thrift scores and handsprings.

Before I tell you about handsprings, I must share my latest thrift finds that are so fabulous they demand posting.  The shirt is a Gap blue and white pin-stripe oxford, and the skirt is a natural colored tweed - not sure of the brand.  The shoes - brown patent leather, were made in Italy, and look brand new.  I love clothes - especially classics - and thrifting helps me get the stuff I choose not to afford - like, Banana Republic and J. Crew, not to mention, Italian patent.  Fyi, Suze Orman says incorporating the phrase choose not to afford into your vocabulary and discarding can't afford will help you feel rich, powerful, and attract scads of money into your life. 

That reminds me of last December when I took my girls "shopping" at some higher end stores about an hour from us. We were in Nordstrom, drooling at the shoe selection, when I picked up a pair of boots and apparently said a little too loudly, "Holy cow, these are $400."  Well, my two older girls were embarrassed, darting off to hide in hosiery, because they're both teen-agers and everything I do embarrasses them. After they recovered and returned, my eldest whispered, "Mom, everyone in the whole store was staring at us and feels sorry for us now. We need to pretend that we belong and that we shop here all the time." I started laughing and rambled off an I Have a Dream Speech...stuff like, "Ok, number one, everyone in this whole store was not staring and feeling sorry for us, and even if they were, who cares?  And, do you feel sorry for us?  Because I don't.  And, we are rich - not just because we drive The Sat - but because we have each other."  So, then I started picking up pairs of Uggs, shouting loudly, "SAV, THESE ARE ONLY $350.  I THINK I PAID $400 FOR YOUR LAST TWO PAIRS.  TRY THEM ON."  And, she'd yell back, "NAH, I'VE GOT THE GLITTER ONES AT HOME - STILL IN THE BOX FROM THE LAST TIME WE WERE HERE."

Now, on to handsprings.

Sydney has been really gung ho lately about gymnastics - she even crushed up our supply of sidewalk chalk for dipping her hands - not that we have a vault in our backyard or anything - I think it just makes her feel like a gymnast.  Anyway, I signed her up for classes at the Y and she's since been asking about my own gymnastic ability, not believing that I can still do a front handspring.

So, I agreed to show her last night at 10 pm.

She yelled to Sav and Somer and they followed us out to the front yard, where in the dark, illuminated by street lights and the glow of their cell phones, I proceeded to show them my skills, warming up with some cartwheels and round-offs before attempting my handspring.

"This is a bad idea," Sav said.  "She's going to throw her back out and then we're going to have to take turns giving her back rubs all week." 

I silenced their laughter as I started slow, my hands hitting the dark earth below me as I catapulted the rest of my body over, landing on my feet before falling slightly on my backside. 

They seemed somewhat impressed.

"Try it again," they said, "But, go faster this time and stick the landing."

I was determined, feeling like an olympian as I started further back, giving myself enough room to really work up some speed for my second attempt. 

As I started running, they burst out laughing.  Then I started laughing, so much so that I couldn't get past the run and on to the spring.  With every attempt, they laughed harder.  So did I, until they started taking turns imitating my run.  At that point, I resorted to complete immaturity and went all Kris Jenner on them.

"I'm done.  Gymnastics is over," I said, walking toward the house like a child.

"Mom, come on," they said, laughing.  "Don't go inside, please." 

"Sorry.  Apparently, I'm not running correctly.  I'm going to Rite-Aid.  I'm out of half-and-half."

I returned home about ten minutes later with the half-and-half, cookie mix, and a bottle of wine.  I poured a glass and disappeared to my room.

They followed me.

Perhaps my change in attitude had something to do with vivid memories of being on the other side - laughing with my sister as we teased our mom - and the reality of having my own teen-age daughters and feeling the bittersweet passing of time. Or perhaps it was my frustrations with a messy kitchen and reeking cat litter.  Either way, I'm embarrassed to say my immaturity continued on a bit before we all started laughing again.  I then went off on my monthly "I need you to help out around the house more" rant, wishing I was regular with regular chore charts and regular expectations so I don't freak out when they laugh at the way I run.

They listened, letting me finish before they left to clean the kitchen and change the litter.

We will likely have the same conversation in another month, and again after that, until they leave home.

In the meantime, I will make more chore charts, vow to be more regular, and work on perfecting my dismount.