What Not to Wear (times 5)

My daughter Hannah is a perfectionist. I am not saying that she is a perfectionist in every aspect of her life. A quick look at state of her bedroom floor will confirm that she is less than perfect when it comes to keeping her clothing in her drawers. But she is a perfectionist in anything relating to taste, art and appearances (that is, outside the home). This year she is a senior in high school and she decided she would like to attend a dance. She had many invitations to dances last year, and disappointed many would-be suitors. After receiving two invitations to prom last year, she made a general announcement to all who would hear that she would not be going to prom, period. And she received two more invitations after that.

But this year is different. It is her senior year, and she doesn't want to miss out on what remains of the high school experience. The first step was to get a boy to ask her. It couldn't just be any random boy; it had to be a boy of Hannah's choosing. Hannah chose a boy who has a very large group of guy friends and does not really have any girl-friends. Getting this boy to ask her to homecoming was going to be a little challenging, but Hannah gave herself a few weeks lead time during which time she talked him up daily between classes (they have several together), and generally wore him down with smiles and attention. After confirming no less than three times via his friends that she would say 'yes' if asked, the boy finally asked her in a most creative way. Driving home from school two weeks before the dance, a car pulled out in front of Hannah, cutting her off. A sign was taped to the back of the car saying, "FOLLOW US HANNAH" Out of the sunroof popped a boy holding a sign saying, "Homecoming?" Hannah followed the car to a RiteAid parking lot where, surrounded by a group of seven of the boy's friends, she was presented with a bouquet of flowers (this is more typical) and asked to the dance by the special boy. She replied "yes" enthusiastically.


Hannah was so sure she was going to get asked to the dance by the boy of her choosing, that she started shopping for her homecoming dress a week before she received the invitation. Wearing the perfect dress was as important as being on the arm of the perfect boy.


Dress # 1: On a Saturday afternoon, three weeks before the dance I dutifully accompanied Hannah to the mall and tromped through Macy's, Nordstroms, and several boutiques. We found the dress of her dreams at Cache. It was purple with some bling at the waistline. The problem was that this particular dress was also the dress of her sister Natalie's dreams. Natalie had purchased the same dress a few weeks earlier to wear to a wedding. But Hannah was sure that this was the only dress that would work for her and she would just make sure that she untagged herself in any photos of her wearing the dress that turned up on facebook. Natalie would never know.

Dress # 2: After receiving the invitation to the dance Hannah's ideas about what to wear were really starting to solidify. Upon arriving home from work one day, Hannah told me that she had returned Dress #1 and purchased a much better dress, and not only that, she had saved me $60. She modeled the dress for us and Gerard commented that she looked like an artichoke. I'm not sure if it was a rare case of a child listening to a parent's opinion, but it appears that his comment may have been the catalyst for her disenchantment with Dress # 2.


Dress # 3: We were now 1.5 weeks from the dance and the search for the dress accelerated. Hannah ordered a cream-colored dress online from Nordstrom using a gift card that she managed to talk Rachel into surrendering. Dress # 2 was returned to the local Nordstrom store.


Dress # 4: Under the guise of shopping for shoes, Hannah returned to the mall and purchased another cream-colored dress from a new store named Sasan. She used the remainder of her summer earnings as a camp counselor to pay for the dress. This dress was very fancy and also was was too big for Hannah and would require three major alterations. She left it at the store to be altered and planned to pick it up on the Wednesday before homecoming. She cancelled shipping on Dress # 3 with Nordstrom online.


(there were a few days of inactivity in the dress procuring department while she waited for Dress # 4 to be altered)


Dress # 5: Not unexpectedly at this point, the results of the alterations on Dress # 4 did not please Hannah. They had forgotten to take in the waist. She asked me to perform that alteration but was disappointed that I couldn't get to it before Friday. Hannah was starting to have doubts about Dress # 4 working out after all. On the day after she picked up the Dress # 4 from alterations, she brought home a dress from school lent to her by a friend. This was a dress the friend had purchased the previous Spring to wear to prom, but had not ended up wearing (hmmm ... sounds familiar). It was red and very striking but just a tad too tight on Hannah.

Dress # 6: On the day before homecoming, Hannah brought another potential dress home, lent to her by the owner of Dress # 5. This dress was blue, and matched Hannah's eye color. It was too big in the waist so Hannah took it in by hand. With one day to go, Hannah decided that this was The Dress.

Now that homecoming is over, all the dresses have been returned except for Dress # 4 (not pictured) which Hannah had to keep because she had it altered. She says she will wear that dress to prom. Right...

