Disney World

Disney. 

 So many things come to mind when I hear that word.  Some good, some notsomuch, but one thing I know is that a three-year-old-princess-ballerina-adventurer would love Disney World.  So when my mom and I realized we had just enough time to squeeze in a visit (maybe our last chance before we move beyond driving distance) we went for it.  

 It was a pretty packed trip. 9 hours of driving to get in at 1am, hit the park at breakfast time on Miss's birthday and pack in a day of fast-pass park criss-crossing (we stayed until midnight) then a morning at the pool and another long drive late into the night.  Whew!

Was it worth it? Peanuts.  They don't call it the Magic Kingdom for nothing. 

Little One knew what the top priority was for Her as soon as we got past those castle gates.  

Meet. The. Princesses.  

She was completely star-struck.  She used Her best royal manners; offering Her hand and curtseying, "nice-a meet you!"  She was completely unamused by the overt spunkiness of the tinkerbell lot, but treated Minnie, Mickey, and Pinocchio like old friends.  

After having been introduced to all these VIPs, Little One deemed the trip a success! 

But there was more.  Dancing.  Singing. 

Possibly Her favorite part- "the singer-guys from the Music Man!"

  

Popsicle.  

Nice of Disney to give Little One a free popsicle for Her sister's birthday

And, oh yes.  Rides.  

Little One LOVED the rides.  She didn't even mind waiting in the incredible lines for the rides.  She asked for the kiddie-coaster ("Little too scary, Mama. But it's ok, we can tell Dada how I was so brave on there!") She was giddy over the teacups, She's still talking about the Pooh ride with Nana.  

Now.  

In case any of you felt like taking the word of a teenaged employee, having not been on the ride since loooong before Jack Sparrow swashbuckled, I am here to tell you.  

PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN IS TOO SCARY FOR 3-YEAR-OLDS.   Let alone one-year-olds.  The acrid smell of parental guilt and the thick smoke of impending doom as the boat departed into a dank tunnel ringing with the croak of "Deeaaaad Meeennn Teeelll Noooo Taaaaaaaalllleeeeesss!!" will unfortunately go down as a black spot on our cartoonishly happy Disney experience.  

As will the next six agonizing minutes of huddling together, trying to cover the disturbing soundtrack with my own cheery narrative- 

"Ha ha. Ha.  Look, that pirate has a pet pig.  Cute little piggy! Oooh, those ones are having a big campfire.  Maybe they are running to get marshmallows! Oh yes, silly doggy! Silly doggy tricked those funny pirates into getting in his cage! Look there, he's bringing back the keys! He was just pretending, good doggy! Ha. Haaa haa!  Such funny little pirates!"  Right. 

The physical trembling of my poor Little One (why don't those things have an emergency eject button?) made us a little wary of the next ride.

Especially since my parents are still telling the tale of how I was so horrified on it that I literally tried to jump overboard when I was Little One's age. 

But you all know Little One (aka Little-One-Lilly-Ti-ger!) and Her love of- Peter Pan. So we tried it. 

 

She LOVED it.  In fact, at the end She told every passer-by how UN-scared She was; how much fun it had been.  And how the fact that the croc was letting Hook dance on its head, and that Hook was so joyfully doing so, proved to Her that they were actually both friends. That they were nice, after all! 

If you say so, kid.

What surprised me most was how much Little Miss enjoyed the whole thing.  

She loved it! First of all, It's A Small World.  

"This trippy place is a-MAZ-ing!

 Ho. ly. cow. If I had left Her in there, She'd still be bopping around.  Dancing and grinning, giggling and clapping, waving and ooh-ing and aah-ing.  

A whole land of eternally happy, dancing, tiny people?!  

She found where She belongs, guys.  We went through twice. 

It IS a small world, after all!

Miss was also hugely into the parades, the carousel, and the multitudes of people to flirt with (the one person in Disney who actually likes long lines). Not to mention all the hanging out with Nana time while Little One and I hit the big(ish) kid rides. 

"why did we stop? I need some spurs fer this hoss."

"I get to ring this just 'cause it's my birthday?! You people rock."

We did just about everything there was to do, staying until the park closed.  Disney was even so kind as to provide the Littles with their all-time favorite dinner (salmon and broccoli).  And Nana was so kind as to provide Little One with the one object She had coveted all day long.  

 

It could not have been more magical.  

