tonight Dan noticed the label on the Bubble Solution Collection and Storage Unit for our Battery Operated Wind Generating Bubble Gun. When we originally purchased this life saving device, we had no idea that besides being a boon to us, saving hours and hours of jaw-breaking, bubble-blowing exhaustion, the device was also “portable.”

All this for only $1.99? I’m so glad Dan took the time to read the labeling correctly. Now we know that if we’re ever on the go, we can take the BSCSU for our BOWGBG with us anytime, anywhere. It will always be there, like State Farm or AAA or the whining…. It almost brings a tear.

Dan made another interesting observation regarding this milk carton and the fact that someone must have failed their 3rd grade food group test.

I know the government recently came out with a “new food pyramid.” Did they really crown eggs and butter as the new staples of dairy-dom?

This little ad is on the back of all our milk cartons. Maybe they think advertising milk on a milk carton is redundant, but what about yogurt, cheese and ice cream? Since when did they become the redheaded stepchildren of the dairy group?

To come up with a better Babytalk Magazine cover photo than this:

I submitted it to the Evening Magazine baby photo contest, which was obviously run by people who are prejudiced against eyes. How could you possibly pass on that face?

Babytalk is currently running their cover baby contest and I would be so excited if one of you won. I’ve seen several of your babies and I know that one of us can nail this thing.

Speaking of Babytalk, if anyone has or will be getting an April issue, please let me know. I let my free subscription run out, but they’re doing a piece on mommy bloggers in which Daring Young Mom may be mentioned. I got an email from a fact checker, verifying a quote they planned to use from the site.

The quote is about how I let my children eat off the floor and I’m not highly comfortable with its grammatical correctitude, but whatever. It’s sort of exciting and I’d love to see a copy if my blog makes it into the final draft and I’m not left standing like Mike Wazowski from Monster’s, Inc with the logo in front of my face.

If you could send me the article, it would save me an unneccessary appointment to the OB/GYN to gank a copy.

Magoo has learned his first sign.

You say ”˜potato.’ He says ”˜blagooblablah.’
You wave ”˜hi’, he clicks his heels and salutes ”˜heil.’
Potato, blagooglablah, hi, heil
Let’s call the whole thing off.

Catchy, isn’t it?

To give him the benefit of the Nazi doubt, his stiff outstretched arm of greeting could pass for some sort of Vulcan Spockish thing if he could learn to get the fingers right. He also doesn’t have a mustache, a love of marching, the ability to sprechen sie anything, or have totally crazy hair.

He has started to grow the equivalent of old man eyebrows all over his head. You know the inch-long curly hairs that look like you could just brush them away but they’re actually growing out of his head, like a Chia Pet where a few of the holes have been doused with fertilizer?

He also wears gingerbread pajamas in the middle of March and pink bibs. What can I say? This kid’s no slave to fashion.

Who made the comment as “Dr John Gottman” on the marriage post? You must show yourself. This is driving me slightly mental. I’m pretty sure that it was made by one of my hilarious, wisecracking readers, possibly my brother.

On the other hand, I don’t know Dr Gottman but I know people who know him and in my mind there remains about 0.00005% doubt that someone forwarded my little “review” to him and he decided to have a little fun with me. He’s probably bored, now that all the scientific research has been done.

Reveal your identity please. It’s just one more woodpecker in the back of my mind, slowly chipping away at my sanity.

Also, I must ask. Did anyone see the beginning of the West Wing last night? We missed taping the first 10 minutes. Something apparently happened with Josh and Donna at the very beginning before the credits. Did they finally have a little smooch? A knowing look? What’s the deal-yo?

Just so you know….I’m currently losing my mind, in a house of baby diarrhea and refusal to drink liquids. Who sent my kids the memo that the drinking of all liquids is a form of torture and why was I not sent a copy of the memo first so I could proofread it and possibly light it on fire?