Dragon Girl Came To Town

The single parenting life is wearing me down. And apparently has an equal or greater effect on my children. Yesterday, Shelby's alter ego "Dragon Girl" came to visit. For over an hour our entire household burst at the seems with the deafening shreeks that can be produced from the depths of five year old lungs. Dragon Girls lips turn a deep shade of violet when she reaches the climax of her rage. Some windows were broken, only one neighbor called the police. My ego was beaten down into the resemblance of a flea. The carpet was smoking.
Dragon Girl made an exit to her room after slamming her door multiple times (apparently her Dragon Strength was waining at this point). Thankfully, silence settled over our house again, and after a few minutes, Shelby emerged from her bedroom, leaving Dragon Girl to roam the Earth, once more. Now, about that carpet...
Later that same day, Dragon Girl returned just as we were leaving the park! (Rats, foiled again) That little $%?@! refused to get in the car. (Fine by me. I closed the doors and put the key in the ignition, who needs Dragon Girl burning up my interior anyways?)
She threw on her super screaming megaphone and blasted my windows out, then clambered into Shelby's car seat and proceeded to wail at the top of her lungs the entire 15 minute drive home...or maybe it was a 15 hour drive. Whatever it was, there wasn't any traffic because the cars kept pulling over to the right every time we approached.
When I got near our street, I was so fed up with these visits from Dragon Girl that I decided to try on my own alter ego.
Enter, Monster MOM.
Monster Mom tried out her screaming voice in the car for a change. And she thought it felt pretty good. So she screamed until she pulled the car into the driveway. And then, she screamed a bit more while both kids were still strapped in-a captive audience can be very fulfilling. Dragon Girl was looking pale.
"I've HHHHHAAAADDDDDD IT with Dragon Girl! She's GOT TO GO!" yelled Monster Mom.
But Dragon Girl had something else in mind. And she mustered up all her strength, and belted out the loudest, longest, "STTTOOOOOPPPPPPP SCREEAAAMMMINNNGGG AT MMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" the entire neighborhood has ever heard. It was so loud, her seat belt buckles exploded right there. It was so long, the ceiling liner in our car began to smoke.
Monster Mom was already gone(what kinda superhero is she?). I was left to my own devices. I rifled through every privilege in the book and then threatened them all in one fell swoop. In my most calm and collected voice I offered "Get in the house and go to your room for 5 minutes,......please."
And it worked! Dragon Girl made her final exit for the day.
Until next time, Dragon Girl...


Marital Blinders

We band together like cattle the moment we are married. It's like that aisle and the white dress leads us to a quick stop at the altar and then we're granted a ring on our finger, a pair of blinders and sensible shoes. We are unavailable, contented, self confident married women. Our goals are different than those single heifers now.
We seek them out, those women with a ring on their finger. Finding a new girlfriend who is not married breeds unrest in the marital herd. We stick to our own kind.
No longer distracted by the bulls in our pen, we married girls are looking ahead to new achievements, like bed linens and childbirth. We leave our keg parties and wild nights at the bar behind for civilized dinner parties. We set our dining tables with silverware and limit our guest list to even numbers. We toss out the red party cups and learn to trust our guests with glassware. Not only has our manner of dress altered, no longer highlighting our most female characteristics while carousing about in the night, but so has our manner of speech.
We are more refined, we join book clubs and garden parties. We trade our one night stands and kiss and tells for chats about throw pillows and salad tongs.
We are married women. We have babies, we lactate. We digress to discuss hormones and feeding schedules.
And then, after years of contentedness, we encounter a woman, a mother with a career, a potential friend who can relate, who knows where we've been and sees life from the same side of our fence and who is (gasp) DIVORCED!
Well, okay, we tell ourselves, no big deal. She's still in the same boat. She's one of us. She has kids and a job. It's not like she's dating-she's a mother for god sakes!
But she is dating.
She's dating the hot young teacher at a school across town. He's tall and handsome. He's intense and eclectic. He rides a motorcycle. He's ten years younger.
The married heifers set their sights on her. They start to notice things. She's got a bounce in her step and a new zest for life the rest of us have forgotten about. Our marital blinders slip just enough to get those gals thinking. To get them remembering.
The thrill of a new love interest. The excitement of a first date. A first kiss. A late night phone conversation.
And all this thinking leads us back to ourselves. Our own lives. Our own marriages. We reminisce about the moment we fell in love with our own husbands. The bounce in our step that slipped away with the weight of a wedding ring. We live the memory of our first kiss. The joy in that first date. Our focus shifts from marriage to ourselves. The body we once flaunted, that we handed over to our daughters with every swelling trimester. We stare down at our sensible shoes. And when we look back at our life again the blinders are on once more.
We look inside ourselves for a lightness in our married gait. We find delight in our beautiful children. We buy a pair of sexy shoes. We ask our husbands on a date. We kiss, for the first time, again. The blinders are on, but we find a new way to walk.


Ironic? I think not

In my last post, I mused about a $1200 pair of boots. An extremely unrealistic purchase price in my life right now. But, and go figure, I had a few of you (women) egging me on to dip into my kids' college fund to buy myself perfection in the form of plush leather footwear.
Then, much to my surprise, a few days passed and I found myself standing in an art gallery, loving husband by my side-no, this wasn't a dream, he was ACTUALLY there-both standing, staring, and falling in love with a $1200 piece of art.
It's a sign.
No, it's kismet.
Well, whatever it is, so long footwear, hello salvaged scrap metal wall mirror.

(BUDGET CLAUSE: There's not an ounce of truth in my wallet that says $1200 is a reasonable amount of money to spend on anything besides practical staples like a sofa, or a computer, or some amazing piece of jewelry involving large diamonds.)