Fight for Your Right to Party

Ok, it wasn’t a “fight”, nor is it a “right”, but since it was her Sweet Sixteen, Eldest got to host a party. It was small, thank goodness, but still a lot of fun for them. Why? Because the theme of the party was PAINT.

This was the cake:

Those are NOT flowers. Eldest wouldn’t be caught dead with a cake that had flowers. Unless they were black roses, and I had to nix that. Those are paint “splotches” made from delicious buttercream frosting. We are not fond of fondant here at Casa de Aggie. The “16” is a cookie made in the form of a paint brush. The table was decorated with a canvas dropcloth, and we had set up paints, brushes and a water pail outside next to the large canvas dropcloth that was designated for their artistic talents. But as usual, the best laid plans…

Title of artwork: Aftermath

I told them specifically that they could also paint on their clothing only, provided they didn’t smear paint on hair. Well, that went unheeded. Not only were they fully covered in paint, they went out to the street and paraded for the cars driving by. An activity that facilitated drying of the paint. In their hair.

Did I mention the girls ALL had long hair? And some of the boys, as well?

And did I mention this was a dual sleepover? As in Son had two friends staying, and Eldest had two friends staying?

(Disclosure- I had chaperones)

Anyway, it took a couple of hours for the paint to be peeled, PEELED from hair, over which time the kids were taking turns washing it off. But all in all, the kids had a great time, and are wanting to plan another party, this time without the paint. Frankly, after the wanton sacrilege of my bathtub, I’m leery of having paint anywhere near the house:

THE HUMANITY!!!!

And that was only half of the paint that was peeled from Eldest’s hair. Yes, I cried.

All in all, the party was a huge success, and I was very impressed with her friends, all of whom behaved with respect and good manners, and were funny and sweet.

Next time, I think I will do permanent markers, instead 😉

Sunday Sithy

Sometimes the Sith World can be rather funny:

I hope y’all enjoy your Sunday 🙂

Bittersweetness

Today is the day.

She is sixteen years old. She is taller than I am. She is beautiful, inside and out. And as I sit here and write about her, and think about how wonderful she is, I reflect on that day sixteen years ago when she came into the world and my heart breaks, knowing that she will never be my baby again.

Happy birthday to my oldest bundle of joy 🙂

One Last Letter

Dear Tide:

I am writing to say what an excellent product you have! I’ve used it all of my married life, as my Mom always told me it was the best. Now that I am in my forties I find it even better!

In fact, about a month ago, I spilled some red wine on my new white blouse. My inconsiderate and uncaring husband started to belittle me about how clumsy I was, and generally started becoming a pain in the neck. One thing led to another and somehow I ended up with his blood on my new white blouse!

Diorama *not* made by me...

I grabbed my bottle of Tide with bleach alternative, and to my surprise and satisfaction, all of the stains came out! In fact, the stains came out so well the detectives who came by yesterday told me that the DNA tests on my blouse were negative and then my attorney called and said that I was no longer considered a suspect in the disappearance of my husband.

What a relief! Going through menopause is bad enough without being a murder suspect! I thank you, once again, for having a great product.

Well, gotta go. Have to write to the Hefty bag people next!

Sincerely,

A grateful Aggie 😉

State of Panic

Yes, I am in a state of panic. Eldest’s Sweet Sixteen birthday is coming up, and she wants a party, but her lazy gene decided to act up, and we haven’t done any planning!! Ok, that’s not entirely true. I have made plans, but she has neither approved or disapproved of them. She sort of likes the cake design….. she sort of likes the menu…. she sort of likes everything.

She just can’t decide on the incidentals.

She did decide on a theme, though. We are going to have a Paint Party! I will have a canvas tarp set up outside on the fence, and her friends will be able to paint or write anything they like (as long as it passes muster with me).

Like this, only legible.

Of course, that means no dressing up, which every parent considers a total win. It also means they will leave through the side gate, and not through the house. One thing I am not sure about is whether or not to have party favors. It’s a tradition in Puerto Rico to do so at every type of party. I even gave favors at my wedding. But kids might consider that uncool, or something. If anyone has suggestions, let me know 😉

So, this weekend will be spent planning and screaming, and hopefully it will get done!!

Letter to the Person in the Mirror

This is the final letter to the month-long Letter Challenge. I was supposed to have this done on Saturday, but I seldom post on the weekends, and then Monday was Independence Day, so naturally this got bumped to Tuesday.

This is not an easy letter to write. I am….not fond of looking too closely at my visage. Things tend to glare back at you harshly. But I’ll try.

To my reflection,

I used to see my father there all the time. As I grew older, and became a mom, I started seeing more of my mother. That dreaded “eleven” showed up between my brows, and I remember crying, thinking how angry it made me look. I paid attention to the mirror less and less, hoping that the person in it would no longer change. But that was futile, because you were there every time I walked past. But I started to see things differently.

I see the grey hair, and I think of the times my children drove me insane with worry.

I see the wrinkles, and think of the laughter they inspired.

I see the bags under my eyes, and remember staying up late with them, watching movies, rubbing tummy aches away, or searching for snakes.

