Hayley was in a great mood this morning when I woke her up for school, and I have to relish that because I know that later in the year, her school wake-up time is about an hour earlier than her inner clock and she won’t be so cheerful or quick to eat then. Another thing that happened that is rare later in the year is that she was fully dressed and waiting by the door about ten minutes early. And that was fine, because that meant photo time!

I know she was a little bit nervous, especially since we didn’t know who the teacher was or which friends would be in class with her, but she was definitely feeling the excitement more than the nerves, thank goodness.

The school yard looked like utter chaos with pretty much 95% of the students and most of their parents milling about. I was wondering if I’d need to get my paper bag out to breathe, but it was actually far more organized than it appeared. They spread kids out all the way around the outside of the building by grade, then the teachers all taped up their class lists on the brick walls. I found Hayley’s class and the angels sang above because a) it was the teacher I had heard about, all kinds of great things were said about her by other parents (I’m sure the other teacher is just as good, though I hadn’t heard a peep about her), and b) her best friend is in her class. For the past few weeks, she kept asking me if I thought her best buddy would be with her and I had no idea. I am so grateful they are together, since three of her other close girlfriends are in the other class. She also has one girl from the other Kindergarten class with her, someone she used to play with at recess and lunch last year, and a boy that she is really friendly with. That was all a big relief for both of us – I know having familiar faces really helps calm the nerves.

Look at that FACE. Seriously, isn’t it a shame that she was so sad? Don’t you wish she was a little bit excited? She was just about jumping out of her own skin, she was so excitable.

Finally, a full half hour after the bell rang, they were all ready to start moving into the classrooms. Her new teacher got them to all line up next to the wall and then they started trooping into the school, off to grade one. I was worried that she might start crying when I had to leave, but she just called out, “Bye Mom! Bye Breanna!” and sauntered off. I was struck, when I got home, to realize how tall she is in that picture. She’s like the Amazon child.

Her bag was so heavy with all her supplies, plus she had an extra plastic grocery bag with other supplies, and her lunch bag, so I think she was partly happy just to be getting a chance to put it all away.

By this time, they’re just about ready to head back inside after lunch time and afternoon recess, and then it will soon be time for me to see her again. I’m remembering this time last year, where I would find myself getting really excited around the time I was getting my own lunch, because I would be looking forward to hearing about her day. I can’t wait to find out how her first day as a first grader went, if she learned anything new, whether they did anything in French class today, and how she likes her new teacher.

Sometimes I think I’m at least as excited as she is about these things.

After a really wet but more or less decent summer, all of a sudden I found myself sharpening 24 pencils, packing up a lunch in a new little pink lunch bag, and laying out a navy blue skirt with white socks and a white t-shirt. I found myself drying Hayley’s hair more carefully so it wouldn’t be as rumpled in the morning as it was able to be all summer. I found myself tucking a nervous but excited little girl into bed, and later found myself amazed that she was asleep before 9:30 when I expected her to keep herself awake much later than that.

I answered questions today that I had already answered, just for the sake of reassurance – things like the difference between grade one tomorrow and Kindergarten last year, which of the teachers she might get, whether or not there will be a split grade one/two class and whether or not she’ll be in it, whether her closest friends will be in her class (man, I hope her best friend is in her class, *fingers crossed*), and how she’ll deal with formally learning French.

I also reassured her that yes, her friends will still recognize her even with her much shorter hair. I pointed out that her hair had been cut but her face still looked the same. I knew she was okay when she made a wildly weird face and said, “no, look how different my face is!” with her tongue hanging out and her eyes bulging. Clown.

I just hope it all holds. I know that as excited as she is, she’s a bundle of nerves too. She had a stomach ache earlier today and I know it’s the nervous feelings hitting her. Hopefully she’ll be okay when she gets to school and I get her to class.

I had been informed by another mother that we would get the information regarding the teacher and classroom sometime in the week before school starts, but I didn’t get anything. I don’t know if she was wrong or if it was just late (watch, I’ll get it in the mail tomorrow), but nothing ever showed up and no one was in the office the times that I called. It’s not a big deal, I’ll just take her into the office tomorrow to find out where she’s supposed to be and help her find the right room.

