I love some Michael Coors

michael-kors-michael-peep-toe-platform-sandals-leighton-high-heels-462906

It’s that time of year again.  Time to find the costume for the Winter Formal.  It’s in two weeks.  Both DJ and Stephanie have dates, which is no easy feat at an all girls’ school.  Appropriate clothing may be a more difficult challenge this year.

I took Stephanie to six dress stores last weekend.  If it had arm and neck holes, we tried it on.  Salesclerks give me the oddest stares.  I know they wonder why this dude is the sole adult with teenaged girls in their boutique.  I want to wear a sign across my chest:  Wife died, shut your pie hole.  Instead I try to act like I know what I’m doing, like Clinton from What Not To Wear:

“Texture…nice.”

“Shuuuut-Up!”

“Fit IS everything.”

“A line, much better than the B line.”

After a frustrating Saturday, I sent DJ on the prowl.  Within 30 minutes of their departure, I got a text with a pic of THE dress.  I thought Stephanie had it on backwards because the zipper was in the front.  Why would you need a zipper in the front?  It’s not a jacket.  You ain’t gonna need to get it off in a hurry!

Whatever…

This weekend we tackled shoes.  I took her to a store I thought was called DWI – but it’s actually DSW.  There were so many shoes there it upset my stomach.  I was overwhelmed.  I felt dizzy.  I didn’t know where to start.

I felt like a bird; I headed for sparkly shoes.  That’s what she used to like.

“Dad.  I haven’t worn sparkling shoes since I dressed up like Snow White, Halloween of 2004.”

Although she told me, I kept being drawn to shoes with jewels on them.

“Dad – DO NOT PICK OUT ONE MORE SHINY SHOE!  I AM NOT WEARING SEQUINS TO THE DANCE, especially on my feet!”

I pulled boxes off the shelf,she tried them on.  I then took pictures and sent them to DJ.

She responded to my first text:  “Put them back now!  They actually made me throw up a little bit.”

They weren’t that bad.

We finally settled on two pair, both returnable, both by Michael Coors.  I liked that cause he makes beer too.

When we got them home, I was told one pair looked like a 50-year-old lady and the other like a Hay Street prostitute.

“Well she must be good because these puppies were expensive.”

The crazy thing is that when DJ returned from her first dance at St. Mary’s School, I asked her if her feet hurt.  Her response?  “Oh no.  We took them off the minute we walked in the door.”

I’m gonna send her behind in bedroom slippers.  Shiny bedroom slippers.

Sunday Post 172: Before the Dance

When I was a kid, the entire neighborhood hung out at our house. I think this occurred for two reasons:

1)      My parents were cool and embraced a gaggle of kids tromping through our garage and back yard.

2)      We didn’t have too many other options.

The Martins owned a funeral home and that spooked those of us not in the business of dead. Mr. McDonnell had been in Vietnam, and he ran his house like a marine platoon. If Tracy didn’t get home in time to feed Viking, their horse sized greyhound, he’d put her butt on restriction for a week.

Mr. Mask was a principal, and no one was interested in that. Glenn Fair’s parents were older and perhaps agoraphobic ’cause we lived in that neighborhood for seven years and I only saw his mom once.

There were the Appletons who were very nice, but I’m fairly certain they were high a significant amount of time.

In the summer, the kids would congregate in our garage, sometimes before my brother and I even got up from the breakfast table. My mom would check on us periodically throughout the day and fairly regularly would bring out homemade popsicles. They’d melt faster than the candles at the Christmas Eve service – we had red Kool-Aid stains on our arms from June – September.

I want my house to feel like the home I grew up in. I want my kids and their friends to be comfortable coming over and hanging out.

Last week Stephanie finished middle school. She’s been at St. Timothy’s School for nine years. It’s a significant milestone for her – and for me too.

The school sponsored the eighth grade dance tonight. I’ve made it a habit to check in about a week prior to a big event to see how the pre-event social scene is stacking up. Sometimes there’s an invitation from another kid to get ready together at their house. Sometimes not.

When I think one my kids might be stuck flat ironing their hair with me or asking me if a particular pair of shoes looks good with a chosen dress, I start to panic. It’s then that I begin inviting kids to our house.

A babysitter was at my house late one afternoon when a pack of kids were coming over for a sleepover. She said, “My mom would never have allowed me to have a big sleepover.”

I guess that not all parents feel this desire or obligation to be a hub. But for some reason, I prefer it.

