It’s time to play our music…

The first Muppet Movie came out in 1979. I was eleven. I don’t recall seeing it in the theater but I do remember Kermit, Miss Piggy, Fozzie and the old guys in the balcony. 

When Rosie was little, I bought a VHS version of the Muppet Christmas Carol. Every year, I’ve popped it in and she’s yawned when she’s seen the puppets (or are they marionettes?) She’s never even shown a little bit of interest.

Until this year.

Rosie is eleven (OH, the irony.) And there is a brand new Muppet movie and guess what? She couldn’t care less. But I’ve been DYING to see what the Disney folks could do. I am a big believer that they will do Jim Henson right (and since he died on my birthday years ago, I will hold them to it) and they did.

SPOILER ALERT! (Yes, I’ve been known to ruin lots of movies. But at least I warn you first. If you can’t continue on watch this. It will have made the read worthwhile.)

I dragged my child to the movie. She wanted to see some Christmas fluff and I tempted her like the kid finder guy in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I put some candy in her bag and told her to come along. It worked.

The good news is we were both mesmerized from the moment it started. Me with the cute guy from How I Met Your Mother, she with the gorgeous gal from Enchanted. Still, I could tell she wasn’t sold on the whole thing, even when Kermit entered the picture.

Kermit goes to find his friends to join him and save the theater. I sat in amazement at how the writers could take 80’s humor (yes, I’m old) and make it relevant for the kids of the new Millennium. And, they did.

The adults laughed at the old stuff. The kids guffawed at the new bits and a good time was had by all. It was an amazing movie.

The entire two hours, I was completely overwhelmed. First, I was the same exact age as Rosie when I saw (and loved ) the Muppets. Second, she was sitting in the theater with me totally engrossed. We were both cracking up. And, it was SO COOL!

We both adored the movie. And, what a pleasure it was for me to remember being eleven again (without a lot of the drama). We made a Rainbow Connection  Rosie and me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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To save my sanity, I’m saving a rat

Parenting is hard work. I am a firm believer that all children should come with a manual that is magically updated as they hit each phase of their lives. It would make this job so much easier. That being said, parenting for me is extraordinarily challenging this week as I’m uber-stressed. And, that is definitely not a good thing.

I chair a major event called the Nutcracker Tea Party that will happen (whether I’m ready or not) in ten days. It’s an amazing event but a ton of work. Every year I try and delegate, but I’ve discovered that there are lots of things that I can do faster if I just tackle them instead of training someone else. So, it gets down to the wire and I get a little stressed.

This year, I had a bright idea to add an online auction as I way to earn extra money. Great in theory but a helluva lot of work. Right now, we’re in the midst of the bidding and people don’t seem to be in a hurry to jump on great deals. Me, I’m in a rush. I want to have a successful auction and move on. My stress level seems to rise every time I log on and check on the bidding.

Intensifying it all, is the fact that I can’t blow off steam my usual way by chasing a little yellow ball around a tennis court and sweating. I tore my calf in a freak tennis accident five weeks ago and I miss the exercise. I miss my tennis friends and the laughter of Tuesday night fun. But, most of all I miss the endorphins that just happen to kick in and take care of my stress at a time like this.

So by now, I’m sure your wondering, how does a rat fit into the mix? We just happen to have one as a pet. My eleven year-old Rosie adores him. And, to be truthful, the rest of us don’t think he’s half bad.

Today, in the midst of all the multitasking and chasing people to make sure next weekend’s event happens, I noticed a bunch of blood on Remmie’s tail. He’s had a problem with pressure sores on his feet and since he’s close to life expectancy, we’ve had a conversation with the vet that we may need to put him to sleep if they don’t heal. Well, they’re not healing.

Immediately, my blood pressure rose and I burst into tears (like I wasn’t stressed enough). How was I going to tell my child (that’s where the parenting manual would come in handy. Turn to the eleventh year, two months and two days page of my child’s life and the answer would be right there) and what was I going to do? In a phone conversation with the vet it became crystal clear.

I would save the rat. We’d put him on another round of antibiotics and see what happens. This would accomplish a couple of things: let me get through the stress of the next couple of weeks without piling on another thing. And, give me time to clearly explain to Rosie what might happen to emotionally prepare her.