Last year I couldn’t believe I was shipping my baby off to Kindergarten, that she was already at that point. She wasn’t even five years old for the first three weeks of school and it all seemed like time had blasted past. Apparently this summer blasted past too, because I can barely believe that she’s headed for grade one tomorrow.

I hope she sleeps well for the whole night. Considering how quickly the summer went, the night should be the blink of an eye.

I got myself a little somethin’.

Like Amy mentioned, I think it would make an excellent friendship screening device. If I wear it out somewhere and someone sees it and knows what it’s all about, then they can automatically be my friend.

Unfortunately, I know my area very well. I wouldn’t be surprised if no one recognized it at all, and if someone did, with my luck it would be a 14-year old boy.

That’s okay. I love my shirt anyway, even if it got no comments today at all. Huge props to jinx.com who were incredibly speedy with their shipping. I ordered another t-shirt (a Canada supports Obama shirt) the day before I ordered the Dr. Horrible shirt. The Obama shirt is coming to me from my own country and it’s still not here, but this one, coming from California and having to get through customs, got here a full week before their earliest estimated arrival date. I highly recommend Jinx.

Last week, on Tuesday, we dropped the kids off with George’s parents and headed out to the office supply store. I had a long list in hand, the one that had come home with her on the last day of school with all the things she needed to get for grade one. I wasn’t overly ecstatic about going because I thought it would be a nightmare of epic proportions, but the store wasn’t too crowded, the stuff was all laid out in a reasonably logical manner, and we found everything we needed quickly. In fact, we bought all the supplies, then went to Walmart (ugh) to buy her school bag, lunch bag, and dress shoes, and we were completely done in under an hour (and that included a stop at Zellers where we couldn’t find the school bag she wanted). Not bad!

(If you click through on the photo, it has notes as to what everything is. )

Now she’s just about set. We had bought her uniform bottoms (two pairs of pants, one tunic, and one skirt) a couple of weeks ago, she still has running shoes that are in good shape since she practically lived in sandals this year, and now she has her basic supplies. The only thing left to do is hit the dollar store for the required box of tissues, box of Ziploc bags, and I want to get a few containers for her lunch stuff. Whew.

And the countdown is on. September 2nd is coming up fast. I’m really hoping to get something in the mail soon so I can find out who her teacher is, and what classroom she’s in before the first day!

Buying all those supplies reminded me of being a kid. When I was growing up, as soon as school let out for the summer, my mother, my sister, and I would go up north to stay with my grandmother. We spent the entire summer there and it was awesome. My father had to work, of course, so he would stay home during the week, and then he’d drive up (it was only an hour) on Friday evenings to spend the weekend with us. I would spend two months playing outside, swimming, and riding my bike everywhere. Good times.

When the summer would finally draw to a close and we would pack up to come home – usually a few days before school started so as to give us a chance to settle back in to our home that felt so strange after two months away – I was always a little sad. I would be looking forward to seeing school friends again, and I liked school, but I would be reluctant to leave the countryside and the swimming pools.

The one thing I always anticipated on the drive home was seeing my desk. A week or two before school, my father would go to the store and he would pick up all the school supplies that we needed. In elementary school we had lists like Hayley; in high school he would just pick up the obvious basics and fill in the blanks during the first week of school. Rather than just leaving everything in a bag, he would set all our stuff up on our desk, like a display. For some reason, I’ve always loved school supplies and I would be so happy to run into my room and check out everything he had gotten for me, opening notebooks, putting looseleaf into the binders, and testing out the pens.

I thought about that while I was pushing the cart around the store last week with my list in one hand and a pencil case or pack of glue sticks in the other. Rather than the back-to-school clothes shopping, the supplies my dad got were always my favorite lead-in to heading back to class.

(This Parent Bloggers Network blog blast was sponsored by Hanes!)

