Metal Meredith

I am so lucky to be a part of this. 

It is important. It is something that people lost their lives over. Do it.

Not only have I sent my darling daughter (insert snicker here) off to Kindergarten this year, but I have to be an adult now and go have a conference with her teacher. How the hell did I arrive at this point?

Sure, I volunteer at the preschool and ok, I have done lunch duty in the Elementary School cafeteria, but this is a teacher. What is that? Yes, I do have friends that teach. It isn’t that I am not old enough, it is that I don’t feel old enough. I mean, how am I old enough that someone could take me seriously as a parent? To sit down and have a conversation about how she is doing with her writing and comprehension, without feeling like someone is playing a prank on me?

Of course, last Sunday I bleached my hair and then freaked out when I realized I had to go be taken seriously by this teacher. I scrambled to have it re-dyed, “fixed” as it were. Sadly, it looked even worse in a lovely Ronald McDonald red-orange shade. I managed to tone it down in the slightest way with some brown on top, but it is still clearly not normal. This isn’t something new, as I accidentally dyed my hair pink when I was being promoted to floor manager at Ruby Tuesday. I bleached it and then it became pink when I was promoted to manager at Starbucks. There were blue streaks when I bought my first house and now, it is ruby red when I have to be a responsible parent.

Do you see a trend? I do. I am guessing that although I don’t plan it out, I am sabotaging my own grown-up-ness. I would have a field day if I started in on my tattoos. I am smart enough to know what all of this is for. If I am so hell bent on not being average, but I still want to not be the center of attention, what is a girl to do but continually ‘mess up’ when trying to innocently dye my hair?

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t do this all on purpose. But once I am faced with yellow hair in the mirror, the oh-shit reaction kicks in and I start to get that feeling in my stomach like I have had too many Diet Cokes and then went on some spinny rides. It is the same feeling of doing something really stupid or knowing that one day you will get caught. I hope I don’t get in trouble for impersonating a parent. 

Today, Henry is 22 months old. And honestly, it freaks me out that he is that old. There is that mixture of feeling like I just had him to the feeling that he has been around forever. I think even Vivienne can’t remember life before him. (Thank goodness, because lord knows she wouldn’t be so happy he was around then).

Most of you know that I don’t like to brag on my kids. I don’t feel like I need to. I know how special they are to me. In between their fits of ridiculous rage and not-so-intelligent actions, I think they are the best kids in the world.

Back in June, I wrote a list of all of the words Henry was starting to use. I was impressed at the length of the list and his ability to quickly use the new words over and over. Now I see that it was only a small part of what he can do. I am not sure where he falls on the milestone chart, but right now, he is way ahead in speech.

He has started using complete sentences, that are easy to understand. Case in point, we made a fire last week for the first time. He called it a “hot”, because he knows fire is hot. Vivienne and Henry spent time in front of the fire, holding their hands up and saying “ooooooh hot!”. Fun times. The next day, when there was no fire, Henry was playing on the hearth. He looked up, looked into the fireplace and looked at me and says “Uh oh, hot all gone. Where’d the hot go?” I had to stop and let it process because it was so clear to me. Then, about an hour later upstairs, he looked at a pair of Phil’s jeans and said “These are Daddy’s.”. Yep, that’s true.

As unexciting as this seems, he is way ahead of the children in his playgroup. They are at the grunting and pointing and one word yelling phase. There are a few that use 2 words together but then here is Henry, talking in complete sentences. In fact, when we got home from trick-or-treating, Henry looks right at Phil and declares, “I like candy.” Good to know, but not a surprise.

I do wonder if Henry isn’t a bit easier than Vivienne was at this age because he is telling us what he needs, likes and wants. There is no huge frustration because if he needs help, he says “I help you!” and brings the thing to me to help him. If he is hungry, he will tell you “I hungry”. If he wants something specific, he will let you know.

While I brag on this I am also cautious about the amount of attention I give it. I know this will come to bit me in the ass later for sure. While it is so nice to be told what he needs at this moment, in about 2 years I will strangle him for it. Let’s hope that he decides he has talked enough for his young life in about a year and then starts up again around 6. Of course, we are all insane here, so maybe he will just fit in.