This is Life

                                
The end of the year is a busy time for us. There are school events, concerts, recitals, my children's social lives (they have social lives now, apparently).... We are leaving for vacation next Saturday and surely I won't have enough time to write anything before them. There is still packing, school, a business trip for my husband, and various other things between now and then.

Saturday morning- we will go. We planned this trip two years ago (and started saving then too) and it's finally here. We will visit the Colosseum, explore the Vatican, pay homage to Michelangelo in Florence, swim in the South of France, eat tapas in Barcelona.... It really is our dream vacation.

Early this week, I was in the kitchen making lunches and my husband was helping put together breakfast and we were talking about some last minute things that needed to be done for the trip and I began to cry.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked.
"It's just that I didn't know life would be this good," I replied.

It is true. The sense of gratitude that I have for my life runs so deep that I cannot even put it into words. People go to Europe all the time....but not people like us. I got married 2 weeks out of high school, I had two kids while I was college, we have gone through times where we literally barely scraped by - we used loose change to pay to put gas in our cars- never in my wildest dreams did I think we would ever get to Italy. Our lives have not been some kind of fairy tale, but we have been lucky.

This school year has been a challenging one. It has taught us so many lessons. I have watched my children suffer through some hard things and a lot of disappointment. The wonderful thing about youth is that there is a lot of joy too. I have to remind myself of that sometimes. They've had a lot of good times.

This year my youngest separated from me. This is it for me- my days of having young children are behind me. I may never lay in bed with my daughter until she falls asleep ever again, I will not kiss their boo-boos, they will never sit on my lap and throw their hands around my neck and fall asleep on my shoulder.

They are like little women now. I mourn this transition silently - the way a mother should. I celebrate this new stage with them. But inside, it feels like my heart is breaking sometimes. I have to remind myself that this is how it should be and how lucky we are. I have gorgeous daughters. They are so smart, kind and talented. They are strong willed and independent girls, while that makes it a challenge for me - it will serve them well in life.

We have much more time behind us than we do ahead of us. I have 5 more summers with my oldest. Five- I can count them all on one hand. My youngest is not far behind. It really does give me pause.

I hold newborn babies at my job. I held half a dozen today. Every time, I pick up a baby and hold them in my arms, I feel like I am transported back in time. It was only yesterday that my own children were brand new but now they stand as tall as me. It has gone by so fast. Everyone tells you that it does but you can't really grasp the true meaning until it happens to you.

The silver lining is that I do still have my husband. Now that the children are older, we have a lot more time together without the kids. It's actually kind of nice. I missed him a lot during those nose-wiping, finger-painting, tantrum-wrangling years where we spent every waking minute trying to survive the day.

Sometimes I just look at him in awe. This boy that I married that turned into this man with a beard and kind eyes. I love him so much. I love him infinitely more than when we first married, more than when we celebrated our 10 year anniversary. He is more than my best friend now- we are extensions of each other. We have made it to the good part of marriage. No one ever talks about this part. Everyone talks about how hard marriage is, how much compromise it is, how boring it gets.....

No one talks about the part when you just accept what is and you grow together. Yes, we are lucky.

In less than a week, I will be in Italy with my other half and the people that we've made and raised together. It doesn't get any better than that. I will count my blessings. I will be grateful for this imperfect but beautiful life.

Kissing Boys

   
I have spoken many times about the various boys that show up at my house to see my daughter. It started in 6th grade. These little boys that are taller than me with voices that crack and nervous eyes. Sometimes, she goes out and talks to them on the front porch, I sit in the living room and glance out the window every now and then. Sometimes they come in and sit on the couch next to her and I sit on the love seat across the room but not before declaring, "Elbows and below." My daughter grins at me and the boys turn red. I'm not stupid. I was in 7th grade once too.

I had my first kiss in 7th grade, my first real kiss. I remember it so clearly that I could replay it like a movie in my head. I was staying at a friend's house (everything always happens at a friend's house). It was a warm spring afternoon. We called the boy that I liked and invited him to meet us at the park. There were 3 of us girls, and this boy. I thought he was beautiful. He had these crystal blue eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair. He always wore flannels, wide leg jeans and Airwalks. He was so 90's.

We walked with this boy and talked about the things that seventh graders talk about. We wound up behind the local high school at the edge of a pond. My two friend's dared us to kiss. We laughed and said no but they kept it up. The boy turned to me and asked, "Do you want to?"
 Inside I was like:
                           
I tried to act cool about it, so I just shrugged my shoulders and said, "Okay."

