The very first sleepover

The first sleepover has happened.

That is, with Sweet Pea and one of her 2 BFF’s. Who, btw, will be referred to throughout the remainder of the post as “J” 🙂 And in honor of the momentous occasion…a first sleepover for two 6-year-old besties…. I planned a girlie adventure, and set the bar kinda high. Shocker, huh? I settled upon a trip to a little girls’ paradise. Stay with me. I swear I’ll get to the details (and pictures), but first I have to tell you about what happened on the way over the hill.

 

(a bit of expository information ) 

The room Butter Bean and Sweet Pea share is a source of frustration. I can’t keep it clean and organized, and they won’t. Therefore, it is, quite honestly…the bane of my existence….on a daily basis. So I normally just leave it alone to avoid going bat-shit crazy. However, if company is coming over, I spit shine the entire house. Including their room. I imagine that most of you do the same with guests approaching the doorstep, right? If you don’t, you either have a housekeeper, or you’ve achieved a level of “I don’t give a rat’s ass” that I aspire to. Regardless, in my Friday morning, mad dash to clean shit stuff up, I happened upon a scrap of paper in their room upon which the sentence “I love ____” was written about six times. In a row, in Sweet Pea’s 1st grade handwriting. There was a name in the blank, but I’ve left it out to protect the innocent…lol. Anyway, I sort of giggled at the discovery, left it where I found it, and moved onto the organization of doll clothes and barbies into designated wooden bins.

 

Then, on the way to The Grove, this conversation happened:

J: I wonder where _____ lives? 

SP: I don’t know.

Me: Who’s ____? (knowing full well who it is, because I have seen this little boy’s name written 3 hours earlier)

J: He’s a boy in our class.

SP: (giggling, but remaining silent)

Me: Oh. Who likes him?

J: I do. And so does SP.

SP: So does ___!!! (insert name of the other BFF who isn’t present)

Me: Wow. He’s popular! Why do all of you like him?

J: Because he’s hot!!! Except for that tooth. Something needs to be done about that.  

Me: What??!!

J and SP, in unison: He has one tooth that is really big.

J: And kind of crooked.

SP: And he’s eight.

(giggles all around, including me–because I simply can’t believe what I am hearing)

Remember, they are six years old, so it’s all incredibly innocent, and cute, but the magnitude of their observation is not lost on me. 

With this, Sugar Bean, in her infinite, 13 year-old wisdom says “This is going to be a problem in about 7 years.”  I should add, that Butter Bean has remained silent the entire time, and I am waiting for her bombshell, which never comes. *whew* Not sure I could take much more, quite honestly. The conversation ends as a One Direction song comes on, and I am subjected to “road trip karaoke” for the next half hour. Swimming in a sea of awesome, right?

A view from the front seat.

A view from the front seat.

The good news is, we made it to our destination, which was The American Girl Store, where we had an appointment to have Savannah’s, Lauren’s, and Sally’s hair done. Before you ask….yes. They have an in-store salon for such affairs, and you can pick the hairstyle you want from a page full of possibilities, priced according to the complexity. Just like in real-life. If you want highlights, you gotta pay. The prices max out at $20, which is a far cry from what I fork over when my roots shine through, but still. I am not a doll. So, here is a glimpse of what it looks like. Notice SP’s doll…Savannah…sitting in the chair behind them 🙂

Sweet Pea & J, in front of the  AG  Hair Salon

Sweet Pea & J, in front of the AG Hair Salon

While the dolls were being treated to hair makeovers, we  I decided to explore the store, and take advantage of a photo-op spot inside, and outside 🙂

J, BB and SP with "Saige"...AG's Girl of the Year.

J, BB and SP with “Saige”…AG’s Girl of the Year.

 

Dolls with cool hairstyles? Check. Cool outfits for dolls? Check. Let's roll.

Dolls with cool hairstyles? Check. Cool outfits for dolls? Check. Let’s roll.

 

After looking at every possible corner of the store, we picked up the dolls and headed out the door and across the street to our next destination….

If you live in LA, and you haven't been, you suck. Seriously. Go there now.

If you live in LA and haven’t been, you have no soul. No excuses. Go there. NOW.

Honestly, I never order dessert, hate chocolate, and avoid sugar like it’s acid. Not because I fear weight gain, or cancer, or any of the other effects said to be the result of too much sugar…but simply because I am not a sweet eater. My taste buds just prefer sour or salty. However, I do appreciate a good candy store, and holy hell….DYLAN’S is the very best one I’ve ever visited. The candy in there could have been laced with crack and I would have bought it for The Beans  (plus one), simply because of the way it was displayed. And the background music was a remix of the theme from “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” AND “Ice cream and Cake and Cake”. Talk about suggestive marketing. Screw subliminal…Dylan has it going on, and I’m certain he knows it.

