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Fall Basturz and Being Thankful

7 Nov

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Fall is my favorite time of year.  It nestles closely to warmth of Thanksgiving and Christmas as the best times for me.  That said, I figure it could be a good time for me to start writing again.

Where to start with the catching up?  Hmm.  I guess I could start with how much I enjoyed my summer.  I was unemployed following graduation for the entirety of the summer.  Allie and I got to spend so much time together.  It was incredibly nice to have so much time to devote to her.  She is 8, and I have been in school for nearly the entirety of her childhood, as I went back when  she was 8 weeks old.  It was a do-what-we-want kind of summer. We slept in when we wanted.  We went to bed when we wanted.  We had dinner when we wanted. We took off to my mother’s home in Florida when we wanted.  And that Allie, she is by far the best road trip companion.  She is even rather lenient when it comes to who gets to control the music, and she never leaves me hanging by nodding off to sleep. She just sits there copiloting our way to our destination and chatting it up while also debating what all of the other people are doing in their cars.  She’s even good with making up imaginary stories about their lives, which keeps things interesting.  “Oh, that lady?  She is a business woman.  She’s running late to her meeting. Her clothes were wrinkled.”   Or, “Mom, we can’t stop there. That place sounds like somewhere that would have hairs in the food.”

It was perfection, really.  I’ll admit there were times when I was frustrated that I was unemployed. And by frustrated, I mean that some days I probably resembled someone who had been sucking on a lemon. However, I will remain eternally thankful for the time I got to spend with her, and also thankful that I didn’t take the wrong jobs or end up in the wrong place at the wrong time.  We had such a nice time, and I was sad to see her return to school.

Shortly after Allie returned to school, I got a job.  Yay.  So I’ve spent most of my time working, and we’ve been adjusting to the role that plays in our lives.  It hasn’t been an easy transition, but we are getting into the groove of it all.  I’m very lucky that Allie has a lot of family members that love her and make sure she is well taken care of when I’m working late or weekends.  In spite of it all, Allie and I can pretty much handle anything.  I feel that by saying that I am inviting some monster of a disaster into my life  Like karma will be like, “hey girl, I know you blogged that you can deal with shit.  SO HERE YA GO.”  But should that happen, like I said, we can deal.  I have faith in the methods behind our madness.

Anyway, in recent Allie anecdotes and possible parenting fails, we were backing out of a restaurant parking lot recently to find out we were completely blocked in by a truck that decided to park perpendicular to us.   When he finally moved and let us out, he pulled around the opposite side of the parking spots and cut us off in a fashion that could be described as dramatic.  I was slightly frustrated, but nothing compared to Allie,  because she yelled from the backseat, loudly, “BASTTTTTTURRR!”

There were a few ways to handle that.  I could yell at her for attempting to curse at someone and name calling.  But I’m not much of a yeller, and first I wanted to clarify.  “Allie, did you mean to call that man a bastard?”

“Oh, is that how you say it? Bastard?  I thought it was just bastur.  Like b-a-s-t-u-r with no d on it,” she replied.

“Well, it’s bastard.  B-a-s-t-a-r-d.  Also, it’s a bad word, and probably not something you should call someone in just any situation.”

“Oh, I didn’t even know it was a bad word.”

Now that you have read the part where you know that I corrected my child for yelling profanity at a man through closed windows, and also read the part where I corrected the profanity she used.  You should probably also know this:  I was honestly just glad the kid didn’t know the correct term.  I was just glad she didn’t know it was bastarD with an -ard.  That said,  I’ll be very candid and tell you that I do occasionally let some road rage profanity fly.  It’s rare, but it happens.  So I was just happy that there is apparently one word I am not abusing when someone nearly causes me to wreck.   Someone may be the reason I slam on my brakes and fear that the vehicle will be propelling through them, but  when this happens, I am apparently not using the word bastard.  My child didn’t know it was bastard. ‘A’ for the day!  Sometimes, particularly in parenting, it’s the little things.