Maybe it’s because I never want my kid to feel left out. Perhaps it’s because I know Lisa would have done so. It could be I just saw it modeled and monkey see, monkey do.

It is really one of the easiest things I do – it cost me a couple of pizzas and some ice. But the return is a connection to my kids and to their friends which is priceless.

Purchase Danny’s Book Laughter, Tears and Braids: Amazon or Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh

If you have read the book and are willing to write a short review, it would be helpful: Click here. And thanks

Dance Coach Danny

DJ is in this dance troop at school. It’s called Orchesis. I think it’s Greek for “shake yo’ bootie.”

This spring, all of the juniors and seniors get to perform a solo. They pick their own music and choreograph their own moves. It’s pretty cool to see.

Since my big debut as a dancer in A Christmas Carol, I thought it appropriate for me to sort of give her some guidance as she began to brainstorm about her performance.

“DJ, you need to be creative. In past years, a lot of the solos have looked the same.”

“What do you mean dad?”

“Well, they all throw themselves on the floor, thrust their chests out, gracefully hold out their limbs… I mean, they look good and all, but it’s the same. You need to come up with some new moves.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“They all do the same thing – you know, like this:”

I think she got the point. I’m looking forward to her creativity.

Purchase Danny’s Book Laughter, Tears and Braids: Amazon or Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh

If you have read the book and are willing to write a short review, it would be helpful: Click here. And thanks

Not a Creature was Stirring…

08klass-blog480[1]

The eight grade fall dance was coming.  I knew we had to act fast!

“Stephanie, do you want to host a sleepover the night of the dance?”

“Yea Dad!”

“We’d better get an email out quickly before some other parent decides they want to have twelve thirteen-year-olds over for 20 hours.  We don’t want to miss this opportunity.”

I actually don’t mind hosting.  I’m up late most nights anyway and… if you sit quietly and listen, you garner so much information in a really short period of time.  Which is good for a clueless father.

It took me, my afternoon sitter and another mom to get the dozen, and their stuff, to the house after school on Friday.  The excitement was palpable.

As the girls ate dinner, I was affirmed when one girl chirped up out of the blue, “I’m mean, like, abs are nice but some guys just take it too far.  I don’t like it when those muscles are all stickin’ out and stuff.”

How refreshing to hear.  I hope that 48-year-old women feel the same way.

One mom who ran by the house to drop her kid’s outfit off said, “You’re a brave man Danny Tanner.”

“I’m not afraid of no eigth grade girls.  I ran a Y day camp for five years.  They got nothin’ on me.”  And they don’t.  I can dish out as much as they can, maybe more.

As we neared the school for the drop off, two SUVs packed with adolescents, panic ensued in both cars.

“It’s only 7:02!  We can’t get there yet!  We have to be fashionably late.”

I had just pulled into the driveway of the school when I got the word.  “Stop!”  We pulled over, a good football field from the drop off point.  The windows flew open, One Direction’s The Best Song Ever cranking from my Dolby speakers, turned up to max decibels.  Bodies were hanging out of the windows, one or two popped out of the sunroof.  Of course, I couldn’t let a beat like that pass by – I too jumped out of the car and got my groove on, a couple of other parents passing us by in wonder – or disbelief.

When we picked the crew up, and the car doors closed, I think the dance was summed up by one of the wisest of the crew, “Boys are jerks!”  It was then qualified with, “You’re a man Mr. Tanner, you don’t count.”

“Yeah.  It’s always more fun getting ready than actually going,” Stephanie pitched in.

“I asked Bobby why he didn’t ask anyone to dance.  He said it would mess up his mojo.  I told him, ‘You’re at a small, private school.  Any mojo you had went out the door when you made the decision to attend this institution.'”

As the girls got into their PJ’s, one asked, “Mr. Tanner, do you have a wash cloth so I can get all of this makeup off?”

“Yea.  I have a paint scraper and a chisel too if you need it.”

About 10 PM I pulled Stephanie into my bedroom.  “At 1:30, the girls need to be quiet.  If they’re not, I’m coming out of my room in my underwear and yelling, and you don’t want that do you?”

“Ah, no.”

“Great!”

About 1 AM, it was like the night before Christmas – not a creature was stirring, not even Kimmey Gibler.

Oh, my car still smells like cotton candy.

  • Tanner Tweets

  • Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

    Join 11,915 other followers
  • Past Posts

  • Contact Us