Look beyond the adorable little girls, into the mecca of sugar heaven.

Look beyond the adorable little girls, into the mecca of sugar heaven.

Bags of candy in hand…and a call to The Man to see if he was gonna meet us (NO)…and we decided it was time to eat, for real. So, this was the scene at dinner:

Obviously, I couldn't be IN the picture, but I was honored to have these cuties as dinner companions.

Obviously, I couldn’t be IN the picture, but I was honored to have these cuties as dinner companions.

Major props to our waiter, Michael, for enduring the high intensity sugar-rush that took over immediately after their food was consumed. I really hope the tip was enough 🙂

The ride home was priceless. More road trip karaoke involving “Trouble” by Taylor Swift, which Sugar Bean managed to record on her phone, but I can’t figure out how to upload for your enjoyment. Major fail, I know. My apologies. But the night continued to be a party. Fingernails were painted, popcorn was popped, movies were watched, farting noises with a strategically placed straw in an armpit resonated at unnatural volumes(gee…I wonder who taught them THAT?).

And then came bedtime, which got off to a fantastic start, and ended with me making the 10 minute drive  to her house, with a tearful J at 12:30 am. Bless her heart, she fought the good fight, and wanted to stay, but just wasn’t comfortable.  I totally get it. First sleepovers are scary at six.

Wait..who am I kidding? First sleepovers are scary. Period.

But there is always next time 🙂

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64 years ago today**

 

Mama & Daddy...December 9, 1978

Betty & Buster…December 9, 1978

…the good-looking, silver-haired couple in the photograph above went to the preacher’s house at 8am and got hitched. Then, after making sure she would be excused from school that day, drove to Nashville for their weekend honeymoon. He was 19, she was 16, and they are my parents.

As the story goes, Daddy saw Mama crossing the street uptown, some 8 months earlier, turned to his friend and said…“You see her? I’m gonna marry that girl.” Standing at about 5’5″, sporting body measurements rumored to have been 36-24-36, along with blue eyes and blonde hair, she was the new girl in town. Although he hadn’t met her yet, it didn’t take long. He actually asked her out on the spot, for later that night, and she accepted. The only catch was, she was to be his buddy’s companion…on a double date, and he didn’t tell her that until after she agreed. Yes, you read that right. He tricked her! Turns out, Daddy already had a date lined up for the evening, but didn’t want Mama out of his sight, so he set her up, and I’m sure threatened the poor schmuck who was to be her date if he so much as THOUGHT about putting the moves on her). Buster Romine was a smoothe operator, yes he was! Anyway, after that night, he marked his territory by peeing in her front yard or something (not really, but it sounds like something he might do, right?) and diligently courted her. Picked her up and drove her to school in the mornings and back home in the afternoons, in addition to spending the between hours with her as well. Being in a small Southern town back in 1949, my Papa thought folks might start to talk, tarnishing Mama’s reputation, so he told Daddy they better go on and get married. So they did.

And the rest is history.

Romine History. 

You see, they went on to build a life together and stage a marvelous, somewhat locally famous–or infamous, depending on whom you ask–giant family circus. Not Duggar-sized huge, mind you, but one shy of Jon & Kate Plus 8. You can even read about some of the family shenanigans here, on my sister’s blog. Daddy was a plumber-electrician with a genius level IQ who complimented Mama’s homemaker/gifted seamstress roles very well. Out of that early morning matrimonial union, sprung….3 sons and 4 daughters. All the sons have good cooking and sewing skills, while the girls know how to fix a toilet and wire an outlet; the products of practical, common-sense raising. As a band of siblings, we would kick some serious ass on “Survivor: Brothers and Sisters”…lol. Among us, a Navy Seal who served our country in Vietnam, a well-known calligrapher/artist (who also has a nursing degree), another registered nurse, a kick-ass event planner & caterer, a retired prison guard (and damned good plumber-electrician), an EMS dispatcher/ writer/ blogger/ baker/ forensic photographer  (what can I say? she wears a lot of hats) and me–lucky number 7. You can dig through the archives to find out what I do, besides write. Go on, it’ll be fun!

To date, they have…

22 grandchildren

25 great-grandchildren already…..with 4 more on the way 🙂

The love they shared was deep and lasting. Passionate and messy….flawed yet flawless…wildly playful but seriously tamed…focused and distracted…whole yet fractured. In other words…real.