It was like slow motion. I wasn't sure which way to turn my head, I was freaked out, it was totally awkward. The world stopped then and it was like just the two of us were there. I could hear my heart beating in my ears and I felt his lips pressed against mine and he stuck his tongue into my mouth. I was like, Do I stick my tongue out too? It was the strangest thing.

When it was over, we didn't make eye contact with each other. He went home and we walked back to my friend's house. "What was it like?" she asked.
"I don't know...kind of slimy."

My mother picked me up later and I was sure that she knew, that I was different somehow. She brought a rotisserie chicken from the grocery store and a 2-liter of Coca-Cola. I remember thinking, This is the best day ever. Chicken, soda AND I kissed grunge-boy. It was a good day.

I remember my second kiss too. Same boy, a few weeks later. We went to Wheaton Village. Somehow we got both of our parents to drop us off there alone. What the hell were they thinking? We were awkward. We walked through the park, watched the ducks, sat in the old school house. Then, we left Wheaton Village, crossed the parking lot, and I followed him through a patch of pine trees. On the other side was a field. It was so sunny that day and there were wild flowers everywhere. We sat in the grass and talked for a while.

Then, he looked into my eyes and I looked into his and we leaned in and kissed each other. This time it wasn't awkward at all. The earth still stopped and I could still hear my heart beating in my ears, but this time, when he stuck his tongue into my mouth, I didn't think it was slimy at all. I actually enjoyed it. It was like the movies. A beautiful, tender kiss.

Afterwards, we got up and went to sit on the bench out front for our parents to pick us up. I wasn't sure what this new feeling was but I knew that I wanted his tongue in my mouth all the time. That was my new goal in life. I was in the seventh grade.

I don't even know what happened to that boy, I feel like I never saw him ever again. Haha. My memory seems to get fuzzier as the years go by.

Anyway, I bring up this story because I have a daughter in the seventh grade and when boys show up at my house I can't help but think about the way I felt when grunge-boy stuck his tongue in my mouth 20 years ago. I understand now why my parents were so strict, because they knew. Because they were in the seventh grade once, and they had secrets too.

My daughter kisses boys. I've never seen her do it in real life but I am certain. She is my daughter, after all. I'm not really sure how I feel about that. It's different when it's your child. I'm resigned, I guess. I do everything I know to do. I watch, I sit, I joke about "elbows and below."

One day, she is going to have a beautiful daughter and boys will show up at her house with nervous eyes. Then, she'll understand my fears and reservations. In a just a few weeks, my daughters will be 6th and 8th graders. They are growing up and it's really, really hard.

Keeping Secrets

My husband is in Las Vegas this week so I am on full time kid/mom/house duty. This evening my oldest daughter had a jazz band concert. I was so proud of her, she sounded so good. She was in good spirits on the way home. We talked about having ice cream and listened to the radio. I LOVE this kid.

When we got home, she went upstairs to take a shower and I went to the kitchen to do the dishes and fix my youngest a plate. Twenty minutes later, she appeared before me. She looked serious.

"Mom, can I talk to you?"
I stopped what I was doing and leaned against the counter top. "Sure. What's up?"
"I really need to tell you something but you have to promise me you won't freak out and kill me...."

Nothing good ever comes when that statement precedes it. I knew something had happened and she was coming to me so I took a deep breath. "I promise I won't freak out or kill you."

She didn't tell me her secret right away. Instead, she started rambling. "You always tell me that I can tell you everything, but I don't want you to be mad at me. I can't stand keeping secrets from you. I feel so guilty, I know I shouldn't have done it....." Her eyes were getting teary.

Now I was having a full-blown f**king panic attack. This was me inside:
                                  
I did not know what she was about to tell me but I went over ALL the possibilities in my head and it wasn't good. I was about to hyperventilate but was trying to be calm on the outside. I couldn't even handle it. Whatever this thing was, it was HORRIBLE.

"What is it?" I asked.
She raised her hands to her hair and pulled it back revealing 2 additional piercings on each ear.

I was actually relieved.
                    
I mean, there were a million other horrible possibilities. I can deal with holes in ears.

"When did this happen?" I asked, getting closer and looking at them.
"About 3 weeks ago," she replied.
"How?"
"I pierced them myself when you were at work."
"Was dad here?"
"Yes."