Hmm. What else?  Allie was a nerd for Halloween.  Her costume was mostly made from clothing items she already owned.  I asked her what that said about her, but she didn’t really appreciate it and had nothing to contribute to the conversation, unless you count snide snarls. We also purchased the additional costume accessories before knowing that she was only allowed to go dressed as a character from a  book within her reading level.  So we just found a book character that her pre-picked outfit already resembled.  We ordered the book with two-day shipping and luckily she resembled Fancy Nancy and had added a tutu to her costume. Last minute parenting win.

As for me, I’ve been trying to limit the thing in my life that I can only be snide about.  Like, for instance, every year I always spend my November being thankful for things once a day on Facebook.   People apparently get really bent out of shape about this, because by mid-November or late November there are hateful statuses about looking forward to December so that people are no longer thankful.  I usually just keep doing it, because I’m a thankful person and most of the time it just makes me giggle that people find thankfulness, of all of life’s issues, to be a punk about.  I don’t think anything in this life is guaranteed, and I’m well aware that while I’ve worked exceptionally hard to get where I am, I could have been born someone else without that drive.  I could have not had parents that encouraged me every step of the way.  I could have not woken up with the daily urge telling me that I needed to do something with myself that in some way helped the greater good.  I could have WAY less to be thankful for, in fact I could have nothing for which I could be thankful.  However, that isn’t the case.  I generally sit around in awe that this is my life, and I get to wake up with Allie, who is awesome.  I get to be her mom.  I get to see nice patients.  I get to help people.  I always have groceries (provided I take the initiative to go to the store). I have heat and shelter.  I have people that love me, and for that I’m thankful.  I’m just a thankful person, and I will likely continue to be that way until the day I die. And if there is ever a day I am not thankful for something, I hope someone will ask me what   in the blue hell is wrong with me and, just maybe,  possibly smack some sense into my face.

Before I get off my soap box, I would also like the say that I generally assume that if people being openly thankful for things bothers someone  enough to complain hatefully about it, as if it were a real problem, they’ve probably just been wearing their sandpaper panties too long, and are beginning to chafe. And now, it’s all full circle, because I’m sitting here thankful again that I’m not all chafed from sandpaper and meanness. (Yet.)

Toilet Chainz

22 Aug

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I spent a large portion of yesterday wearing a bracelet made for me by Allie. It was red and chain like. I really never put any thought into where she may have obtained the bracelet building supplies, and she crafts up random items so frequently that it’s really just something I’m used to, such as the ACE bandage baby carrier seen below.

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Later in the evening, Allie went to her Dad’s house, and Austin and I were eating dinner.

“Did you see this bracelet that Allie made me? I’m trying to wear it more.” I said.

He looks over and laughs a little, “Yeah, it’s nice, but, um, that’s a toilet chain.”

“What?”

“You’re wearing a toilet chain around your wrist.”

I was in slight disbelief as it looked like an actual craft product with its plastic coating and bright red sheen. However, upon examining it closely, it looked very much like the remainder of the broken, red toilet chain replaced a few months ago on the downstairs toilet after it snapped in two.

It was then I faced the reality that pretty red chain bracelet I had been wearing on my wrist for a large portion of the day spent the first years of its life as a fixture in my toilet tank.

Toilet chain or fancy bracelet, I still got a pretty good laugh from it. And, I have also decided that my rapper name may be Toilet Chainz.

Cinder Blocks & Sweet Talk

30 Jul

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Allie begins 3rd grade on Monday. I’ve been trying to avoid the annual shedding of tears as she advances in grades. It never fails that I usually cry, because it really does feel like just yesterday she was a baby. It seems like such a cliche thing to say or hear, almost like a cop out that parents blurt when they are unable to really capture how it feels to see their children grow, but the reason people say it is that it is true. One days she was a tiny baby, and somewhere in the shift of time she became a walking, talking sass mouth that never fails to make me laugh.