Foiled

It's been a long time since I posted because I have an incident to report that I am not terribly proud of. It turns out that I am not the only adult in our family who suffers from an occasional lapse in judgement that puts that family's health and safety at risk.

My Girl Scout troop of 4th graders is beginning to camp. As the leader in charge of the camping I had to take 3 classes on camping skills. One of the classes was instruction on outdoor cooking and in that class I was introduced to the concept of a dutch oven. A dutch oven is so named because the Dutch brought them to the New World and traded them with American Indians. These cast iron pots were actually in common use in Europe at the time white people began to colonize North America and were not just the providence of the Dutch. Dutch ovens have three feet on the bottom that raise the bottom of the pot about 1 inch off the ground making a nice space for hot coals underneath. The lid has a raised flange around the edge to hold coals on the top as well. The walls are thick, and with coals on the top and bottom, the dutch oven will heat evenly and can be used to cook anything you would normally cook in a conventional oven. I was very excited about the concept of being able to cook delicious meals, and not just weaners and beans, while camping with the troop. And it sounded so easy too! This picture, from a boy scout camping trip, shows how simple the concept is.

I went right out and bought two 20 lb dutch ovens for our troop to experiment with this new form of cooking. I seasoned one of the dutch ovens with oil and filled it with my favorite baked casserole dish, lasagna. Then came the dilemma. I didn't know where to put the dutch oven during the cooking. My outdoor fireplace had a fireproof surface that was raised off the ground, but it was way out in the hinterlands of my backyard, and too far from the kitchen. My backyard's cement porch was another alternative, and right outside the kitchen, but I would have to put the dutch oven on the ground and then bend over to tend the coals. I compromised on using my redwood picnic table benches, the very same benches that I had sat on as a child while enjoying family barbecues. My parents had given me their redwood picnic table and benches in 1989. I lined up the benches side-by-side under the overhang of the pool house (I didn't want to have to stand in the sun while slaving over the food). All I needed now was a fireproof barrier to put between the dutch ovens and the wood surface of the picnic table benches.

I considered a cookie sheet but didn't want to ruin one by putting coals on it. I remembered that I had heavy duty foil. I ripped off 10 pieces of heavy duty foil and covered the left side of the bench. I put the dutch oven on top of the foil. On the other end of the bench I put a propane stove with a coal starter chimney on one of the burners. I used the propane stove to light and heat the coals. When the coals were hot, I put some coals under the dutch oven and some coals on top.

After about 50 minutes of cooking the lasagna was bubbling and hot and ready to eat. I brought the dutch oven inside the house and removed the coals that were sitting on the foil and put them back in the coal chimney on top of the propane grill. The coals looked spent and they would burn themselves out. I unscrewed the propane tank and set it on the bench. Umm -- the lasagna smelled good and I was eager to try it and revel in my family's compliments.

The lasagna was delicious. Just as I was about to start dinner cleanup, the doorbell rang. It was my friend and co-leader Narma who had come to try the lasagna and hear how the whole process had worked out. I had seen Narma earlier in the day when she had, to my surprise, brought me a fire extinguisher. I had had a good laugh at that. What was she thinking bringing a fire extinguisher?

Narma really liked the lasagna and stayed for 45 minutes or so to chat. After she left I went right outside to clean up while there was still some daylight left. The setting sun was not the only source of light in my backyard! The entire left side of the picnic benches were on fire with flames leaping as high as the overhang of the pool house. Flames were creeping toward the right side of the bench where the propane can was sitting. I ran back inside the house and yelled for my husband, then grabbed a stock pot off the stove, filled it with water and ran back outside. One pot of water was enough to put out the flames, but I continued fetching more water and dousing the until smoke stopped billowing from the benches. The benches were nearly burned through and ruined.

My husband never did hear my calls for help so I had to go get him and show him what I had done. He didn't say much. I think he was mute with astonishment that I had done something so stupid and dangerous. He mumbled and went back in the house and I stood there alone pondering what I had done. The foil wasn't burnt all the way through so the fire must have spontaneously started in the wood when the wood had been heated by the coals to a very high temperature. What had I been thinking when I put burning coals on top of wood? Where had I gotten this misplaced confidence in tin foil as an insulator? What would have happened if I had waited a few more minutes before going outside? Would the fire have reached the propane tank and would it have exploded? Would our house have burned down? Very likely. I didn't like to think about it.

Although this happened months ago, I am still ashamed to think of it. The next time I am feeling smart and superior, I will come back and read this blog entry to bring myself down a notch or two.

Now I have this off my chest and can go back to writing about my husband's foibles.