I played it off and was gracious today about your mistaking me for the girl who fell last week and went to the hospital. It was the second time, after all. Lisa not only mistook me for her, but when she was corrected, she didn’t skip a beat to tell me about the woman’s unfortunate accident.

So, I was either not there or I was the woman who fell, huh?

I’m only slightly less miffed at Diane, the first person I met in the class when I started going over a month ago. She mistook me for Carol, who just started going. My husband tells me I should have said, “No, I’m the other black girl,” and left it at that.

But I know that Jean took the trouble to match my name to my face, as did Dana, Jill and Matt. So it is not me, it is you. I will speak of it no more, but I should have spoken of it today, to your face, rather than simmer in anger until now.

We are real people with individual names, and if you take the trouble to look into our faces, you might be able to tell the difference. Just like when I take the trouble to look at you, and I don’t get you mixed up with the other old guys in the class.

You’re the one with glasses, right?

Get a clue. Thank you. Good night.

I half-heartedly scolded her about being naked and planned to do something about it after I finished whatever important task I had at hand. When I went back to the girls’ room, I found the baby, still naked except for diaper lying in the bottom bunk between two sisters. She pretended to sleep but was playfully wiggling. I picked her up and took her to get some clothes. It was almost time to take my husband to work.

The baby had awakened one of her sisters–the light sleeper who sorely needs her sleep–and she joined us while I dressed the baby. My daughter was chattering about gymnastics people or ballet people, or support group people–I wasn’t paying attention–when the baby threw up the milk she’d had an hour earlier. She got it all over her sweater and my sweater sleeve and jeans.

I screamed, interrupting my older girl’s stream of words. She commented on how my scream had interrupted what she was saying. . .I interrupted her again to get me a towel or something. She found one in the room, and I desperately tried to wipe up the sickness, especially off my newly washed jeans(!)

The baby was alarmed at the vomit on my sweater sleeve. I was trying to get downstairs to make my husband’s lunch, but that was not to be. He suggested he take the car and I stay home and nurse the baby to health.

Oh joy.

I put fresh clothes on both of us and took her downstairs for water and what not. My daughter gave the baby some gatorade, because she ‘couldn’t find the water.’ What?

We’ve been battling digestive upset for a while now, but the baby won’t eat pure BRAT diet food. I decided to make malt o meal and put applesauce in hers. I was sitting her in her high chair when she protested that she had a stinky diaper.

I took her to change her, and her diaper was full. I wiped her, changed her, and she started pooping on the floor. I was shocked and horrified, and feebly called for help. “I need cloth diapers. . . the baby pooped on the floor! Does anybody know where there are any more real diapers?”

Meanwhile, the children argued at the kitchen table about video games.

I was livid. I cleaned up the mess, reconstructed the baby, and screeched the rest of the house to a stop. I instructed individual children to get the items I needed.

I got a bowl (like a bed pan) for the baby. I held her, played with her, fed her, gave her water, and let her play for the rest of the day. She never needed the bowl.

By the time I took my daughter to gymnastics, the baby was a little sleepy from her nap, but she revived with water and attention. By bedtime, she was smiling and laughing–a very different person from the scowling child I’d seen a few hours earlier.

I am holding my breath about tomorrow.

It’s like being a fly on the wall. I’m very grateful to Robert Sullivan, the pageant photographer.

Yesterday the girls were out for 12 hours. They started the day by learning four dances. Then they spent time with Brownie scouts. They taught the little girls a dance, and they taught them an American Girl lesson. My daughter’s American girl was Samantha. Samantha came with Nellie, the little servant girl that ended up being her adopted sister. What the Brownies took away from the lesson was that Nellie had to work so hard that she got sick, and Samantha didn’t have any chores. I thought that was cute, and at least the girls took something away from it.

Later the contestants had a bowling night. My daughter was a little rusty, but if the pictures are any indication, she had a ball.

I can’t wait for the Tuesday photos!

The room where we met her host family and roommate may have very well been the most feminine place on earth. Girls and women alike cooed over the glittery personalized tote bags each girl received. The bags had lots of personal care products, official name badges, scrapbook supplies, journals and photo albums.

This is the stuff of memories.

The girls had to change into their talent costumes for a photo shoot, then their evening gowns. Our big little girls stood around in formal gowns chatting and getting to know each other while we mothers fluttered around trying to make sure they had everything they needed.

My daughter was nervous about talking to the other girls at first, but when someone complimented her on her dress, that was all the opening she needed.

She met her host family’s three daughters during lunch, and afterward was able to stand up and confidently present her whole family and host family to the room.

Her roommate is another tall athlete with similar political views. She is a perfect match.

We were sad to say goodbye, but this will be such a wonderful experience for our daughter. I can’t wait to hear everything when we pick her up!

I hope the college drop-off is so smooth.

This is my daughter’s third trip to the State finals, and her third 2nd place trophy.

It is a little demoralizing, despite the fact that everybody ain’t able (to make it that far). Because if you are able, you should walk into your victory. Pardon my Christianese.

To listen to my daughter describe her team’s morale reminded me of the Israelites. When it came time for the Israelites to go and inhabit the land God had given them, they first wanted to pick some people to go and scout out the land. So they picked 12 scouts, one from each tribe of Israel. 10 out of 12 scouts were scared, and they convinced the rest of Israel that they couldn’t possess the land.

Only Caleb and Joshua spoke up and said that God would help them to take the land. Nobody believed them. As a result, that whole generation died in the wilderness.

Today, my daughter witnessed her team intimidated by their opponents. She told them, “We are evenly matched. We can take them.” Her teammates looked upside her head.

There were other issues in the games, like bogus fouls other unfair referee calls, but really, the team suffered from a lack of confidence.

So my daughter has a third second place trophy to ‘clutter up her desk.’