When Allie was a baby I remember thinking another cliche thought, that I wished she came with a manual. I’m not really sure even now what a parenting manual would say. However, I feel that if it possessed real wisdom and not the scraps of common sense that you can find in the instruction of any baby product, it would document that the struggle of parenting transfers slowly from physical to emotional in a way that remains steady yet challenging as kids grow older.

In the beginning, it seems like the demand of parenting is largely physical. From carrying a child inside of your body to carrying them around in your arms for hours when they will not sleep, it’s pretty physical. The lack of sleep from nightly wake ups is similar, and while I am not denying that there is an emotional element, I don’t think it is comparable to the emotional pull as they age and the things that trouble them become more than needing their diaper changed.

Eventually, there is a time when the struggle is no longer carrying a sleeping child up a set of stairs or a random back ache from pulling a car seat from the back seat. Parenting an older child is difficult in a very emotional way. I think the aforementioned nonexistent, realistic parenting manual would tell you that there are no words to truly document the heartache of watching your child struggle with change, feeling left out, or hurt feelings. Watching your child in tears over an issue that you can not assist her in handling is heart wrenching in a way that lack of sleep can never touch. You could fill a car seat with cinder blocks and carry it five miles and the physical strain would never compare to the sadness of watching your child’s feelings crumble while dealing with something they find difficult.

Allie’s a pretty tough girl feelings wise, and she will conceal and refuse to reveal her true feelings in an effort to please people. And while I see how that could beneficial to some degree, it’s also sort of a bummer. I feel like she ends up acting like she is okay with things that she isn’t and then having a break down later and acting out in some of the strangest ways possible. The physical to emotional comparison with watching this is probably akin to waking with an infant every 30 minutes and then running a marathon in which your shoes are lined with razor blades. It’s painful, it stings, and you are just waiting for things to heal.

No matter how well you try to explain it, there are no real words to truly describe it and any attempt seems nearly useless. Hugs and reassurance seem to work for cheering her up,  yet the issues churning her emotions still weigh heavy on my mind.

The upside of it all is that she cheers up pretty easily after she falls. Which I guess is why she has currently wrapped her whole body in ace bandages while watching The Brady Bunch like it’s a new show on the DIsney Channel.

Maybe by the time 4th grade comes around a parenting manual will explain it all. Cross your fingers for me.

Truth or Dare: Middle School Complexities

3 Jul

middle school

I saw this today, and it made me laugh for multiple reasons. The obvious being how truly ugly people often look in middle school.  It’s a very awkward time, as everyone is walking around in this puberty laden body that is morphing between child and adult. One day your friends have flat chests and are wearing bras for no reason, and then a few weeks later they are proud of their triple A cups, and while there is only mild pubertal progress, they are undoubtedly convinced they are the next Pamela Anderson.

Middle school was particularly interesting where I grew up, not just because of the essential hell that is the years of puberty, but because in a small town everyone in middle school knows the names of everyone else, even when they act like they don’t.  Also, in middle school, and even high school, your memory works in a very odd way.  While you may never remember the name of a site of battle in the Revolutionary War listed on your 7th grade Social Studies test, you will forever remember the name of the girl whose bra fell off and into the floor as she waltzed down the hallway.  You might forget the capital of Uganda, but you will always remember that guy that as he sat across from you in 5th grade Science, picked his nose as if it was the job of a life time  with full benefits and a rocking 401K, maybe even the kind of dream job that lets you bring your dog to work. That’s how passionately his picked his nose, and that one completely useless, but embarrassing fact, will be forever burned into your memory in a way that special math formulas you can use to calculate the volume of a large swimming pool on the ACT will never scar to the sufficiency needed to please you, if you are an overachiever.

