Why don't they give the mommies valium any more?

So it's been way too long since we've had any medical drama around here -- and that's clearly unacceptable. So the first week of school for my two fabulous girl urchins brought with it a trip to the emergency room AND a diagnosis of -- wait for it -- shingles.

The sunny girl started the shenanigans when she tripped on the stairs.

tangent: I'll wait for the chortles and snickers of my oldest friends to subside; as they continue to clutch their sides with merriment I will inform my newer cyber-pals that I myself have quite the reputation for, shall we say, wearing a pair of crutches with flair. Or at least with regularity. And all of my injuries have been sustained on or near a flight of stairs. I'm serious -- I feel like I've thrown a double-dog dare out to God by living in a three-story house.

Well, so the sunny girl yelled "ouch!" when she stumbled, but said she "stubbed her toe." Does this look like a stubbed toe to you?

Unfortunately, my family has spent enough time in emergency rooms that we know the primary rule of the E.R.: always bring a book.

The final diagnosis: it's broken, twinkle-toes. On the up side, she gets out of P.E. for a month AND she and Jolie Blonde make a matched set. Jolie Blonde also follows her mother's family tradition, sustaining injuries that require surgery and physical therapy.

You just think I'm talking about my sister with the bum wrist and her daughter with the broken volleyball arm.

But really I'm talking about Coleen the retired gymnast and her daughter Jolie Blonde, who loves horses but apparently not enough to stay on hers while she's riding him.

And oy! The trials and tribulations of a school-loving girl who has been quarantined are hard to describe. It's not enough that school is out of the question for now, or that the nerves in her throwing arm hurt like a -- well, you fill in the blank.

My girl in charge has also been banned from cul-de-sac capers because the littlest fabulous neighbors have not had chicken pox yet. This picture, taken last Thanksgiving, will not be replicated any time soon.

But me? I'm just fine!

Happy birthday, adored one!

I couldn't let February get away from me without telling you that my baby, my youngest girl, my very last child, turned thirteen years old this month.

This girl has always been my funny, sunny, early Valentine -- she brightens any room with her cheery smile, her goofy sense of humor, and her flair for the dramatic pose.

Of course the important task of the big day was to get her ears pierced -- our traditional rite of passage. Her birthday was also a snow day, in advance of the Blizzard. Since we didn't know how quickly the storm would blow in, we scurried to the mall to git 'er done, rather than journey to Pincurls and the fabulous Lynda Lee.

Another tradition -- dinner and milkshakes at the Silver Diner with Coleen and her urchins -- also went by the wayside, as we all freaked out just a tiny little bit in advance of the storm. People abandoned their cars that day before a single flake ever hit the ground. It was madness, I tell you! Instead, the family celebrated with lunch at Cheeseburger in Paradise.

But even though her day did not go exactly as she thought it would, my sunny girl carried her glad heart and spunky, funky humor with her -- as she does every single day.

The child never met a rubber duck she didn't adore -- her collection is extensive, and includes glow-in-the-dark duckies, multi-colored light-up duckies, ducky pajamas, a quacking ducky trashcan (very loud, given by Coleen as payback for the time I gave the seven-year-old Jolie Blonde an extensive grown-up makeup collection), and -- troubling -- a "devil ducky," who sports cheetah spots, horns, and a very sketchy leer.

The sunny girl is surprisingly knowledgeable about ancient Egypt, and loves the one measly mummy owned by the Smithsonian, with a pure and abiding love. She and I recently traveled north to spend a day in Manhattan, and she almost passed out when she found the Egyptian collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

In case you were wondering, her favorite Egyptian god is Thoth, the god of science and literature. Go figure.

People, I could go on and on . . .

. . . about her graceful way of moving . . .

. . . her sacrificially loving and generous heart . . .

. . . and her loyalty as a friend.

I will just stop -- but you can see why I know without a doubt that I am the luckiest mom.

