Go, Big Blues?

I can imagine how many sports fanatics clicked on this link, especially in the wake of the Morehead State victory over Louisville...unfortunately as they and you, reader, are about to find out, I'm not blogging about anything to do with points, a field, and balls.

Nope, this blog is about THE BLUES. As in sadness. Down in the dumps. That cruddy feeling you just can't shake.

I've had the blues periodically throughout life...as a teenager after a break-up...or after a possible relationship fell through (which happened more than I care to admit. I know what you're thinking- Tracee? Someone didn't want to date Tracee? I know, right? I'm totally awesome).

After I had Ivy, I had a touch of them. The "baby blues." The "oh my gosh, what did I just do letting this little stranger into my house" sads. But they passed really quickly and I was smitten with my little girlie.

When I had Story, I had them bad. I had the "can I really take my baby to the fire department and drop her off no questions asked?" bad. It didn't help that she cried all the time either. Apparently, she just wasn't that into me. But, eventually we made up, and it's a good thing because she's just about as awesome as I am.

But lately, I've had them with increasing frequency, which is odd. Aren't people supposed to be less depressed after winter leaves? Isn't the sunshine supposed to make me happy? I only have two months until summer- shouldn't I be giddy?

But I'm not, and I'm not sure why...it's not like kids keep asking me if I'm pregnant or anything. Oh, wait...they do.

Well, it's not like I've gained 20 pounds in the last year...oh, wait, I have. Am I that petty? Possibly.

At least gas isn't like over $3 a gallon prohibiting me from going on trips to see friends and family...

And I could be one of those unlucky people who has a summer of crazy yard work ahead of her...

And my property taxes could be exorbitant...

And I could have had to sell the car I loved this past year...

And I could be faced with the daunting task of having to replace all my summer clothes due to a large weight gain that's not in the budget...

Wow. I'm not sure writing IS the best therapy. Just a couple of these are enough to worry about...all of them together...maybe that's why I'm down?

Most of this, however, is petty. I'm healthy, the kids are healthy, we have jobs, a roof, cars to drive (although gas to put in them is questionable). So, I'm pretty thankful, even if I am a bit blue. =)

Story and Hat Day

I'm always trying to walk the fine line between having my kids stick out enough to be special, and then be like their classmates enough to blend in. And I'm always trying to avoid being like my mom on dress-up days.

See, my mom (bless her heart) could take a fun day like "hippie day" and turn it into the worst day of my life. Mom would get so excited, spending an hour or two planning out every detail of my wardrobe on hippie day, pulling out all of her old bell bottoms and suits and shoes and jewelry. We'd straighten my hair, draw a peace sign on my face, and she'd send me off to school...where everyone else had just put on a tie-dyed shirt. If I'd been the person I am today, I would have tried to rock it, but at thirteen I wanted to blend more than anything.

So, this is the dilemma I am faced with when I dress my kids up. How can I guess what the other kids will be doing? How can I make sure no one will laugh at my girls?

Today was hat day at Story's daycare in celebration of Dr. Suess. My plan was to send her in Ivy's "Cat in the Hat" hat.

Except we couldn't find it this morning. I searched, Ivy searched, my husband looked, Story ran around looking forlorn. It was nowhere. So, I used my powers of persuasion to get her to wear the only other hat I could find: a Santa hat. She was on board, life was good.

Then, on my way to work, I got the call from my husband, who informed me that all of the other little girls in Story's class were wearing pink ball caps with Dora and other assorted girly characters on them. I felt so bad as he described how she took the hat off and put it in her cubby. As he told me in detail the look on her face, I hung up, feeling worse than ever.

I dialed the daycare, and while talking to her teacher, I was convinced that I had to rectify this situation. I called in to work, made what was probably a highly illegal U-turn, and hightailed it to Wal-mart. I parked in the first space I saw, ran in, and bought a $7 Barbie ball cap. I ran back outside, realized I was in a handicapped spot and was getting dirty looks from a woman walking past my car, so I tried to limp a little. I know- lame.

I drove straight to the daycare, spun my tires in the lot pulling in, and ran into the building waving the cap proudly. I walked breathlessly into Story's classroom where everyone, teachers and kids alike, looked at me like I was nuts.

"Here! Story! Here's a new hat!" I cried. She reluctantly put down her toy at the insistence of her teachers and walked over to me, looking at me like I was some kind of alien.

I held the hat out to her and said, "Is this better than the Santa hat?"

She regarded me coolly for a moment, then reached in her cubby and brought out the Santa hat. I took it from her hands, and pushed the Barbie cap into them. "Try it on!" I urged. "Want me to put it on your head?"

She shook her head, took the cap out of my grasp, and placed it in her cubby where the Santa hat had been, Then, she ran back to the corner.

Stunned, I called, "Story! Want a hug?" She stomped back and gave me a half-hearted hug, and went back to her toys without another glance.

"It's okay," the teacher told me, "She's just not used to you being here right now."

That might be true, but I just know I've already scarred her for life.