My most embarrassing moment happened in middle school.  It really wasn’t very dramatic.  I just fell out of my ugly clog while walking into the stinky middle school gym where we all had to sit before school started..  It was a shoe in style for reasons I will never understand, a weird brown suede shoe lined with some odd speckled ribbon. The fact that I wore those shoes should be the embarrassing part of the story. But it really isn’t that mortifying in retrospect, yet somehow all of the weird formulas that cook together to make middle school a near hell hole manage to make that moment in time more embarrassing than when a class full of nursing students walked in to see me in the throes of childbirth.  How falling in front of 11-14 year old kids who probably do not remember the event manages to overshadow nearly 18 people watching a child exit my lady-place will continue to perplex me until my last days.

But that’s just it.  That’s how middle school is.  Everyone is basically ugly and misshapen, yet somehow they are dramatically convinced that they either look really good or really bad with that opinion changing within their soul on a daily basis. And everything, EVERYTHING, is a big deal.

My first boy-girl party was in middle school.  It was for my friend’s birthday.  Everyone talked about it for weeks in preparation.  I remember picking out my outfit for quite a while before deciding on a black t-shirt with blue seams.  The best part:  The giant cartoonish flower splashed on the front with a large smiley face in the middle.  I also wore this despicable tasting lip gloss that made my lips itch, but I was very convinced that the extra amount of shine it produced made the itch worth it. I recall some awkward dancing, truth or dare, and lots of people being very sad when a Spin-the-Bottle center piece landed on someone they had no desire to smooch.

I think a crowning middle school moment that encompasses for both boys and girls is the moment that I became friends with my  current boyfriend, Austin.  He had just moved back to Corbin from Tennessee, and because I had transferred to our school system after he moved, we didn’t know each other at all.  But I thought he was cute.  So I thought I would introduce myself, which was a big step for me because I kind of had a strange sort of social anxiety at the time that meant I could talk on the phone with someone and be very social with people I knew,  but I was not always initially very vocal in person and certainly not at all if I was nervous.  With no idea of how to approach him and really no clue what to say when I did because I knew virtually nothing about him other than knowing a few of his friends, I pulled out the smoothest handful of lines a middle school girl could manage; and I topped  them off with a question they mutter more often than not.  I approached him at his locker on the opposite side of the building confidently and I smoothly said, “Hi.  My name is Amanda.  HAVE YOU BEEN TALKING ABOUT ME!??”

Austin looked back at me, in a kind but puzzled way, and said, “No?”

I’m pretty sure shortly afterward I walked off, but I guess it was worth it, because I love him more than Oxygen.

Overall, while I’ve made middle school sound like a real horror show, I had a great time.  There are times when I miss being that age, like today when I texted my friend Leslie about how awesome it would be if we could have slumber parties every night of summer and every weekend like we were middle school kids again, alternating which house we would go to as to not every make any of our parents too crazy to tolerate us.  I also miss going to the old movies in the Trademart Shopping Center in groups so large that we occupied up to four rows, and the unfortunate movie workers had to come tell us to shut up so frequently that they probably never accomplished making the $7 bags of popcorn they attempted to sell. In fact, I think there were several nights when a really feisty worker would finally just tell us that we all had to exit the building, and we did so feeling like total rebels. Was middle school fun?  Yes.  Do I miss being young and care free? Sure. Would I do it again? NOPE. Not even for a free lifetime supply of designer purses.

 

Get Your Act Together.

10 Apr

Sometimes I think I have my act together. Then I do something like get into my car and get slapped in the face by the reality that is the dump lurking in my car. So in the event that anyone, including myself, was under the impression that I have found the key to doing it all and am using that key to unlock doors with the passion of a matador (ha!); here a few reasons why I am a hot mess:

