Wednesday, November 22, 2017

Probably I'm About to be Out-Adulted

In just a little over 24 hours, my Precocious Daughter turns 18.

I'm staring at those words on my computer screen, hardly able to comprehend them.

Feeling a bit old, obviously.

My beautiful little girl, who was nine years old when I started this blog, is on the cusp of adulthood. Which means I've been doing this blogging crap for almost half her life.

OK, that's a little depressing, given how much little I've accomplished with it. Bleah.

So instead let's focus on her.

PDaughter was in fourth grade back then. Now she's applying to colleges.

She loved riding her Razor scooter. Now she's bugging me to buy her a car (hilarious, since her top two school choices are in New York City and Berkeley, where she will never, ever drive).

She chewed with her mouth open, making gross chomping sounds. She...totally still does that. It's a terrible habit. And it's not like I haven't tried to break her of it. Lord knows I've tried.

Hey, she's almost a grown-ass woman. She can chomp if she wants, and let the crumbs fall where they may.

Good luck winning a Nobel Prize like that, young lady.

I think it was on her tenth birthday that I first exclaimed, "I can't believe you're (age)." I've said it every year since. A teenager? Sweet Sixteen? Old enough to see an R-rated movie without me?

An actual adult?

PDaughter's voter registration card arrived in the mail a few days ago. She just missed the last local election, but she's all set for the midterms next year. My daughter can vote.

I bought her $18 in lottery scratch-offs as part of her birthday gifts. She's loved scratch-offs for years, but now if she wins she'll be able to cash them in herself. My daughter can play the lottery.

If a Hollywood talent scout or modeling agent discovers her this weekend, she can sign her own representation contract, without getting my consent.

But NOT without getting my approval. I'm still Tiger Mom, and I will protect my cub from the sleazy operators of the world as long as I can. Grrrr.

I said, hold still.

I'll never stop being her mom.

And even though she'll no longer be a child, she'll always be my child.

That's exactly the kind of treacly cliched shit I never understood until...right about now.

So tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day here in the U.S. And the day after that is PDaughter's 18th birthday.

I know I can do this, because Bestest Friend did this less than eight months ago.

As of Friday we're both old bitches with grown-up kids.

Maybe once she's out of my goddamn hair I can concentrate on growing this writing gig into something significant.

JK...she'll never be out of my hair, and if I want to grow this writing gig, it's on me as a writer to stop playing the mom-card.

Did I mention I feel old as shit to have a grown child?

Wagging finger, threatening wooden spoon, and all.

Those of you who know: How is it done? What should I do?

Happy Birthday, Precocious Daughter. I love you with all my heart. Even when you chomp.

Saturday, November 18, 2017

Let Me Know What You Love to Smell. Seriously.

My fingers smell like lavender, you guys.

That's not weird or anything, is it?
Let me back up a bit.

Precocious Daughter and I have a bit of a moth problem in our apartment. We frequently encounter tiny, greyish, tissue-thin moths fluttering about. They're not aggressive, they don't bite or sting; they're just annoying as hell to have around.

No one asked you to join us, you sumbitch.

They're called pantry moths, and they commonly join one's household via packaged grains, dried fruit, pet food, or powdered milk, all of which I have in my home. NO ONE INVITED YOU, YOU STUPID MOTHS.

I did a bit of research and discovered that, once potentially infested foodstuffs have been removed, one of the best natural ways to prevent and avoid future moth propagation is to employ lavender.

It so happens that I love the smell of lavender. Mostly because it reminds me of the scent of sandalwood, and being a hippie soul in a GenX body, I totally dig that shit.

Yes, I was born in the wrong decade,
thanks for asking.

Anyway, I ordered some lavender essential oil from Amazon, and it arrived today.

My plan is to create sachets by infusing cotton balls with the oil and tying them up in mesh drawstring bags, then deploying them in various spots around the apartment.

But having not yet purchased the mesh bags, I did a trial run by dousing a cotton ball in lavender oil and setting it out on a dish.

I'm pretty sure I now understand the effect of catnip on kittehs.

What now who?

I don't know what it's going to do to the moths, but the lavender essential oil on the cotton ball (and my fingers) has got me mellowed out in a way I haven't felt in...months? Era? Who even knows, man?

What a wonderful, therapeutic scent. I'm pretty sure that even if our moth problem intensifies, I simply won't give a shit. Because lavender.

It's entirely possible that the scents that most soothe/entice/arouse me - lavender, vanilla, Calvin Klein Escape for Men (raaaaaawwwwwrrrrr) - don't have the same effect on you.

Just as it's likely that the olfactory stimulants you prefer lack a strong influence on me.

The sense of smell and its connection to our physical and emotional cores is a fascinating subject.

I urge you to explore that connection.

My point is, for me, lavender is a moth repellent with an eminently more complex emotional backstory.

And for you...?

I'd love to learn which scents float your boat, as it were. Maybe I'll learn something new.

Links to sources are most appreciated.