On Friday, I became a grandmother for the weekend.
My daughter takes a parenting class at her school, and a huge part of her grade was taking care of a fake baby, aptly named “The Ready or Not Tot.”
More than slightly creepy, wouldn’t you agree?
She cried spontaneously, just like a real baby. There’s a slot in the doll’s back, and each time it started wailing, (loudly, might I add) Baby B had to use plastic keys to make her stop. There was a feeding key, an attention key, and a poo key. She had to write down the times, and keep a daily log. I also got involved, by grading her on the level of care I witnessed.
Yes, we did take her to the drugstore, where people did double takes.
It was a gas. (The sarcasm runs deep this Monday morning.)
My daughter would make an excellent mommy, but after three nights of waking up each time Adrienne (Baby B had to name her) started crying, I am positive that she is not even remotely interested in having a real baby anytime soon. (Thank God.)
Baby B looked like a zombie this morning. She can’t wait to get a full, uninterrupted night of sleep tonight, and since I woke up each time myself, I am ecstatic, too.
(I just found out that she has to keep it again tonight due to a technology error, and I plan on taking it for Baby B so she can get some sleep. I’m more than slightly annoyed by this, and just called the school to complain. Yup, voice mail.)
Yesterday, I went with my best friend Cheryl to something called “Paint Nite.” (Even though it was a Sunday afternoon.)
It’s this new fad, where you go with a group of friends to get sauced and paint a picture. Since I no longer drink, and neither does C, we both ordered Shirley Temples. There is an instructor and an assistant. They walk everyone through each step. I loved it, and had a great time.
I experimented and decided to paint my poppies different colors. My stems look more like trunks, but otherwise, I like how it turned out. Not too bad for my first try. If I had been drunk, it might have turned out different. Eh, maybe next time.