By example, my daddy set the bar high for all the men who showed serious intent while crossing paths with his daughters. He worshipped my mama, and no doubt would have sipped her bath water as if it were the finest champagne of the rarest vintage. And likewise, Mama sent her boys into the world as Southern gentlemen, raised to appreciate, admire, provide for and protect their wives. I’d say we are a damn lucky brood, we Romines, wouldn’t you?

Buster and Betty’s legacy is far-reaching, and sure to continue thriving well-beyond my destined time on Mother Earth. I hold such fond memories of Daddy singing “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” to Mama as they danced around the kitchen, or on the back porch on a summer evening. Oh, what a glorious voice he had! Mama’s eyes lit up like Roman candles whenever she heard it. Fitting, as the eyes are the windows to the soul, and he certainly spoke to hers. True soul mates. They embodied the meaning of love and respect for each other, stuck to their vows and REALLY took to heart the phrase:

for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health…

until death do us part

They died just as in love, as they lived. Daddy first on February 20th, 1994, followed by Mama on September 6, 1995. On this Valentine’s Day, I wish to dedicate this post to their memory as shining examples of true sweethearts. I love and miss them every single day!

**Okay…to be fair, it was actually 64 years ago on Monday, February 4th. But due to the fact that it’s about the sweet love affair between my parents, I wanted to feature it on Valentine’s Day. So… I waited 10 days to publish it instead of doing it on their anniversary. I know, I suck… lol.  It’s the thought that counts though, right?  

 

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Eye Yoo Wee, Mommy!!

beachgirls

I hadn’t planned to write today, as I already have a good kick-ass post scheduled for Valentine’s Day. (Yes, that’s what is known in Hollywood as a ‘teaser’, so you’ll need to come back to see what the fuss is about)

However this morning for some reason, I kept thinking about when Sugar Bean was a toddler, just learning to talk, which inevitably reminded me of the day I was almost in tears….convinced she would NEVER say ‘I love you too’ despite me saying ‘I love you’ to her 8,000 times a day. Then my mind connected the dots of ‘I love you’ with the upcoming holiday, and….BAM…here I am…writing, in the middle of the dang day when I’m certain there is laundry to be done, errands to be run, babysitters to book (this has so far, been an unsuccessful task I might add)…you get the point. Because the story of her 1st “I love you, too” is good for both a tear, and a giggle.

Back to Sugar Bean.

As I mentioned, I constantly tell The Beans I love them, all day long, every day. It’s nauseating, I think. Since you never know when life will catch you by surprise, cut things short, leave you hanging…and because, I can’t remember either of my parents ever saying it to me –although I’m certain they did– I want to make sure it’s fresh in their minds. Even if the last words they’ve uttered to me are “YOU ARE THE MEANEST MOMMY EVER!” because I’ve refused some request. Anyway, I started doing this immediately after Sugar Bean was born. So, by the time she was 18 months old and talking up a storm….you can imagine my disappointment at the fact that she never seemed to say ‘I love you”, “I love you too” or anything that sounded close. To me.  What did I know? I wasn’t given the ‘Toddler Talk for Dummies Guide”, as a shower gift.

The scene would play out like this, day after day….

Me: “I love you.”

SB: (smiling, silent) 

Me: “SB, mommy loves you.” 

SB: (still smiling…giggles…runs off)

Me: (furrowing my brow)

She did, however, randomly utter the words “EYE-YOO-WEE”….a lot. But never really in response to my endless, sappy proclamation. Which always left me with a puzzled, “WTF?” look on my face.

This went on for months, I tell you. Until one afternoon, The Man and I were in the car cruising down Beverly Boulevard on our way to who knows where, with Sugar Bean strapped into her car seat in the back, happy as a clam, when I looked at her and said “I love you” and she responded with “Eye yoo wee too mommy! Eye yoo wee too!” 

WHAT!???!! 

There it was!!! My heart swelled with joy, and my eyes with tears. Then I realized, all those months, my dumb-ass thought she didn’t love me, when she had been saying it all along.

Unsolicited.

Needless to say, I made The Man pull over so I could yank her out of her car seat and shower her with hugs and kisses 🙂 The following Christmas, I took her to a cool new store called Build-A-Bear and (after two hours of coaxing) recorded it on one of those thingys you stick inside the paw of the bear, and gave it to The Man as a gift, hoping to capture it forever. What they don’t tell you is, the recording devices have a shelf-life, dammit. Still have the bear, but he no longer has Sugar Bean’s voice. Now that she is older, I receive beautiful things like this, which will weather the test of time, both in memory and in print 🙂

The moral of this story is: Leave it to a toddler to come up with a freaking genius way to say “I love you” that sounds nothing like it, but really sums up the meaning quite well.