  • The cup holders in my car are usually always full since I always have a beverage with me. Sometimes this means that when I go through a drive-thru to procure coffee or a new beverage, I have to empty all of the liquid out of a current cup in my car and dispose of it in an Oscar the Grouch car trash can that I bought 12 years ago. It’s been in every car I’ve ever owned. Obviously I have to pour the liquid out with my arm hanging out the window like a total redneck. Also, most of the beverages are 32 oz, which I think means that I could never live in New York City.
  • I moved into the house I live in about a year ago. Just this week I unpacked the last box from moving in, not just one box, but probably 10-12 boxes full of pure junk, which I mostly discarded in the garbage where it belonged. Some of it I put into a pile claiming I would have a yard sale that is probably never happening.
  • I claimed I was going to start a diet yesterday and then I had pasta and fundip for lunch when I was supposed to go running. It was watermelon Fundip, if you were wondering.
  • I finally gave in and watched the video of Miley Cyrus twerking in a unicorn costume. I watched her on Chelsea Lately not too long ago and liked her. Ugh, the shame. I’m not even ready to deal emotionally with the fact that I think Miley Cyrus is funny.
  • Chelsea Handler is probably my favorite celebrity.
  • Now that flipflop weather is officially here, I washed and mated every dirty sock in my house with the help of my sweet boyfriend. He only stopped once to tell me that Esprit sounded like a brand of electronic cigarette, not socks, and that he never pictured himself folding socks during the NCAA basketball championship. I love him, not just because he helps me mate socks and folds them in some weird little army fold that looks way neater than the socks I fold.
  • I’m caught up on all of the pop culture news I’ve missed out on the past few months, but I’m still slightly behind on actual important news of the world that has an impact on my life.
  • I spent all day Monday listening to Billboard Top Hits of 2003 and danced some to Ignition Remix while sweeping my kitchen and thinking about all of Aziz Ansari’s R.Kelly impression.
  • One day Britney Spears started following me on Twitter, and I felt special. Then I laughed at myself.
  • I drank 24 oz of Diet Coke today, which is kind of a total jerk thing to do.
  • I was supposed to listen to a third Cardiovascular lecture today, and midway through I felt like my booty was numb, so I quit and decided to walk around my house. Then, I texted all of my friends in my study-text group, who actually were studying, pictures gangrenous testicles.
  • I was supposed to put Allie’s favorite dinner in the crockpot this morning, and I forgot like a total loser. She asks for very little. #MomFail.

Head Shavin’ Kind of Crazy

2 Apr

I’ve made the executive decision, as my own personal executive mind you, that if I make it through the next few months without going Britney Spears style head shavin’ crazy from stress or something that screams lunatic in some equal manner, I will reward myself with something strange I have always wanted like a pink El Camino or a crushed ice machine. (Finely crushed ice and not that crap refrigerators spit out and try to pass off as crushed. Ugh.)
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I have my second of two 225 question tests of the week to take tomorrow. Just as I was settling into bed and thinking about how badly I needed a good night’s sleep after listening to 8.5 straight hours of lectures with minimum break time, Allie’s day of coughing turned into a night of vomiting. I began cleaning puke and consoling her while also thinking about how asking how a week could get more frustrating only seems to result in that actually happening. So perhaps I should stop. I usually know better than to question the inevitable but sometimes the optimist in me plays hooky.

I’m sure everything will end up being fine. But there is nothing like an extraordinary amount of self-imposed pressure to induce a head spinning sort of dizzy and frustration.

Also, there exists the guilt of focusing and worrying about your test as your child has the pukes and feels like yesterday’s garbage while vomiting up the evening’s dinner. I guess my point, really, is that part of me sort of wishes I was half of a Siamese twin so that I had an extra set of arms and even another brain to use. There just aren’t enough arms to console a sick baby.

It’s times like these that I wish my Mom lived closer than Florida so that I had some back up arms or at least someone to make fun of me for having to scrub up vomit. Because if you are palm deep in puke, you need someone to make you laugh.

It could be worse: I could still be wearing weird outfits like this throwback from cheerleading camp11 years ago.