Here's her theme song, useful for brightening any day:

A choir of angels . . . I think

So last night I went to the middle school winter chorus concert -- sixth and seventh grade version. The eighth-graders get their own concert due to their awesomeness and to cut down on the drugs they sell to the youngsters. Just kidding, Mrs. Fitzgerald!

Let me say to you now that you have not lived until you have heard ninety sixth-graders sing "The Hallelujah Chorus." Ninety sixth-graders who make up four different classes. Four different classes that have had no opportunity to rehearse together. Contemplate this, my people, and then imagine "The Hallelujah Chorus." That's right -- use the Think Method like they did in The Music Man -- and at the concert last night. The execution of the song was actually relatively excellent, but we enjoyed an unexpected treat when the microphone from the Jazzercize class across the hall in the cafeteria added an extra track to the accompaniment written by Handel. "Pump! Pump! Let me see you sweat!" gave the music an extra je ne sais quoi that I'm sure old Georg would have appreciated.

I did enjoy myself immensely because there is no fear like the fear of a seventh grade girl who is performing her very first solo, in front of five hundred parents and siblings -- and there is no thunderous applause like the thunderous applause she receives at the end of her truly terrific song. Her parents beamed the entire time -- and her little brother slept. It was awesome.

Unfortunately due to my crappy seat I have no glamour shots of this fabulous night . . .

. . . other than of the sunny girl and her BFF, Jolie Blonde, who are all about the glamour.

I stood up to get this shot with the ever-ready iPhone, thus humiliating the youngest urchin who cannot even be seen in this picture. But do you see the girls over on the left, with their arms crossed? They stood that way the entire night, while singing their hearts out. This is the classic "I am mortified and self-conscious because people are looking at me" middle school girl pose. They'll grow out of it.

Jolie Blonde's big day

So Coleen's oldest girl, Jolie Blonde, has been begging to get her ears pierced since she was about fourteen weeks old. I'm telling you -- there was never a girl who was in more of a hurry to grow up. Mostly this has shown itself in her mature outlook on life and her fabulosity as a BFF to my youngest girl. Also in her refusal to wear ruffles.

Jolie Blonde: 2nd grade

But Coleen has had years of experience watching out for the sneaky use of eyeliner and mascara (second grade), the intense need for blue-streaked hair (fifth grade) and the "I'll die if it doesn't happen" passion for dangly earrings (lifetime achievement award).

Well, Friday was the day she got those ears pierced, because (pause for wipe of bittersweet tear) she's thirteen now. The youngest urchin and I went along for the adventure -- we headed to Pincurls, owned by the fabulous Lynda Lee, and gathered with bated breath to watch the drama.

First, Lynda marked the perfect spot with a special pen which I suspect was just a Sharpie with a hifalutin' label. The heart-faced urchin watching so intently is Coleen's youngest girl -- my god-daughter!

Next, Lynda prepared the instrument of torture weapon cute little non-threatening ear piercing thingie.

Nope! Doesn't look like a gun at all, does it?

At the moment of truth, Lynda said some serious and slightly scary stuff like, "Don't move a muscle even if it hurts like a big dog, because if you do your ear will get stuck to the gun and then you'll have to wear it instead of an earring forever, and you'll get kicked out of school for bringing a weapon, and I'll have to charge you extra for the gun/earring." Or something like that. Actually it was over in a flash -- and now her dream has come true! She's way easier to shop for now, too.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JOLIE BLONDE!

Silly Haiku Wednesday

Jenn's theme this week: EDUCATION.

So, you know that I'm denying the reality that school has started, that my tall boy is a senior (so weird: he was seven just a minute ago . . . ) and that once again I have been thrust against my will into the hugger-mugger, frenetic pace of the American public school year. But I will put on my big-girl panties and proceed:

Carpool Cuties

Heading back to school,
my urchins are less than thrilled
to begin again.

My dad always said,
"Don't let your books get in the
Way of your learning."

And Dad said (a lot):

"Quick! What is eight times seven?!?"
(Times tables. They sucked.)