My cousin Lara is older than I am so I was pretty young when she introduced me to the phenomenon of Duran Duran. I will never forget the summer my family spent two weeks in Ontario with my aunt, uncle, and two cousins at their country place. It was memorable for many, MANY reasons. One thing I can very clearly recall is sitting in the bedroom while Lara blasted her Duran Duran tapes and a bunch of us belted the words out at the top of our lungs.

(I’m sure our parents all appreciated that a lot.)

“Hungry Like the Wolf” wasn’t my favorite Duran Duran song (my favorite would be this one), but I always loved the video. Every single girl who ever liked Duran Duran had a favorite in the band, and while Nick and John were very nice to look at, I was a Simon LeBon girl through and through.

Long live the 80s!

Where do I fit this in the baby book?

Sherry: Breanna, please go in Hayley’s room and bring back the pillows for the couch.
Breanna: Okay!
*stops dead*
Breanna: Oh no, I can’t!
Sherry: Um, why?
Breanna: It’s too DANGEROUS.

I’m in trouble when she gets older, yes?

Earlier this evening, Breanna walked up to me, very seriously.

Breanna: Mommy?
Sherry: Yes?
Breanna: I Beeana?
Sherry: Yes you are!
Breanna: (patting herself) I Beeana?!
Sherry: Yes, you’re Breanna.
Breanna: (turning with great indignation) Hayley! I *NOT* Fart-Head!

It’s so good to know who you are.

Excuse me while I share a little Too Much Information with you. I’m 34 years old as of last month. Although I bought a kit at the pharmacy once when I was a teenager, I have never in my life had my legs waxed. I did try, but the kit was cheap, or maybe I was just too chicken and the first strip hurt so much that it was not appealing to me to try a second one, especially when I saw that my fear had caused me to only tug on the leg hairs rather than actually pulling them out. Long live the razor.

If I haven’t ever waxed my legs, you can probably imagine that of course I’ve never had a bikini wax and for the love of all that is holy and good, I don’t think I could ever see it happening. Ever. Which is why it’s good that I’m not a supermodel or actress who likes to cavort in the tropics in a skimpy bikini because it could be a bit embarrassing and the paparazzi would have a field day.

So, when you consider that I’ve never actually waxed my legs and that I would rather walk barefoot across hot coals than apply wax strips to my nether regions, you can probably imagine how many brain cells I lost when my head exploded upon reading the story about a a New York City salon that sees girls as young as eight years old – for bikini waxes.

Now I will always fully admit that I don’t understand what goes on inside the mind of a pageant mother who finds joy in putting makeup a la Tammy Faye Baker all over their young child and then getting them to parade around to be judged on whether they’re pretty enough. Hello, self-esteem issues.

But the pageant mothers suddenly look sane compared to the mother of an eight year old girl who walks in to book a bikini wax for her. What can these people possibly be thinking? According to the article, “for waxing, 12 years old is the ‘new normal'” and that is scary.

What kind of message is this teaching? And for the love of GOD, why does someone who is EIGHT need a bikini wax anyway? Even if they’re developing a little early and do have some hair, a) it’s normal, and b) WHO IS GOING TO SEE IT? If your daughter is exposing pubic hair at the pool, then maybe you need to ask yourself why your young child is wearing a bathing suit that is skimpy enough to reveal it in the first place?

Meanwhile, the owner of Wanda’s European Skin Care Center in New York City is apparently proud of this whole young waxing trend. Check out this snippet from the article – it’s a shame a bald head isn’t considered as attractive as a waxed body since reading it made me just about pull my hair right out:

boasts on its Web site that children 8 years and older can get discounted waxing for “virgin” hair. “Virgin hair can be waxed so successfully that growth can be permanently stopped in just 2 to 6 sessions. Save your child a lifetime of waxing … and put the money in the bank for her college education instead!” the salon proclaims.

The owner could not be reached for comment, but did tell the New York Post that she has seen more than 200 kid clients this year and that kids should begin waxing at 6 years old.

I just… you know, it’s so hard for me to keep myself from letting loose with a very long string of rage-induced profanity.

What scares me on top of this horror is this question – what next?