Maybe she can sell it on ebay.

I took all the children to the potluck, grumbling because I’d misread the email and had thought it was starting a half hour later than it actually did. I was also grumpy about having to do a potluck. Potlucks make me feel in competition with others in an area where I am really insecure. If people don’t eat the food I brought, isn’t that just reinforcing my perception that I can’t really cook?

Anyway, I was grumpy and complaining all the way to the banquet, driving a route I’d never tried before, because the street I usually take was closed off.

We got there, and the children my 9 year old likes to play with were there. She was happy to see them, and she and her little sister sat at their table for the prayer.

Rather than encourage everyone to belly up to the buffet at the same time, the athletic director called families up in alphabetical order. The two little girls my daughters were sitting with were at the beginning of the alphabet; we’re in the middle.

The two girls got their food and went to sit at a different table. My daughters were left at the table with their friend’s parents; our table was full.

I was angry. I wanted to do everything from shake the little girls to fussing at them, to cussing at them, to sticking out my tongue. Instead I told my daughters that they could be polite, but they could not chase after those girls. They were not to reward rude behavior like that.

I heard their friend’s mother, a friend of mine, ask my girls where the other girls were, and I heard her say, “why’d they do that?” I was too angry to speak to her about it.

The two girls returned to their table during the awards ceremony. They asked my 9 year old to join them. I wouldn’t let her. I played pencil games with her and her 5 year old brother. I saw my friend talk to her daughter, and the little girl came over to apologize. My oldest daughter had the 9 year old in her lap, and heard the apology. My 9 year old didn’t hear it at first. She stayed at our table. I told her she must forgive the girl if she’d apologized. After a while, she forgave the two girls and they all ran off to play together.

I kind of felt left holding the bag with all those negative emotions. But I knew that God is clear about forgiveness.

I had to practice that myself a couple of times tonight, and I was grateful I had. When have you had to swallow your emotions and forgive?

In fact, this here is more of an experimental post than a real one. I don’t even know if anyone will read it. I better stop explaining and start getting interesting, hmmm?

How about I relate a couple cases of mistaken identity?

Today when I got to cardio tennis, a woman greeted me with, “Look who’s back!” I looked around to see who she was talking about. “How’s your hand?” she continued. Then the woman next to her said, “It’s not her!” She’d mistaken me for the woman who fell down on Tuesday. Now, I had worried that people were looking at me like a fat woman likely to fall down in tennis, but I certainly don’t look anything like the woman who fell. She is shorter than I am, has shorter hair, is noticeably fatter than I am, has different color eyes, wore completely different clothes. . .

The foot in mouth woman didn’t skip a beat. She proceeded to tell me about the woman falling on Tuesday and how she’d hurt her hand. I told her that I was there on Tuesday. . .

Later on, I took the children to their bi-weekly math games group. The woman who teaches the younger children in gym class pulled me aside to tell me that I’d joined halfway into the year, and she proceeded to explain the procedure for turning in the exercise sheets. I have been in the group all year, and have had conversations with this woman all year. She had mistaken me for another black woman, who had just joined. She is taller than I am, has completely different hair, darker eyes, dresses differently. . .

It hurts my feelings to think I have made no more impression on folks that they are confusing me with other people.

I let it go in the tennis class. Surely, even though she talked to me as though I hadn’t been there on Tuesday, the woman must have recognized my face enough to connect me with the injured woman, right?

And it was an innocent blunder in the math group, right? Surely she wasn’t suggesting that we all look alike?

My husband says that if people knew how much this hurt, they wouldn’t act that way. I’m thinking I must do something brash to differentiate myself. That’s probably not the right conclusion. What do you think? If you’re black, do you have this problem? If you’re not black, is that the only detail you notice about different people?

I would really recommend a pageant for any college bound senior. It’s good for the kid, too.

I mean, all the details we’ve attended to with this pageant have really been good for me. There are so many things to get together during your child’s senior year. And when you’re homeschooling, all that planning falls on your shoulders.

Not such a good thing when you’re chronically disorganized. So this pageant has been a splash of water in my face. I signed my daughter up for the ACT two times. We have completed 1 1/2 college applications, received donations and ads to support her Jr. Miss campaign, crossed every t and dotted every i.

We drop her off for a week she’ll never forget on Sunday. The pageant is next Saturday. She’s already won so much. We are looking forward to even more success.

What could you sign up for to make you more productive in your child’s life?

I would really recommend a pageant for any college bound senior. It’s good for the kid, too.

I mean, all the details we’ve attended to with this pageant have really been good for me. There are so many things to get together during your child’s senior year. And when you’re homeschooling, all that planning falls on your shoulders.

Not such a good thing when you’re chronically disorganized. So this pageant has been a splash of water in my face. I signed my daughter up for the ACT two times. We have completed 1 1/2 college applications, received donations and ads to support her Jr. Miss campaign, crossed every t and dotted every i.

We drop her off for a week she’ll never forget on Sunday. The pageant is next Saturday. She’s already won so much. We are looking forward to even more success.

What could you sign up for to make you more productive in your child’s life?

I would really recommend a pageant for any college bound senior. It’s good for the kid, too.

I mean, all the details we’ve attended to with this pageant have really been good for me. There are so many things to get together during your child’s senior year. And when you’re homeschooling, all that planning falls on your shoulders.

Not such a good thing when you’re chronically disorganized. So this pageant has been a splash of water in my face. I signed my daughter up for the ACT two times. We have completed 1 1/2 college applications, received donations and ads to support her Jr. Miss campaign, crossed every t and dotted every i.

We drop her off for a week she’ll never forget on Sunday. The pageant is next Saturday. She’s already won so much. We are looking forward to even more success.

What could you sign up for to make you more productive in your child’s life?