Yes, I’m buying some time and to tell you the truth, the decision lowered my stress. It also solidified for me that maybe I don’t need that parenting manual. If I stop and put myself in my child’s shoes, parenting doesn’t seem so hard.

Knit one, Pearl two

Rosie wants to learn how to knit. I warned her at the craft store that I don’t know how or have time to learn. She didn’t think it would be a problem. So, I bought a couple books, some knitting needles, a couple skeins of yarn and she was off.

Until she got frustrated.

It wasn’t easy to understand the book. So, she did what any techno-savvy kid would do: she went to You Tube. And lo and behold, there are hundreds of knitting videos on there that she could understand and follow. So she started to make a scarf.

But it still wasn’t simple.

As luck would have it, my hubby came home from work at the very moment that the frustration level was hitting it’s peak.

“Knitting,” he said. “Believe it or not. I know how. Or used to know how.”

So I told the Rosebud. And she grabbed her daddy and said, “I hear you know how to knit. Teach me.”

Apparently, it’s been 35 years since my hubby has attempted to knit a thing (and I still haven’t gotten to the bottom of exactly why he learned in the first place). He’s more than a little rusty. But he’s a heck of a good sport.

They’ve been sitting on the floor for a while. Two peas in a pod with their knitting needles. Neither of them really know what they are doing but they’re doing just fine. Talk about quality bonding time.

I bet you use that same mouth to kiss your kid too….

Hey Friend,

I know it’s hard to find good social media material on a consistent basis. I’ve struggled myself to come up with a witty Facebook status a time or two (thank goodness that Rosie’s so funny herself so I have help). But, I think today you’ve finally crossed the line. The word f$%#ing should never be used in a caption under a child’s picture. Ever.

I’m not a prude. I like to let a good F-bomb loose every once in a while. But, certainly not in front of my child. And, definitely not below a picture of my child. In fact, when I see pictures of my kid, a single negative thought doesn’t cross my mind. Even when she’s been bad.

Apparently, you don’t seem to care that Facebook is public. Every word that you utter is out there for public consumption. A few of us that saw your posts today had a lively discussion surrounding your shocking behavior just prior to hitting the hide button.

The coolest thing about dissing your kids on Facebook is that handy timeline feature (and God knows what else they’ll dream up by the time your child logs on.) One day in the future, your kid may have the picture (and everything else that lead up to it) pop up on his wall. Won’t that be fun? I’m sure he’ll be proud that you spoke of him with such fondness. Children are such needy little creatures aren’t they?

I think it’s time that you back away from the computer and put your mouth to better use. Praise your children. Give them kisses. It would be a much better use of your time.
Signed,
Shocked

What’s your name? Who’s your Daddy?

Rosie wanted a puppy. I found this out by accident one day when we went to a local pet store that sells cute little mutts at a premium. Staring at the cages, her eyes got big as saucers. I knew I was doomed.

So I devised a plan. I wouldn’t purchase a pet. We would have to adopt and rescue one. I said it knowing that there are very few hypo-allergenic breeds that come up for adoption. I thought I was safe.

Then one day a face that looks like this popped up on my Facebook feed (minus the adorable redhead).

How could I resist?

Instantly I knew that this was our dog (I remember screaming for my Dad to come see. He had no idea that I was even contemplating such a thing. Neither did I.) So I called and put our name in at an animal shelter 45 minutes away.

It was a long wait (especially with a dog-crazy eleven year-old asking, “Is he ours yet?” over and over) but at the end of the week the pooch belonged to us, complete with a raging set of fleas. But he was so cute. Who can resist?

Instantly, we were new pet owners (when you adopt you don’t get a lot of time to decide when there’s others waiting). We brought the mangy, underweight guy home, gave him a bath and introduced him to his 15 year-old big brother Macallan. It went well and so has the whole week.

But yet we wonder.

We know our new little guy was loved and that he must have been someone’s pet. We also know he probably ran off as every time a door opens he bolts. But by his behavior (which my dog training buddy says we have to wait a full two weeks to see what he’s really like), we know that someone cared about him enough to train him. So, why didn’t they come find him?

The shelter didn’t have a name for him (it may have been Sam as he answered to that for a couple of days) so we dubbed him Barclay. And, we think he’s taking to his new moniker. We’re sure smitten with him (Stay tuned. More adventures to come).

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