“EYE + YOO+ WEE”

I + You = We

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Fashion-stress…at 6?

Yes. It's just like that.

Yes. It’s just like that.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have an ongoing hostage situation at our house. The victims are the clothes in Sweet Pea’s closet. Every school day morning, (and usually on Sunday before church) after I rouse her from the comfort of her warm and cozy bed, the scene goes something like this:

Me: Hey Sweet Pea…time to wake up and get ready for school. 

SP: (in a whiny voice, with pouty face) But I’m tiiiiiiired. 

Me: I know, but it’s a bit after 7, and you have to get up and get dressed. 

SP: (sitting up now, arms folded) I don’t care about school. 

Me: You love school. Now let’s get up and get dressed, so we aren’t late. Again. 

She gets up, and I assume…or rather hope…this day will be different.

At this point, I inevitably have to walk out of the room to turn on the lights above the aquariums housing our bearded dragons and make sure Butter Bean is eating breakfast, since she has gotten up immediately after waking, chosen an outfit, dressed herself, put on her shoes, AND brushed her own hair, all within 20 minutes….without uttering a word. Sugar Bean, of course, has been in the bathroom the entire time. She’s 13. Need I say more?

It’s now 7:25 am, and I shout from the kitchen, “Hey, Sweet Pea, how’s it going in there? Are you dressed yet?” 

First there is no answer. Then, I hear faint whimpering, and sense the onset of what is now referred to in our home as ‘The Morning Meltdown’, so I head back into the bedroom to find Sweet Pea sitting on the floor, wearing nothing but her underwear. Believe it or not, this IS progress. I mean, she’s managed to take her pajamas off. Resisting the urge to raise my voice and demand that she just put on some @#$%-ing clothes, I softly say ” What’s wrong?”  Cue the tears. “I’m cold, and don’t know what to wear,” she replies.  So, I suggest an outfit, and she turns it down flat. Three more rejected outfits later, with the clock ticking like a bomb and my patience waning, she finally breaks down completely and shoots off these one-liners, becoming increasingly more agitated with each one:

“I can’t get dressed because I don’t know what the weather is going to be like.”In her defense, this is a problem, considering the weather where we live seems to be controlled at the hands of a rogue Mother Nature based on her menopausal thermostat…40 degrees one day, 85 the next. Clearly, she needs meds. STAT.

“You give me too many choices.” -Just trying to get the ball rolling. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I thought an array of cute outfits would help. Clearly, I don’t know crap.

“I wore that already.” – Whom does she think she is, a Kardashian? Since I sometimes wear the same black yoga pants multiple days in a row, I don’t know where in the heck she’s gotten the idea she can’t repeat outfits. Seriously.

“I don’t have any shoes to match that.” – Simply untrue. Between the pairs bought specifically for her, and the ones handed down from Butter Bean, the kid has an obscene amount of shoes.

“Nobody helps me in the mornings.” A blatant lie, considering I spend 95% of the time in the mornings at her side, trying to thwart this shit show. Obviously it’s a last-ditch effort for sympathy and a tactic for running down the clock.

And my personal favorite…..“YOU DON’T LIKE ME, OR WANT ME AS A CHILD!!!!”  – Ludicrous. I adore this child to pieces. Even when she acts like a dictator, reigning over her closet, day after day.

The only thing I can do in response to this last one, is….well…burst out laughing. Every single time. Obviously this does nothing to help the now heated negotiations, which I can only imagine resemble those with a shrewd, and determined terrorist.  Generally, I resolve to abandon the talks and exit the room. A few minutes later, she’ll emerge dressed in something, and by that time, I couldn’t care less what it is, because Sugar Bean is demanding to leave so she won’t be late, Butter Bean is already in the car waiting, and I still have to pull Sweet Pea’s hair into a ponytail and braid it, so we can avoid falling victim to the head lice which have infiltrated our school again, as that would surely put me in the dirt for good. It almost did last time. Read about that here, if you dare.

Keeping my fingers crossed, in hopes this is a phase, and she’ll be done with it sooner rather than later. Because, so help me God, if her fashion stress is this bad at 6, I’m certainly doomed when she hits her teens.

Say a prayer for me, will ya?

 

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