Good. This shit is on his watch.

"How did you do it? Don't you know you can get a terrible infection?"

She went on to detail how she researched it, how she did it, how she sterilized the needle, how she has been doing the aftercare every day for the past 3 weeks .... as if it were no big deal.

I was impressed by the level of diligence that went into it. They don't look bad, and if she asked me to get a second piercing, I would have let it. She could have just asked.

I did keep my promise, I didn't freak out. I did give her the, I'm so disappointed lecture, and the risk taking lecture, and the infection lecture....

More than be mad at her, I HATED myself. I am obviously a shitty, shitty mother. How did I not know for 3 WEEKS that my child had 4 additional holes in her ears? She has been wearing her hair down alot....but I should have discovered it on my own. I suck. Worst mom ever.

This daughter of mine will be a teenager in 9 short weeks and she wants to grown already. I know my parents are laughing right now at me because she is MY daughter, through and through. I'm getting it back SO BAD. Pray for me to get through these next 5 years.

I looked her straight in the eyes, "This is it. No more holes in your body until you turn 18 and if you ever think of getting a tattoo, I will kick you out of my house."

      

Recovery

   

The other night, my husband and I were laying in bed, looking at our devices and generally ignoring each other. I know- Marriage Goals. I was scrolling through Facebook when an article that a friend posted caught my eye, "Women Need A Year To Recover from Childbirth, Study Finds." I read the headline to my husband. He chuckled and without skipping a beat replied, "Or in your case, you need 12 years."

I was a little bit triggered.
                  
Then I thought about it and I realized that he is right. Which, I will never admit because that is just something that I don't do. But think about it - a year to recover physically, mentally and emotionally? That's it.

The definition of recovery is as follows:
    1. return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.
      2. find or regain possession of (something stolen or lost)

Have I returned a normal state of health, mind and strength? No. I haven't. Not that I ever claimed to have ever possessed a normal state of anything at any point in my life, but you catch my drift. You certainly never regain possession of your life.

As a society, we are getting it all wrong. Why do we have this expectation that we will "recover" at all? What does that even mean? Why do we even set up the expectation that life will ever go back to what is "normal"?

Let's face it, soon my youngest daughter will be 11 years old and I would say that I am physically "recovered" from childbirth but it's not the same. I have stretch marks on my calves (and thighs and tummy), my boobs are kind of sad and deflated, my body shape is different, no matter how many kegels I do, things will always be more.....accommodating.

I have not slept well in 13 years. My kids didn't sleep through the night until well over a year, my youngest had night terrors, my oldest was sleep walking for a while, at least once a month someone in the house was sick and required care in the middle of the night, as of late I wake up from worry. I am up at 6 am on weekends to usher my children to various events and activities. I have a sleep deficit so large and so immense, I fear it might never be repaid.

Your marriage changes. There are no leisurely afternoons of piano playing, your attention that was once 100% on each other shifts to another human being and that is HARD. The spontaneity in your relationship becomes replaced with practically and your lover is now somebody's mom or dad. It's just different.

Your money is no longer yours. Disposable income shifts from dinners out and things that you want to diapers, strollers, co-pays....and later cell phones, Converse shoes, band fees. You go without to make sure your little person has everything they need. Your bank account certainly does not recover.

I'm not meaning to sound negative about the whole thing. Sometimes people tell me, "I read your blog and now I don't want to have kids." That is not my intention, to make parenthood seem horrible. It's not horrible but it is HARD. Sometimes I wonder what it would like to have a great body or not spend all of my money on kids or get a good night's sleep consistently or have alone time with my husband. I'm sure it would be great.

BUT, I truly enjoy my children. They sometimes can make life very difficult and they are at a tough age but I genuinely like them as people. They are fun, funny and insightful. I like to hang out with them. I made my own people to hang out with - that's pretty badass. Sure, the PARENTING part of being a parent sucks but the KIDS are fantastic.

Because my kids are older people ask me when it gets easier (surely my life looks easy to a mother chasing toddlers all day). I hate to lie. "It doesn't. This is your life now." It does get better in some aspects, but not easier. If you hold onto this fantasy that one day your life will go back to how it was before you had children then you are destined to always be dissatisfied and unhappy in your role as a parent. Being a parent is all-encompassing. Your life belongs to somebody else....forever.