 

Despite the insanely long, overstimulating, and jam-packed day, despite the no-naps, the late dinner, and the long lines to get anywhere (including out of the park), I am happy to say that there were no tantrums, no cases of the gimmes, no complaints from my little princesses.  

Around 11pm- Little One a little disheveled but still having fun! Missy all magic-ed out.

The only tears shed all day were a few shimmering down Little One's cheek in the moonlight 

as we walked away.  

"Bye Disney wor-wold.  I just miss you so much.  I love you all the days."

At least it didn't break

First of all, today we went to church at the Basilica. It was our first time.  It is "passion Sunday" in lent; a particularly somber mass.  Nearing the end of the very deep (I'm sure, I couldn't really hear the priest, he was SO somber) of the homily, Little Miss- who I could have sworn was two millimeters from a deep sleep guys- suddenly took Her glass baby bottle and chucked it on the hardwood floor. 
BANG!
Ga-baang-baaang-baaaang-baaaaang...
As it rolled, echoing, beneath the sensibly-shoed parishioners of one...two....three rows of pews. 
Luckily She made up for it by waving and blowing kisses to all the people who turned to stare.
"Why hello! You finally all realized you should be paying attention to ME!"
Little One, for Her part, was a perfect angel all mass. Quiet as a ladybug, smiling sweetly and minding Her manners.  Of course, there was the part where we all walk down the aisle for communion.  
A long aisle, looking strikingly like some sort of catwalk. 
Don't worry.  She only took out about three elderly people by tripping, surprising, or slamming into them during Her seriously rockin' dance routine down the red carpet. 
Luckily She atoned for Her sins too, sweetly delivering a handmade masterpiece in crayon and stickers to the priest once we made our exit. 
We know how to make a first impression, don't we?  A lot of people came up to meet us afterwards. All fans, miraculously. 
Church is such a good place to pray, right?  I sent up an extra one.  Something about thank you.  For the lesson in humility, for the kindness of strangers, and for the sweet innocence of my smiling/waving, dancing children.  I couldn't hear what the priest was saying, but thanks to the Littles, I'm pretty sure I got the point. 

Ka-Pow

Sometimes when I have too much to say, I blow a fuse and say nothing at all.
There has been a lot happening around here! After my trip, Little Miss turned one.  That blew several fuses, actually.  We threw a party for Her, and the next day my mother and I (who share the crazy gene, obviously) capriciously decided to haul the kids off on a whirlwind road trip to Disney.  We got back, had to say goodbye to my mom, and had school, and parties, and playdates.  There was St Patrick's day in there too, and a Pristapulka for Miss who is WALKING among so many other things that the upcoming birthday post is going to require a lot more time to write than the current laundry situation can possibly allow.  But it will come, Peanuts, and pictures and all that too.  In the meantime, everyone is ok.  Especially me, because I bought a half-gallon of ice cream for the party, and never served it.  Sneaky.

Celebrating 30

On my first solo vacation in over four years, I expected it to be relaxing.
And it was! Sitting in an airport and having nothing else to do but sit there was pretty amazing, not to mention sitting in front of a fire with a glass of champagne! 
I expected it to be glamorous.
And sitting at the airport bar with my veggie burger and my Guinness (working with practically no interruptions whatsoever, leaving no extra tip out of guilt for floor debris around my spot) was glamorous.  Then we went out to fancy dinner, we went wine tasting...  woo hoo, Peanuts!
Like trying on a ballgown at a designer store I could never afford, I put on this un-mom lifestyle and turned this way and that way, feeling how light the fabric was, admiring the sparkle.
I expected it to the freeing. At 7am when I was still snug in bed, at 7pm when I didn't have to feed or bathe anybody, at the pool where I wasn't the slightest bit concerned that anyone might drown, I might as well have had actual wings.