If girls are waxing by age eight, what will they be doing when they’re teenagers? Breast implants at 13? Botox at 15? How much are these girls going to hate themselves for not being whatever they think “perfect” is?

I wrote about this sort of thing before and it saddens me that half a year later, it looks like it’s only getting worse.

Why are so many mothers, of all people in the world, MOTHERS, pushing their young daughters into this downward spiral?

Tonight, after we had all eaten a nice spaghetti dinner (well, really everyone ELSE had, I was naturally still trying to eat mine), George surprised the girls with some Dibs ice cream treats for dessert.

The kids had already gotten down from the table and were in the living room, singing loudly to some song at the top of their lungs, Hayley in particular.

George: Hayley!
Hayley: LALALALALALALA
George: HAYLEY! Come get your ice cream!
Hayley: LALALALALALALLA
George: HAYLEY!
Hayley: LALALALALALALALAAAAAAAAA
George: Hey, Celine!
Hayley: What?
George: Your ice cream!
Hayley: Oh, thanks.
Sherry: Oh my GOD.
George: What?
Sherry: That was so rude. I think that was the most offensive thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth.
George: What are you talking about?
Sherry: You called our DAUGHTER … CELINE! That’s just awful.

I hope she doesn’t need therapy.

(Okay, honestly, I do realize that technically speaking, Celine Dion is a good singer. A very good singer. But a. I can’t stand the majority of her songs, b. She’s a diva, c. I have hated her since the day she walked up to accept a Canadian singing award and then refused to accept it because she’s not Canadian, she’s from Quebec and HELLO BITCH, decades later this province still hasn’t separated so shut the fuck up. Plus, it’s really annoying that if you try to eat in any Nickel’s restaurant, the tasty food is tainted by the fact that they are required to play a Celine song every 15 minutes just because she’s part owner, jeez.)

Luckily she hasn’t yet asked me who this “Celine” person is.

Over at Parent Bloggers Network this weekend, they’re asking what the best bargain you ever found was. Well, I’ve occasionally lucked into some pretty good sales, getting things for half price. I’ve also scored really well at garage sales; up north where my grandmother lived, there was a by-law only allowing garage sales on two days of the year (at the beginning and at the end of the summer) so it was great to go there and hit a ton of sales in one fell swoop, which is how I got a great little wooden sled for five bucks and a 2T snow suit for another five bucks.

But I think that really, the best bargain ever is when you manage to get something completely free. I’m very lucky in that I get many things for free for the sake of review. Still, the best deal I ever got was when I was taking a couple of bags of garbage down to the dumpster in the parking lot a few years ago. After I threw the bags in (the fact that they are so tall and the lids are almost impossible to life when you’re my height are a rant for another day), I turned around and saw a man from one of the other buildings walking my way. He had a small trash bag, an acoustic guitar, and an electric bass.

I walked past him, then turned and asked, “excuse me, but are you throwing those instruments away?” I really expected him to laugh and tell me that he was putting them in his car, but no. He shrugged and said he was throwing them out because they didn’t work. I asked if I could take them and he handed them over with a smile. I said thanks and practically ran up the four flights of stairs to show George.

It turns out that the guitar was completely useless. I don’t remember what was wrong with it, but it was a cheap guitar to begin with and would have cost more to try to fix it than it would to just buy a new one (and really, he already had a better one anyway). The bass though? It was easily fixable. He called the bassist in his band who agreed to take a look at it. He fixed the neck, tuned it up, and gave it back to George and it was in great shape. It’s not the best bass in the world, but it works, and works well. When George writes music now, he can do the whole thing from start to finish without having to get someone else to play bass on it or lend him a bass to do it himself.

I love telling people that I got his bass in a rescue mission, saving it from the dumpster, saving it from people who didn’t really understand anything about musical instruments.

So that’s my best bargain story. It’s a little white trash, perhaps, but free is free, and hey. It’s not like it had made it INTO the dumpster and needed to have grime and food scraps cleaned off it first.

This PBN blog blast was sponsored by Couponers.com where you can find more great bargains of your own! Go participate with your own bargain story too!