My point is that there is no "recovering" from having a baby really. You just find a new normal. Then when you settle into a routine, your child changes and then you find a new normal again. My children are starting to transition into the teen years and we are currently discovering a new normal.

Instead of trying to go back and "recover" we should celebrate what is. The clear ending of one chapter and the clear beginning of another. My husband was right, but that's okay. He's still recovering too.

Gutter Chic

                               
It's been so crazy around here and it's about to get worse.... The other morning my husband came downstairs and said, "Have you looked at the calendar for May? It's just insanity." Did I look at it? I created it. I simply share it with him through the Cozi app. I sighed, "I know. At least you get to go to Las Vegas for a week."

May - gymnastics, band practice, band events, meetings, orthodontic appointments, dance rehearsals, dance recitals, end of the year school events, awards ceremonies, business trips, college exams.....my family is doing all the things in the month of May. We leave for vacation on June 3rd.

Which is good, I should be excited about it but I am FREAKING out. I checked in and submitted all of our paperwork for the cruise but we haven't planned any of our excursions, I only have $32 in euros, I need to arrange transportation from the airport, the kids need summer clothes, I generally need to just tie up my loose ends....

I made a packing list for what we need which meant that I needed to take the kids shopping. They need bathing suits, shirts, tops and some dresses. My 10 year was so upset about the dresses.
"I don't want to wear a dress."
"You need to wear something nice when we go to the Vatican. They have a dress code."
"I want to wear shorts."
"It's a holy site. The pope lives there, you have to follow the rules."
           
"Who even cares about the pope?"
"Lots of people. Literally like, a billion people. All the Catholics."
"Whatever."

So we set off to buy clothes. It is my most hated task because I don't like any of the things my kids like. I let them express themselves through their clothing choices (within reason) but it kills me inside. I want them to wear khaki skirts, collared shirts and Sperrys and they want to wear grungy, dark clothes. If we are at a store and there is an item of clothing that looks like it's been sitting in a garbage can since 1992, they will want it. The best way to describe their style is "gutter chic". They make clothes like that - torn apart, faded, HIDEOUS. I can't handle it. They look like they are trying to join the Sex Pistols.
                      
They think that I'm "old" and don't know what "real style" is. Whatever.

 These pants + tight ratty tee shirt + Converse = what they wear everyday

Some of their clothes have writing on them, which I don't always read until after my kid is wearing them, because apparently I'm a negligent parent. These are a few of my favorite.

Life Lessons

LOL

Anyway, we were out shopping and I let them pick out their own clothes. I make them try them on and I have "Ultimate Veto Power." So they go back into the dressing room and I'm waiting. My 10 year old models her outfits. Cut out shoulders, weird zippers up the front, belly button showing.
"No, No and No."
"Ugggh! Why?!?!"
"Because they are not appropriate for your age."
"Well, you aren't appropriate for your age. You got married at 18. People should not be getting married and having sex at the age of 18. That's inappropriate. This is an example of how you make horrible decisions. How can you make decisions about what I wear when you don't have good judgement?"
                                      
She makes some legitimate points, but I still wanted to rip her face off. "Stop being an a**hole and go pick out some clothes that I will approve of." I called her an actual a**hole, because I'm the Mom of the Year.

She picked out 2 dresses that would work. Black dresses, but appropriate and past the knee. My oldest did a little bit better, she accepts her fate more than her sister. They got some really cute stuff for the trip.

They each got a bathing suit but need 2 more. I am letting them wear a 2 piece this year for the first time ever. I am regretting this decision. Me when I saw my daughters in a two piece bathing suit for the first time:
                                  
I never understood what people meant about having daughters and how hard it is. Now I know why - because bikinis. My 12 year old looks like she's 15 and I am not handling it well AT ALL. Hate it. It's terrible. Even my 10 year old looks like she's 13, a short 13 year old. Ugggggh!!!! Puberty is stupid.

That's why they made wine. For moms of cute tween/teen girls. It's a real struggle.

May we get through May without incident. We will power through, tie up our loose ends, finish our shopping. We now have dresses to visit the Vatican, now just to lecture my kids about behaving at the Vatican...

Testing Week

                              
Tomorrow is Monday and this week is.....Testing Week! Yay! It's that time of year when you make sure your kids get to bed EXTRA early and you make sure they have a SUPER nutritious breakfast and pack a snack so they can excel at all of those mandated standardized tests.

I hate testing week. My kids come home with all the life drained out of them.