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Laugh Worthy

8 Mar

Things on the internet that have made me laugh lately:

Compilation of goats yelling people.  In the event that you haven’t watched it, let this be the time you give in to temptation.

strongSo true! Nothing would make Nokia phones go away.  They were nearly indestructible.  As for these super secure bracelets, I think everyone knows they are real pain in the rear.  The fact that I still don’t have one on my wrist is only because I own three pairs of scissors.

jenelleaintskurred

Jail time, you say?  Jenelle ain’t skeered.  Not only is she not scared, but she also isn’t willing to go, because she has to go see Ke$ha jam to Tik Tok. She didn’t get all those feathers in her hair for nothing! (Yes, I’m still watching Teen Mom 2.  No, I’m not willing to stop.  Yes, I know I’m too old and too cool.)

Hipster Disney Princesses.  I laughed inappropriately hard.  I may be hipster Snow White or Belle for Halloween.

Wearing Crocs will never be okay to me.

Lunch Box Rapper

25 Feb

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Sometimes when Allie packs her lunch, I sneak a card in it with a poem (read: rap song) written by myself on it. Mostly writing them makes me laugh, and after a while, there are only so many cute notes you can get from your mom in your lunchbox.

At some point, I saw that it was clearly time to graduate from smiley faces to short raps.

It kind of makes me ponder if other kids chew over how Allie’s mom is such a dope rapper, and if they can somehow pick up my mad rhyme skills just by sitting by her and sharing stale pretzels. (She usually packs her own lunch, because she’s under the impression she is a grown woman, and so the stale pretzels as a snack are generally her fault and not mine.)

I also speculate as to if she even reads them as a rap, or if she reads them steadily like a Seuss poem while wondering why there are no colorful cartoons resembling caricatures of real animals.

(Happy early Birthday to Dr. Seuss. 3/2/1901-9/24/1991)

Mostly, I contemplate if the other kids are wondering why Allie’s mom, who is whiter than Eminem and Lady Gaga combined, fancies herself a lunch box rapper.

I may not pack the best school lunch. I may not even be the person who packs the lunch. But I will hold myself personally responsible for all of Allie’s friends questioning what in tarnation is wrong with her mother, and I’m proud of that.

Ringing in 28: Resolutions for My Newest Year

11 Feb

A lot of people make their resolutions when they ring in a new year.  I prefer to make them on my birthday. This list is a loose collection of things I will either attempt to do or get better at in my 28th year.

  • Be more willing to admit when I listen to pop music.  Like Bruno Mars ‘When I Was Your Man’, which I’ve listened to no less than 10 times since turning 28 hours ago.  At first I was ashamed, then I realized it sounded good and downloaded the entire CD. Maybe I should just spend the year of being 28 admitting my overall love for Bruno Mars, especially Marry You.
  • Make more attempts to let people know how important they are and how thankful I am for them.  I like to hear it.  So it wouldn’t hurt for me to make more attempts at insuring that all of the people important to me know.
  • Spend less time ridiculing people. Particularly when they put up really silly Facebook posts.  I was going through my phone to delete pictures the other day, and to say I had quite a few that were screenshots of someone being overly dramatic or saying something crazy is an underestimate.  But I’m guilty.  If you act a fool on Facebook, I will screenshot it and send it to my boyfriend or close friends that will also laugh at you .  I will also do this with your mugshot; in fact, I will ALWAYS do this with your mugshot.  That said, I’m still trying to make an effort to only do this when it is 100% necessary.  Also, I hope you do it to me if I’m acting like someone that needs to be on Springer, or if I make the horrible mistake of ending up on Jailtracker.
  • Spend more time with my friends and family.  Since school started almost two years ago, I’m pretty much a hermit.  I study, study, and study some more.  And when I’m not, I’m tired from studying or working a 60 hour work week (for free).  This should end in May, and at this point, I plan to quit hanging out in my living room with my head crammed in Current
  • I need to become more organized this year.  I loathe organization and cleaning, but I love it when my house is clean.  A lot of it is a time issue.  My time is so limited between Allie and school that when I do have free moments I would really rather not spend them cleaning.  In fact, one reason that I’ve continued to educate myself is that a long time ago I set the goal that I would not stop going to school until I had a career where I could feasibly pay someone else to clean my house twice a week.  BUT–I kind of feel as a real grown up, I should probably get better at shoving things in organizations bins and not letting clutter stack until I want to pull my hair out and/or end up on Hoarders. I could probably brush up on doing dishes as well.   Honestly, though, maybe I would be a good candidate for Hoarders, because I would not care when they wanted to trash everything.  I would just be thankful.
  • Take more self portraits and pictures with Allie.  I hate having my picture taken.  But I know that in 20 years, I’m going to wish I’d been more cooperative about photos.
  • Go to one or a few concerts.  I love concerts.  I like the music, but I like the people watching even better.
  • Drink actual water rather than deciding that because my beverage was made with water at some point that it counts.
  • Be less of a jerk.
  • Actually get in Laurel Lake.  The lake grosses me out in ways I can’t explain.  I will go, but I will not enter.  I feel like if I do enter, I’ll need a strong course of Bactrim, in a near immediate fashion.  But I think I’ll try to get over it this year.

