Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, babysitting, baked ziti, cheetah costume, children, cooking, drive me up the wall, grating, halloween, halloween costumes, katie perry, lady ga ga, making your own halloween costumes, mixed tape, nervous breakdown, parenthood, parenting, peeve, pet peeves, pre-teen, sarcastic, when animals attack
The last few days have wrought plenty by way of inspiration, but not much in the area of motivation.
I finished Smalls’ Halloween costume. Sewing is tied for third on the list of things that make me happy (food and bad reality TV being numbers 1 and 2, and the tie for third being shoe shopping). It’s mathematical, but creative at the same time, and at the end of the day you have something to look at and say, “I made that.”
That is one scary cheetah. Besides the fact that the pattern was made for Umpa Loompa and I had to take it in about 2 inches all around, it came out relatively good. It didn’t hurt that I just got a new sewing machine. An awesome new sewing machine. A sewing machine that makes me wonder what the heck I was doing wasting my time on that dinky little one I had before. Ignorance is bliss, indeed. Now, I just have a poodle skirt to finish up, a Lady GaGa (we finally found one appropriate enough for Biggie to wear), a Sonic the Hedgehog sidekick, a kitty cat, a zombie cheerleader and either a tiger or a hot dog (she just has to make up her mind – I’m voting for hot dog!). Wish me luck, I will need it.
Friday night, I spent the entire evening cleaning my house. Saturday morning, I spent the entire morning re-cleaning my house. Sigh.
Saturday I decided to host a dinner party at my house. It was a potluck, but I was making the appetizers and the main dish. And by “I” I mean me. Mr. Peeved was working. Don’t ask me what I was thinking, I won’t have an answer for you and I’ll just change the subject real fast. I figured if the Irish in me can let me get away with drinking whiskey and not getting a hangover, then the Italian in me should let me make an edible dinner. The kids and I went shopping at the farmers market. I remembered their jackets and everything. I remembered all the things on my list. I whipped together an Italian Nachos sauce, a caprese salad and a tray of baked ziti all with an hour to spare.
Are you impressed? Yeah, I was too. I was so proud of myself. Whistling away, cleaning up. What? What does that empty cheese container say? Shredded asiago? Who the heck sells shredded asiago and, puts it right next to the shredded mozzarella? Dagnabit! Back to the store for baked ziti redux.
Sunday, Biggie had her first gig as a babysitter/mother’s helper for my friend (let’s call her Brave Soul, shall we?). Biggie would like me to make a public announcement on her behalf, it goes something like this: I AM SO COOL. Anywho, she took the assignment very seriously, packing a “do bag” and getting pointers from her more seasoned friend.
Biggie: Don’t worry Brave Soul, I am so prepared. I have coloring books and a tea set and a lot of fun activities that I can do with Little Brave Soul. And, my friend, she, like, babysits all the time, and she told me all the tricks of the trade.
Brave Soul: That’s great. Little Brave Soul will love that. What did your friend teach you?
Biggie: Well, she said you just have to play whatever they want to play and make believe it is the most fun in the whole wide world even when it’s the most stupid and boring thing ever.
Brave Soul: Yep, that’s pretty much all there is to it.
There is a rule in my car that is violated at least twice a day. The rule is nobody is allowed to touch the radio until we are out of the driveway and even then, they are to ask first. Biggie can’t grasp the concept. Yesterday afternoon, we get into the car and she whips this CD out of her bag.
Biggie: Mom, can I play this? [waving it in front of me]
Peeved: What is it?
Biggie: It’s my babysitting mix. It’s all my favorite songs. You know, for when I’m babysitting.
Peeved: Biggie – it’s spelled wrong.
Biggie: No it’s not, ma. Gosh, that’s like, slang. No one puts the G on the end of ing words anymore. Can I put it in?
Peeved: Sure, I want to hear this.
[Biggie inserts CD, turns up volume and it starts playing]
Biggie: Oh. [hits disc skip to track 4]
Peeved: What are you doing? Just let it play.
Biggie: Oh, I can’t. Tracks 1, 2 and 3 aren’t appropriate for Smalls to hear.
Peeved: What? I thought this was a babysitting mix.
Biggie: It is. It’s just music I like.
Peeved: But, the first three tracks are inappropriate for your little sister? Why? What are they?
Biggie: It’s mostly Lady Ga Ga. The first one is the one with the Christmas tree and the second one is the one with the disco stick.
Peeved: I don’t think either of those are appropriate for you. What are you doing downloading these? And, what’s wrong about a Christmas tree.
Biggie: You know, when she says “light me up, put me on top, let’s fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la”.
Peeved: Give me that thing. Right. Now.
Biggie: Guess I’m not allowed to listen to it anymore…
You think? It’s bad enough Katie Perry is melting Elmo’s popsicle. Now I have to worry about the sanctity of yuletide carols.
This morning, I couldn’t find my soapbox. Which, is a shame, because apparently people have completely forgotten the art of manners. Simple things, like hold the door open for the person behind you. And, say thank you when someone holds the door open for you. And, if you see me running (or hear my heels clicking) towards the elevator, don’t pretend you can’t find the door open button. Jackknives.
Smalls: Mommy, thank you for my cheetah costume.
Peeved: You’re welcome, honey. I’m glad you like it.
Smalls: When are you going to make your costume, mommy?
Peeved: Well, Smalls, I don’t know what I want to be for Halloween yet.
Smalls: But, you need to make a gazelle costume.
Peeved: I do?
Smalls: Yeah. What am I going to eat if I don’t have a gazelle?