My kids during standardized testing week:
               

It's so stressful. There is so much pressure. The other week, we were sitting at the dinner table and the topic came up. My oldest very matter-of-factly told me, "You know, if you don't do good on the tests then they won't let you go to the next grade." I wasn't aware that was the case in my state. "Ummmm.....I don't think so. Just do your best."

I'm not anti-testing or anti-achievement by any means but they do too many of them, they don't improve student achievement, every state has their own test and standards so comparing results nationally isn't comparative.....I could really get on my soap box about it and go on and on.

I took standardized test growing up and I remember teachers going over "tips" to hack the test. Literally, they would spend whole class periods talking about how the test would try to "trick" you. So, the whole time you were taking the test you would be constantly second guessing yourself. This is the answer, but it is the obvious answer. It can't be the obvious answer....that's too easy. This is a trick question..... Then you would have to write essays about the most boring s**t ever. It is the most soul sucking, mind-numbing experience. For hours, day after day.

Also, no one knows what's on these tests. They are sealed. Test monitors have to have monitors. If a teacher looks at the test questions while the student is taking it, they can be burned at the stake. Who even writes these tests? It's a little bizarre. Surely, I'm not the only one that thinks it's weird.

Every year at testing time, I am reminded of the time I revolted against the standardized tests. It still makes me feel satisfied.

It was my senior year of high school in May, testing week. I was already checked out. I was moving away and getting married in a month. I was working, like 50 hours a week and going to school. I was EXHAUSTED and hated everything. I suffered horribly from a bad case of the small town blues. I felt like I was serving a sentence, and that my time was almost done. Freedom was so close that I almost taste it. I was just putting my nose to the grindstone and doing what I had to do to get through. I went through the motions of life and tried to mentally prepare for the test - it was the last one of my public school career. I could do this. Monday through Thursday - then, I would be done. As much as I despised it, I was going to do my best.

That Monday morning we swapped classrooms with the one next door. I guess your teacher couldn't proctor the test, maybe there was a rule about it....I don't quite remember.

The German teacher proctored the test. She had a red face and broad shoulders and while I didn't know her, I didn't like her. She had a cold and serious demeanor that rubbed me the wrong way. I sharpened my number 2 pencils and set them down at the top of my desk as the teacher passed out the sealed white booklets. Then she stood at the front of the classroom and recited the same instructions that I'd heard over, and over again through the years. Fill in the circle completely, read the answer carefully, you cannot hear the instructions again, blah,blah,blah,blah,blah.....

I did the test and I filled in the bubbles. It was boring and irrelevant but I did what I had to do. Day after day until it was over. That Thursday afternoon, when I closed the test booklet for the last time, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. They were all done - ACT, SAT, AP, State Testing. DONE. My brain hurt but I had finished it.

On Friday, I showed up at school and we were assigned back to the German teacher again. Which was weird, because testing was over. The German teacher stood in front of the room with a pile of white booklets. "The State is looking at switching to a different test for next year and we have been selected to trial the test. You will be influential in determining what test is used next year."

I almost lost my damn mind. It was the final straw for me.
                        
I don't owe the State of New Jersey anything! I hate New Jersey, I'm getting out of here. I can't do this. I'm going to take a stand. 

I was seething. She went around to pass out the booklets. "I'm not taking it." my 18 year old self said firmly. She looked at me with surprise. "That is not an option. It is mandatory."
"I'm not taking it," I said again.
She was not happy with me. "If you don't, you will get written up and we can and WILL withhold your diploma." She smirked at me, knowing she had the upper hand.

I was a good student, I was already accepted to college. I had served my time and this B was threatening to withhold my diploma. NO. It was on. "Okay," I said, accepting the test booklet. She finished distributing the booklets and stood in front of the classroom giving instructions.

I filled in the bubbles for my name and gender. Then she let us start. The first section had 50 or so questions. I filled in A from 1-50. It took me 30 seconds. Then I shut my test booklet. I laid my head on the desk. "You need to read the questions carefully and try to do your best," the German teacher said. I smiled at her, "I did." Then I took a nap. It was glorious. I had worked 3-11 the night before, I was tired.

The next section, I filled in all Bs. Then all Cs. I napped all day. I filled out bubbles for only 2 minutes in total. The German teacher glared at me with the most evil look the whole time but there was nothing she could do about it.
                                