I think that’s enough.  Rome wasn’t built in a day.

To Beyonce with Love

4 Feb

I’ve always been a huge Beyonce fan. Since Destiny’s Child & Wyclef released the magic that was ‘No No No’, I have been a fan. To this day, I think she is the only person who should be running around and dancing in a leotard. Even when the American gymnasts wore leotards in the Olympics, I felt they were treading on Beyonce’s ground and needed to STEP OFF. Sure they wore it first, but they didn’t wear it best. All of that said, if I looked like Beyonce, I’d probably dress like a huge rip too and two-step around in a leotard with the reckless abandon of a bath salt zombie. Anyway, I was impressed with her Super Bowl Half-Time performance, mildly terrifying facial expression and all.

However, Allie was terrified by the childlike excitement that erupted from me when all of Destiny’s Child jumped up onto the stage. “OH MY GOSH! IT’S DESTINY’S CHILD!” I yelled, almost as excited as Will Ferrell gets in Elf when talking about knowing Santa. SANTA! I KNOW HIM!

“WHO– is Destiny’s Child?” Allie asked, looking puzzled to see me so thrilled over three dancing women.

“WHO IS DESTINY’S CHILD?!” Outraged at my neglect, I proceeded to show her YouTube videos of ‘Say My Name‘ and ‘Bootylicious‘. She suddenly became one with my excitement and embraced the majesty that is Beyonce, Kelly, and Michelle. Minutes later we were singing ‘Say My Name’ in out of tune unison. I felt like I was giving her something she could actually use in life, like a college fund, except not.

Some people take their kids fishing. I teach mine pop culture, math, manners, and hope for the best. If she ever gets into a street fight, maybe she can challenge them to a duel of Queen lyrics and win.

Anyway:

Throughout the performance, Allie continued to muse that she couldn’t quite figure out why Beyonce only liked dancing without clothes, and also why, “she always has to be shaking something.” I agreed with her logic, but somehow, even though I would judge anyone else without pants dutifully gyrating as simply being a rejected stripper, Beyonce somehow pulls it off. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

I should also mention that I’m not completely sure why people are still angry with her for lip syncing the National Anthem. I think as Americans, we should truly be more disappointed in her naming her child Blue Ivy. That seems like an even poorer decision. If you are going to prance around in your naughty-naughty-shame clothes in front of a large audience, you should give your child a name that doesn’t seem like you are preparing them for a lifetime of turning tricks at an interstate sex shop for meth and sardines. And that’s all I have to say about that.

PS. I should note that my mother sent me a text asking if I watched the half-time show. I told her yes. Her only reply, “trashy.” Maybe she’ll join B’s team soon.