Saturday, September 12, 2009

I Bought Skinny Jeans at Wal-Mart

First let me start by telling you that Michael Jr. is practicing “Don’t Stop Believing” on the piano right now. It’s my 40th birthday present and I’m LOVING it.

40 is lurking. So far I don’t care but you know, that’s not necessarily a permanent state of affairs. Who knows, one good wrinkle cream commercial might send me over the edge. Last night, in a fit of Who Really Cares?, I purchased a pair of elastic pants. Yes, I could just lose some weight but right here, right now, nothing fits. So, instead of using a rubber band as a waist-extender I bought a pair of Adidas track pants. I was glad for them this morning when I hopped out of bed and headed to Wal-Mart—at 7 a.m. it almost felt like I was still in my pajamas. Not that pajamas at Wal-Mart would raise any eyebrows.

I haven’t done a big shopping trip in a few weeks so before long my cart was loaded. As I pushed my way toward the next available checker, I spied a sign for Skinny Jeans. Now I have to own up to an aversion to clothes shopping at Wal-Mart. It’s not about the quality of the merchandise; it’s probably no worse than any other sweatshop-child labor produced items I’d find elsewhere. It’s just that it’s Wal-Mart. I don’t need No Boundaries embroidered across my rear end. But if you pay even passing attention to my Facebook page, you know that Kelley is really pushing the Skinny Jeans issue with me. She’s sure they will look Fabulous. So. I looked them over, decided they weren’t totally heinous, then quickly calculated what Juniors size this mother of five would be. I still haven’t tried them on but already I know they’re a mistake. With Wal-Mart jeans on my butt, Michael will never take my ban on Kirkland jeans seriously.

I was on my own today. For reasons unknown to me*, Michael had to work. It was also Kenny’s first soccer game of the season. I cringe at the thought. I know that sounds completely natural awful but it takes this giant bite out our Saturdays. Everything must be planned around When Is That Soccer Game? and as we don’t do any shopping, yard work, or serious recreational type activities on the Sabbath, Saturday is pretty much all we’ve got to work with. Soccer is Michael’s thing and he does a great job of refereeing, knowing the When’s and the Where’s, Home or Away, Snacks?! It’s Our Turn?!, locating the field, etc. But my friends, today it was all ME.

(Don’t Roll Your Eyes at ME!)

A lot of you are probably familiar with how this should play out but believe me, it didn’t go anything like it should have. Before we left I located the TCYSA website and read that we were on field #4. Perfect. It’s close to the main road so we parked right as we pulled in. We hoofed it to field #4 to find that it was full of older girls. Kenny lost it.

“Do you think I’m a GIRL???”**

I pulled out my phone and looked up the website again. Oh. He’s actually playing on U9 #4. At the opposite end of the soccer complex. This is also where Josh decided to walk back to the car. Already loaded down with a chair and my backpack, I threw him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, kicking and screaming. All the way to that stupid field. When we finally found it I set up my chair and took a deep breath. The sun was to my back, thank goodness. As I sank into the chair and began watching the boys practice, I realized I was being stared at by not a few mothers. I was on the wrong side of the field, with the wrong group of parents.

Okay, easily fixed. With a lame smile I picked up my stuff, chair, bag, and 3 year old, and headed to the Don’t You Wish You’d Remembered Your Sunglasses side. Settled again, I looked around and noticed a familiar face a few feet away. How did I know her? She reminded me of Dr. Laura without the turkey neck. Oh! It was Michael and Sierra’s kindergarten teacher! It’s been several years.

I was about to say something when my phone rang. Sierra’s yelling is so loud it can easily be heard by those around me. I try to ascertain what the problem is. I’m able to make out, some how, that instead of practicing piano, Michael is playing the Wii. I’m not sure how it concerns her but the girl is serious about social justice. I tell her to leave it to me and hang up. Again I start to say something and the phone rings. This process goes on until they’re both grounded and I decided to pretend I never saw her. When is the season over?

This afternoon Josh and I walked down to John Dam Plaza for the T.E.A. Party. He was impressed with all the flags and I enjoyed hearing what people had to say. It was a great way to spend the day after 9-11. Great until it wasn’t. It was open-mike time and a man stood to speak. He asked if we remembered the Reverend Jeremiah Wright. Sure. Okay. He reminded us that he’d offered a prayer. “God Damn America”. Now he had a prayer of his own. This man went on with a laundry of list of who he was asking God to damn. After the third or fourth I gathered up Josh before he could start a list of his own. That boy is a serious mimic.

*Not for lack of explanation on Michael’s part; I just hear words and phrases such as “safety-significant”, “deadline”, and “millions of dollars” and my brain gets fuzzy.

**In fact, our midwife took one look at his ultrasound and announced that he was a Girl! We don’t talk about that much . . .
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  1. LOL - Let me know how those skinny jeans work for you. I hope to be wearing some by this time next year!

  2. this was one of my favorites to read! it brought back memories of my kids arguing & calling me a hundred time & grounding them too! :)


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