I see chipped nails, and think of them asking for help with projects.

I see stretch marks, and think of the joy in earning them.

And now, every time I look in the mirror, I don’t see age. I see happiness.

At least until a fight breaks out, and the “eleven” comes back.

Sincerely,

The Me in this Universe

Samuel L. Jackson, You’re My Only Hope

Last night was a typical Friday night at Casa de Aggie. One kid had a friend over, one kid was having a chatfest on FaceBook, and the last kid was enjoying the fact that she had complete and total control of the remote. That really isn’t a big deal, since she always does. But all in all, we had a nice quiet evening.

Until Hell came to Snaketown.

This is Aro.

My Eldest’s pet snake.

She is usually found in her natural habitat of glass tank with lid.

Her turn-ons are small rodents, warm rocks, and small dark places.

Turn-offs include taking baths in cold water, glass candle holders around bathtubs, and dogs.

Mostly dogs.

Especially dogs.

As I explained, last night was a rather quiet evening. Until about 2 AM, when Eldest banged on my bedroom door and said, loudly and urgently, “MOM!! I NEED YOU!!”

Instinctively, I grabbed my gun and was about to jump out of bed, when she went on with, “I need your help! Aro is gone!!”

(Insert groggy groan here, followed by silent curses)

I told her to start looking and that I would be right out. Placing the gun away, I went out, and we began a rather fruitless search for a snake who had a six hour lead on us. The good news: neither dog had bloody fangs. The bad news: there are too many places in which a small snake can hide. So, for now, I will be cleaning up and examining corners, looking for bone pellets or shed skin.

So, who wants to come for a visit??

UPDATE!!

I took John’s advice and began to think like a snake. I found her five minutes after that, in the hallway closet, under two backpacks, one overnight bag, two scarves, a pair of snowboots (yeah, still have them from Germany), and a cloak. I also found a brand new Risk board game that the kids are playing upstairs. Son had said he had “looked” in the closet last night, so I asked him what he had seen on the floor.

Son: A pair of boots….

Me: And?

Son: I think my old backpack….

Me: And???

Son: and…..maybe something else?

Me: Suuuuuuure you looked…

Sheesh!

A Thanks for My Favorite Memory

I have a gift, and a curse. I have a great memory. It has saved me a few times, and gotten me in trouble a few times. It was a point of contention with Hubby for a long time, and a blessing to my godmother while researching our roots. Consequently, I have a lot of great and not-so-great memories. And by “a lot” I mean a lot. I can’t pick just one, so I will do my Top Ten:

10) Peeking over the caldera of Kilauea at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park.

9) Having Hubby show me killdeer nesting near the apartment where we first lived.

8 ) La Piedra Escrita (The Written Stone) in my hometown in PR. Petroglyphs from long ago, including a “cowboy”!

7) Any time my sisters and I got together during holidays. Too many to mention, but one in particular stands out. We all gathered in the Jack-and-Jill bath to compare derrieres. Y’all have to admit, that’s pretty funny!

6) Watching my dad and uncles sing danzas and trios while getting ripped during the holidays. Actually, that happens whenever they get together. One time they drove to a barra a few miles away and decided to serenade the patrons. Total epicness!

5) Driving through East Texas on the way to grandmother’s house (insert song here) and having Hubby tease the kids about llamas.

4) The first time Hubby ever kissed me.

3) My first concert: “Weird Al” Yankovic, and I had the best seat in the house.

2) The births of my children. Each was different, each was special, and each I remember with love.

1) The day of my wedding. Words are such poor substitutes for the joy I relive each time I recall that day.

So there you have it. Some of my favorite memories. I hope y’all have some to share, as well 🙂

The Last Person I Kissed

To my Little One:

I don’t want you to grow. Every night that you kiss me before bed, I lament the fact that you are almost as tall as I am. I want to be able to pick up up like I used to do and tuck you in bed. Sometimes you yell at me for grabbing you as you walk past and sitting you on my lap, but that’s my way of holding on to my past, when you needed me. And now that you are growing up, my heart aches.

So, don’t be mad at me when I hug you too tight, or when I kiss you over and over again. That’s just my fear manifesting into a suffocating blanket of love. And that blanket will cover you for as long as I am on this earth, and beyond.

Love,

Your momma

The Person I Wish I Could Be

This letter is very hard for me to write. There was a time when I wanted to be an astronaut, and fly up into the heavens and go where no man had gone before. Then came the time I wanted to be a geologist, and part of that dream is still with me. After college, I really wanted to work in a museum, not as a curator, but behind the scenes, getting things ready for exhibits, cleaning finds in a lab, etc. I left my ambition with the astronaut dream, apparently 😉

But if I had to pick someone whom I wish I could be, I would have to pick my mother. She put her life on hold to follow my dad, and to raise us, and she is the strongest woman I’ve ever known. Being an Army wife, I feel as if I am following her footsteps somewhat. She is sometimes too vinegary, and I am sometimes too weak, but I hope to find the happy medium one day.

Maybe by the time the last kidlet leaves for college 😉