 I'm pretty sure she wanted to murder me, throw me out the window. I was just some punk-ass kid rebelling against authority.

I walked out of the room that afternoon with a spring in my step. I had choices. I had some control in what I wanted to do. It was one of the most liberating things I had ever done in my young life.

As an adult, I feel bad for the German teacher. She was just there, trying to do her job. Counting down the years until she could run away and collect her pension. I can't blame her at all. She wasn't the enemy in all this, she was only the messenger.

I will think about her this week as my kids pack their number 2 pencils into their book bags and head off to school to fill in their own bubbles. I'll make sure they have granola bars and a bottle of water and we'll survive this too.

Spring Break Probs

                        
I was so looking forward to spring break. I thought it was going to be so relaxing. I am a damn fool. It was really awful actually. We made the gut-wrenching school decision, there was a loss of my daughter's acquaintance, my youngest injured herself in gymnastics and I had to shell out $250 for medical bills and crutches for her (it was just a sprain, thankfully). This was right after I just paid to have my timing belt and water pump replaced in my car. I also had to replace a tire that had a nail in it. Last week was expensive. Very expensive.

I called my girlfriend to vent. "I just so damn weary. Plus, I haven't even got my Easter stuff together yet!" It is very unlike me. I am always ahead of the game. "I need to get some Easter stuff to. I'll come with you. You need a friend," she replied.

I picked her up and we went to the dollar store. I was not feeling it, at all. I literally put in minimal effort. I usually will buy books, Bath and Body Works lotion, thoughtful things.... This year I was like- jelly beans, chocolate bunny, peanut butter egg, tooth brush and a $20. The slackest Easter baskets ever. I didn't even feel bad.

                               
I decided that if the kids acted disappointed I would tell them that God is disappointed that they don't appreciate that he gave his only son to die for their sins. I'm a good mom like that.

After our excursion at the Dollar Tree, my friend needed to stop by Walmart. We were walking through the store and it felt like I had gum on the bottom of my sandals. Something did not feel right. BOTH of the soles of my shoes were cracking. "That's weird." We continued to walk around the store and then my heel just fell off, unexpectedly, right in the middle of the aisle.

                     
I looked around, no one saw it happen. "Run," I said to my friend. We did. With each step, more and more of the soles came off. My shoes were literally disintegrating before my eyes. Both of them. It was the strangest thing. "These shoes are a metaphor for my life right now," I said, decidedly. We laughed so hard that we were crying. I left a trail of foam behind me in the parking lot as I walked to the car.

Look at these things:
                            
Unacceptable.

The next night was Easter eve. I stuffed my sad, mediocre baskets and hid them. Then, I painted bunny prints on the ground. "You know that the kids don't believe in the Easter Bunny anymore," my husband said (as if I needed the reminder). It is a force of habit. I am not ready to let it go yet. They are still kids, after all.

There was no early morning waking the next day. In fact, my husband and I woke up before the kids.  They were not overly enthusiastic about finding their baskets or about the candy. There was no delighted shrieks when they emptied all the chocolate. They did appreciate the $20 bill, though. I watched my daughters, almost as big as me now, sitting on the couch and rummaging through their Easter baskets and I wondered-how did this happen?

Your kids are little....until they're not. Of course it's gradual but you don't even realize it until one day you wake up and it's your reality. It's as if it happens over night. I love my big girls but I do miss my babies.

We had breakfast and then got ready to go to brunch with my family. "Listen guys, you have to dress nice. A dress or a skirt and blouse...." I was met by a collective groan. My 10 year old rolled her eyes. "Why do we have to pretend like we are fancy or something?" We have this argument EVERY TIME they have to dress up for anything. It's super annoying.

I went into my bathroom to get dressed. When I emerged, my girls were dressed. My youngest was wearing a nice dress paired with BLACK COMBAT BOOTS and my oldest daughter was showing more cleavage than Jessica Rabbit.

They know. I have pretty low expectations but they know not to show up to Easter with combat boots and cleavage. NO, NO, NO. So we all had a huge argument and they went back to their rooms to change. They came out looking much better but were not happy. I got dirty looks. Again, I didn't give a shit.
                
On the way there, I gave the speech. "Make sure to be polite. Don't make any off-color remarks. If someone asks you a question you don't like, give a vague answer. Try to act happy and let's pretend like we like each other, okay?"

The girls nodded and my husband smirked. That's how we roll. Happy Belated Easter!