Monthly Archives: April 2016

Say Yes to the Dress. Maybe.

www.melindawentzel.comI have not-so-fond memories of my high school prom, most of which stem from having worn a dress that felt as if it were lined with burlap. It was a white, floor-length eyelet gown, cinched unmercifully at the waist, making the thought of dancing almost unbearable. Never mind walking, talking and breathing. However, not going to the dance was out of the question. I went because all my friends would be there. I went because the hype leading up to the event was intoxicating. I went because prom night was a rite of passage—apparently, so was wearing obscenely uncomfortable shoes and stuffing myself in a dress that was two sizes too small.

Cutoffs and Converse sneakers were more my speed. If only I could have convinced the Prom Committee to allow everyone to dress as if they were going to a backyard barbecue, not a stodgy affair where herds of adolescents would spend much of the evening shuffling around in stiff formalwear, feeling both awkward and insecure. Or maybe that was just me.

The only thing less enjoyable than the prom itself was the gown-shopping marathon my mom and I endured beforehand, my angst superseded only by my negativity. I remember thinking I would never find the perfect dress, because it didn’t exist. Designers, it seemed, didn’t have flat-chested prom-goers in mind when they created styles for the masses. Instead, the racks were spilling over with plunging necklines and slinky, strapless numbers I couldn’t wear on a bet—not without hours of alterations and/or divine intervention. Lo and behold, we stumbled upon a gown that would work. Besides, I reasoned, I only had to endure it for a few hours. Then I could ditch it for jeans and a t-shirt—my garb of choice. Not surprisingly, that’s exactly what I did.

So when my youngest daughter announced that she would need a prom dress this year I was speechless, my mind swimming with enough pessimism for six people. But, I reminded myself, she is a different kind of creature—a fun-loving free spirit, one who thrives on adventure and feels comfortable in her own skin, worlds away from me. That much I know.

That said, virtually everything about our shopping excursion was unlike my own of decades ago. For starters, we found heels long before we looked for a gown and she systematically broke them in over a period of weeks. On the day we finally set out to find a dress, my daughter brought the aforementioned shoes along so she could put them on to see how they looked with each gown she tried. Brilliant.

We then proceeded to haul massive amounts of silky, sequined whateverness into the dressing room, banking on the premise that more was better. Itchy tags and tangled hangers be damned. Despite the fact that we both fell in love with the very first gown (in which she looked stunning), she soldiered on—just in case she would discover something even more irresistible. There were black ones and red ones. Dresses without straps. Dresses without backs. Each one distinctively elegant. Each one with its own special charm, making the decision-making process fairly impossible.

After what seemed like forever, we were able to narrow it down to two favorites. And when I say “we” I mean my daughter and myself, an exceedingly helpful sales woman, a handful of patrons who happened to be in the vicinity and hordes of my daughter’s friends who offered instantaneous feedback via social media. Who knew that shopping for a prom dress would necessitate input from one’s Snapchat tribe, which apparently was present in the dressing room? I kid you not.

Needless to say, it’s a different world than it was some 30 odd years ago. Stranger still, we actually had fun searching for the perfect dress—so much fun, that we bought BOTH of her favorites. And because the gods were smiling, they were remarkably affordable, surprisingly comfortable and oh-so-beautiful.

Already it’s looking as if she won’t need decades of prom-related therapy.

Planet Mom: It’s where I live, gearing up for Prom Night. Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesfromPlanetMom.

Copyright 2016 Melinda L. Wentzel

Advertisements

Comments Off on Say Yes to the Dress. Maybe.

Filed under "N" is for Nostalgia, Growing Pains, In the Trenches of Parentville, Spring Fling

20 Things I Never Imagined I’d Say to my Dog

  1. photoIt’s really cold outside and it’s not time for a walk yet. I just want to spoon you and watch Hallmark movies. All day.
  2. I know the FedEx truck looks tasty, but YOU CAN’T EAT IT. Stop barking as if you’re possessed. Please try to act like a normal dog.
  3. Must you INHALE your food? CHEW already, you maniacal little beast.
  4. Yes, the doorbell is ringing. On television. That doesn’t mean you need to freak out or work your stupid self into a barking frenzy.
  5. Stop licking yourself…your 7 million plush toys…the stuff I spilled on the floor…the strange dog you just met…the leather couch…the carpet…the dishwasher…my feet…the road kill you love more than life itself… JUST. STOP. LICKING.
  6. Why do you feel compelled to eviscerate your stuffed animal toys? Isn’t it enough to pluck out their eyes and dismember them 15 minutes after I present you with a new one? FYI, the squeaky thing inside IS NOT the devil.
  7. Stop dragging dirty socks and underwear into the living room like a frat boy on a panty raid. You disgust me. Also, please note that the foul matter in the trash can IS NOT FOOD. Please stop gnawing on it and strewing it all over the house.
  8. DO NOT pee on your brother’s head. No, it’s not at all like marking territory. He’s another dog. Just a shorter version. And by the way, marking territory INSIDE the house is a VERY, VERY BAD thing to do. I will stop loving you if you do it again. No I won’t. I love you unconditionally, against all logic and understanding.
  9. Why did you eat AN ENTIRE LOAF OF BREAD (and/or leftover pizza, Halloween candy, et al.) while we were gone? You glutton.
  10. The crows and defenseless squirrels we see on our walks are not secretly mocking you; therefore, you needn’t chase or lunge at them like some sort of savage, effectively dislocating my shoulder in the process.
  11. Must you torment the cat? I realize that he is mocking you every minute of every day, but is it necessary to hunt him down like a dog? I understand that you are, in fact, a dog. It’s a rhetorical question.
  12. You don’t own the couch. Please share the space in this house with the humans who live here—as much as it pains you.IMG_6206
  13. For the love of God, STOP EATING POO, or anything that resembles poo. Deer droppings are not Skittles. Neither is bear dung or rabbit pellets. Have we not taught you anything?
  14. If you walk directly in front of me or trail me closer than my shadow, we WILL collide. It’s basic physics. Two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time. Google it.
  15. Please refrain from doing your business in the neighbor’s beautifully manicured lawn if you can help it. If you could circle back and instead utilize the vast expanse of woods and weeds we just passed I’d be eternally grateful, you never-ending poop factory.
  16. Back up, please, so I can actually open the door for you. I know you’re beyond excited to go for a walk, but it won’t be possible unless and until you back up.
  17. You most certainly CANNOT EAT THE JOGGER, the kid on the scooter, the woman pushing the stroller, or the adorable toddler inside the stroller who desperately wants to pet you because you look like a cute little dog, only deranged. Oh, and here’s a newsflash: YOU’RE MAKING YOURSELF HACK AND CHOKE by pulling on the leash. Not me.
  18. Did you seriously startle yourself with your own fart? You crack me up, you weird little dog.
  19. What’s with the poop ritual—the one where you practically screw yourself into the ground before you actually go? Should I hire an excrement coach?
  20. Must you shame me into giving you food during dinner? Don’t give me those eyes. I simply can’t handle it.

