aka Chesty LaRue

What 13 Looks Like

BEFORE

AFTER

Her Mother, The Cougar

I surprised G in her room again this evening long after she was supposed to be sleeping, reading some Harry Potter magazines.

Gesturing at the magazine, I said, "Nice.  Harry Potter.  Its that Daniel Radcliffe, isn't it?  He's a hottie?"

She shook her head. "No, but I heard you and the Chick talking about some 17 year old one evening and his abs and how you guys were cougars."

I can honestly say that I have NEVER IN MY LIFE called myself a cougar.  At 36 I like to think that I haven't quite hit cougar status.  A little Mrs. Robinson, maybe, but cougar?  No.

I thwacked her with a pillow.  "Cougar?  COUGAR?"

She giggled helplessly and hid under the blanket.

"So if Daniel Radcliffe doesn't do it for you, then who is the hot one?"

She thought a minute.  "Older Neville.  From the last movies."

I can totally see that.  In the meantime, I will continue to feel like I am having inappropriate thoughts when I see Daniel Radcliffe in the bathtub scene in "Goblet of Fire" with his very developed shoulder and back muscles at the tender age of 17.  Sigh.

LaRue Weekend Edition: 13-year-old Birthday Party

Wow am I tired.  Last evening we hosted a birthday party for G and her friends, which included 11 girls and 1 poor guy.  (The other guy invited couldn't make it.)  I did tell the guy, J, that he was a brave soul for being there with all those women.  He shrugged and said, "I like women, so it works for me." 

G wanted a carnival theme (not Carnivale with the masks and Venetian courtesans - not till she's 16, anyway) and thus I convinced my Grandmother, my Mother, my sister's significant other, and S to participate in running games:  junk food walk, toss the ball in the pond and hit the lily pad, knock over the cans, dunk the basketball, and the water gun challenge. (I vetoed renting a dunking booth.) 

After a brief exchange with the party goers that involved me instructing them as follows:  "Do NOT squirt the 10-year-old with water.  Do NOT toss the 10-year-old in the pool." and them responding with "OH MAN!"  they were very nice to S and she had a blast.  Guy J spent some time with her and she thought he was hysterical.  She also gave out tons of tickets for prizes for whatever she felt like and at one point I heard someone say, "G!  Your sister is AWESOME!" 

The Chick was kind enough to come and play Fortune Teller and read the Tarot cards.  She was hysterical.  Some of the questions asked by the kids were very sweet.  Some very telling for their age, and some rather depressing.  Examples of questions asked by actual 13-year-olds:

1.  Will I be pretty when I grow up?

2.  Will I still be friends with these people when I grow up?

3.  What will my favorite color be when I turn 18?  (Black)

4.  What will my job be?

5.  Will I be famous?

The Chick told me she tried to dole out little life lessons along with the cards. And she took over the auctioning of prizes when the time came, as I am not nearly loud enough for 12 13-year-olds.  It helped that we had a microphone.   

Turns out that about 80% of the kids were either my height, or taller.  Which was very disconcerting.  One girl mimicked me at one point and I told El Jefe about it.  He asked me if I had said anything to her.  My comment?  "Oh yeah, I was going to look UP at this 5'9 child and wag my finger at her."  Instead I simply used my Mom Voice and she sat down quietly.  The Mom Voice, not unlike The Drill Sergeant Voice.  It should be patented.

We had hot dogs and chips, popcorn, candy, and El Jefe bought a cotton candy machine and went to town with it.  G said that people kept telling her it was one of the best parties they had ever been to.  Which satisfies my little interior perfectionist.  Especially since in my senior year of high school my buddy S and I were known for throwing parties.  We had a Murder Mystery party, 50s and 60s party, volleyball parties, water parties, Hawaiian party, etc.

Ah youth.  That would be me in the large picture hat.

The best part is that the parents were PROMPT.  By 10:10 all but 1 kid were gone.  And I was able to sit down, put my feet up, and have peace and quiet at my house.  It was lovely.  The silence, that is. 

Which is going to last until approximately July, when we have S's 11th Birthday party.  Lord only knows what she wants her theme to be.  It could involve Space Travel or Firearms.  Who knows.  But this I know - 13-year-olds?  Are MUCH louder than 11-year-olds.  I don't know why.  It must be the hormones.  Or maybe the hair gel seeps into their brains...

Happy Happy Birthday!

It was 13 years ago today that I had a 5lb. 1oz. baby girl, 5.5 weeks early, after 10 weeks of bedrest, 3 hospitalizations and a c-section.  Of course she was perfect.  She came out very tan, tiny and beautiful.

She didn't fit in the rather large car-seat we bought, and El Jefe ran right out to get an infant seat.  Note her pink outfit - the first of many - it is actually a doll outfit.  They had virtually no preemie clothes back then, and this is what fit her.

Ah, youth.  I am a young 23 here.

She was named after my two grandmothers, as I had been named after my parent's two grandmothers.  This was something I had known since I was a child - when I had a little girl, she would be named G.

And she grew and we discovered a sneaky personality.  A child who could sing scales back to me at the age of 6 months, who spoke in full sentences by 12 months, but who refused to call me Mama.  She would smile wickedly and call me "Dada."

None of us here at the Larue household have very good hair days.

We discovered that G had an affinity for animals, and that animals seemed to adore her.  For Halloween one year my MIL made her a cat costume that exactly matched our cat, Yo-Yo (its a long story).  Being thrifty, I got another year out of the costume by adding floppy ears to it and thus it was a dog the next year.  Luckily, she bought it.

G was always very purposeful, and had plans as to where she was going.  She wasn't very fond of change.

(Not too sure about the British sheep.)

She liked to cautiously explore new areas, and when assured that everything was OK, then she could enjoy herself.  And when she was having fun, EVERYONE knew it.  Her laugh was infectious.

And she liked things the way she liked them.  For awhile she would only wear pink dresses.  For about a year and a half. 

Like this

and this

and this.

It was hard for her to get solo attention after her sister arrived - S was like a force of nature.  But she loved her, and took good care of her when they were small.

Now, of course, they would rather bleed out of their eyes than spend time together.  Sisterhood is a narrow tightrope to walk.

But G continued to grow, despite my protests that I would put a brick on her head to stop her from growing (thanks Mom!) and to be fascinated by the world around her.

 

Occasionally she would humor her mother and dress in matching outfits with S:

 

I believe this was the very last of the pink dresses.

But as she got older and more confident, she discovered a love of swimming and vowed to work on her fear of heights.

She was also the only member of our family to kiss the Blarney Stone when we went to Ireland.  (El Jefe is excused, as he is not Irish, and I have balance issues.  S was deemed too young, so G represented for us.)

She also developed a voracious love of reading, which even extended to walking the streets of Ireland while reading a book on the US.  Uh-huh.

And she adored Christmas, and all the fripperies that went with it.  Which included, of course, the gifts.

Halloween was a particular favorite in that she could dress up like whatever she wanted.  Which usually included wings.

But all of that is in the past now, because suddenly, it almost seems like overnight, she became a young lady. 

And while she does like to hide out in her room (cave) and listen to loud music (plot world domination) and draw her beautiful artwork (it really is quite good) she still finds time to come out and let us know she appreciates the room and board.

And I look around and wonder where this tall person came from.  What happened to my little baby who loved pears, hated squash and would sit in my lap while I read "Goodnight Moon?"  It all seemed to go by so fast, like that.  (insert Keyser Soze snap here)

So Happy Birthday, Best G Ever.  I hope the coming years bring you the happiness, joy and love that you have brought me. 

Big Smooches - MOM (see there?  Not Dad, MOM.)