Planet Mom: It’s where I live, uttering the most ridiculous things to my dogs. Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesfromPlanetMom.

Copyright 2015 Melinda L. Wentzel

Comments Off on 20 Things I Never Imagined I’d Say to my Dog

Filed under Doggie Diamonds, Home is Where the Weirdness Lives

The Lingo of Parenthood: A Curious Addendum

IMG_0306I’m convinced there aren’t enough terms in the English language to adequately reflect upon my harried life as a parent. More specifically, there ought to be words that, when cobbled together, help us to more effectively define the indefinable and/or express the mélange of exasperation, angst and joy we sometimes feel throughout the course of a typical day. To that end, I’ve developed a handful of new terms to expand upon the current vernacular.

CELL PHONE CIRCUS: The crazed barrage of texting/phoning that takes place in order to arrange for a friend or relative to pick up one’s child/children after school or an activity in the event you can’t possibly do it. Of course, you don’t realize you can’t do it until it’s almost time to pick up the aforementioned waifs, at which point you become panic-stricken, not to mention mortified by your failure to anticipate such a circumstance. Out of sheer desperation, you then phone or text eleventy-seven different people, highlighting your stupidity, spelling out the logistics involved with the proposed pick up and promising a pony to anyone who says “yes.” With any luck, someone will come to your rescue and haul your brood home.

PARKING LOT PURGATORY: The indeterminate wedge of time (i.e. roughly a century) during which parents sit in their cars in the parking lot at school, at the soccer field, etc. in anticipation of the emergence of one’s child at the conclusion of the event in question. Naturally this happens because the scheduled end time isn’t remotely related to the actual end time. Invariably, we are the last to know. To add insult to injury, our kid clearly has a knack for being dead last. Every. Single. Time.

FESTIVAL OF MOODS: The kaleidoscope of emotions our progenies (especially of the teen and tween variety) demonstrate, ranging from the pinnacle of euphoria to beyond the point of surly. Over time, we have come to expect the unexpected, yet we never quite know which disposition will be featured at any given moment—which makes dealing with it even more thrilling (not so much). The only thing we can be sure of is its highly changeable nature. And drama. Lots of drama. Like so many things that fall under the umbrella of parenthood, it goes with the territory.

DREAD-MONGER: A parent who is routinely plagued by an overwhelming sense of irrational fear as it relates to an unfounded belief that something horrible has happened to one’s child. The trigger could be the text you receive informing you that he or she might have incurred a concussion. Of course, your child assures you there is no reason to be alarmed—unless you find certain statements disturbing such as: I’m a little confused and nauseous because a huge shelf fell on my head and “…IT FELT LIKE MY BRAIN BOUNCED.” It could also be the itchy rash that mysteriously shows up three weeks into a course of antibiotics—the rash your child cleverly documents with a series of photographs, texting them to you in succession from school to make you INSANE with worry to brighten your day. Making matters worse, you Google the symptoms and brace for impending doom. It’s what you do.

EMBARRASSMENT BY ASSOCIATION: The act of offending one’s offspring simply by being alive. More specifically, when your kids reach that magical age we all know and love, they become completely mortified by your presence—to include the way you walk, talk and breathe. Heaven help you if you happen to sing in front of their friends, set foot in their classroom or step within 400 yards of their school bus.

NEW AND IMPROVED WALK OF SHAME: The familiar excursion you make from your car to the school office, delivering yet another item your child forgot—something vital to his or her existence. Like so many times before, you hang your head as you place said item on the counter, vowing that it will be the last time you behave like a helicopter parent. Probably.

RANDOM HUG FEST: Spontaneous displays of affection in the form of hugs, given freely by one’s child/children for no apparent reason whatsoever. The impulsivity and genuineness of such an expression of warmth, if nothing else, reminds us that we are loved despite our innumerable flaws. Savor each and every one of them.

Planet Mom: It’s where I live. Join me there at www.facebook.com/NotesfromPlanetMom.

Copyright 2016 Melinda L. Wentzel

Comments Off on The Lingo of Parenthood: A Curious Addendum

Filed under In the Trenches of Parentville, We Put the Fun in Dysfunction