Birthday Candles

Getting together with the girls I have shared over a decade of ups and downs and hysterical laughter with, I expected it to be fun.  I expected the joy and the gratitude for knowing such amazing people.
I was not disappointed.
But there were a few surprises.  The champagne and sweet note waiting for us in the room, sent by my thoughtful sister was a good one.  Being told by the "yoga" teacher to "grab onto our stomach flab, shake it like jelly, and laugh like this: 'ha-ha-ha-hee-hee-hee'" was certainly not expected.  Nor was finding myself locked into a "family" restroom, pumping milk at the Dallas airport.  (Well I didn't want to overdose on the glamor guys.  There must be balance, right?) 
But the thing that surprised me most about this trip was that while of course I also expected to miss my little family, I could never have guessed that I would miss them SO. Much.
It's Something, I think, that even though I truly had the most wonderful trip and birthday celebration possibly imaginable, I still missed my babies, my J, and my mom (at my house helping with the Littles) so very, very much.  So sharply, constantly much.
The truth is that traveling without the Littles is hugely easier and less exhausting. But airports and airplanes without them are so....boring.  For months I had looked forward to my three-hour layover on the way home from California.  I spent all of those three hours wishing I had my kids with me.
I need trips like this sometimes.  I need to break out of my routine, shake it free, dust off those little corners of Me shoved into storage 99% of the time.  A good spring cleaning.  Try on something new and different just to shake things up a little.
And also to remind me that while it's fun to try on the fancy-free ballgown sometimes, well it just doesn't suit me as well as the sundress with the spots of magic marker and babyfood at the hem.
To reiterate our collective birthday toast to ourselves: Here is to turning 30.  A happy day, a great day.  Because we all happen to be exactly who and where in life we want to be.  Can't beat that. 

 

All My Stuff Fits In One Carry-On

Remember how you felt the night before your first trip to summer camp? Or college?  Like all super excited but also a little nervous and homesick?
Tomorrow at the crack of dawn, I am heading for an airport.  It will be the first time in TWO YEARS that I will spend fully 24 hours away from my babies.  In fact, it will be nearly four times 24 hours, till I get back on Sunday night. 
I am going to miss the holy heck out of my kids and my J.  I have all kinds of guilt and sadness pangs over leaving Little Missy for the first time in Her adorable baby life.  I am not thrilled with the (TMI alert) pumping involved with a separation between mom and nursing child. 
But Peanuts.  I am going to have a three hour layover.  All. By. My. Self. 
I will read.  !!!  And sip something that would both stain and scald if spilled and I will sit. very. still. 
It will be glorious.  People my nails are painted.  Yup, all of them, and do you know what that means?! I will be actively engaged in practically zero menial labor for the next four days. That's what.    
I'm not going to vacuum an ever-loving thing. And I'm going to wear things that are dry clean only, and I am going to have a martini and I am going to do it with two of the best possible people out of six and some billion on the planet.
Two of my very best friends since high school and I are all about to take on a whole new decade in life.  So some time ago, we made a decision.  We are not going to bemoan the passing of this decade and the involuntary reassignment into a new census bracket, no.  We are not taking this getting older crap laying down! Nope, we're going to celebrate the awesome fantasticness of the next 10 years. 
So even if I did get a little teary-eyed putting the Littles to bed tonight, I know that with J and my mom here they are in good hands.  And, after a weekend of celebrating and relaxing with people who make my heart happy, when I get back I think they will be in better hands with me, too.  Happy hands. Zen hands.  Shiny, pink, nail-polished hands. 

Mommy Fail.

Today all the gals are sick. 
Little Miss and I woke up looking just icky and feeling the same.  Little One swore She was well and wanted to go to school.  So I jinxed myself nicely by saying, "Ok, but if you feel sick at ALL, you have to tell your teacher to call me so I can come and get you."  She promised. 
J dropped Her off at school and I spent the next few hours comforting a very fussy Little Miss. 
I spent a good long time nursing, cuddling, reading, rocking in Her nursery and had just set Her down for a late nap, when I heard something odd, and the dogs went wild. 
Something by the front door.  Like someone was trying to get in. 
I tiptoed down the hall, trying to make it out, when I heard a man's voice, clearly coming from inside my house.  OMG. 
But after a brief moment of panic, I realized that I recognized that voice, and rushed to the door. 
Where I found one of J's close friends standing in my living room, holding my daughter. 
"I've been knocking," he said, as if that fully explained what the heck was going on. 
"Um...the school has been trying to call you? J was calling?  I called, too....but She was sick at school so they asked me to pick Her up."
Being the only person we knew when we moved here, he was our "emergency contact" person. Apparently, Little One did exactly what I said and told Her teachers She was sick when She started coughing, wheezing, and running a fever.  And they had been trying to call me for an HOUR AND A HALF!  I never heard the phone.  J didn't answer because he was at work. 
I'm pretty sure I've kicked myself from every possible angle for this, but if you see any new ones, feel free to kick also.  I apologized profusely to our friend and to Little One, then called while Missy screamed (the commotion having wiped out any chance for that nap after all) to apologize to Little One's teachers.  And I'm sure I'll soon be apologizing to parents for their kids catching whatever this nasty bug is.  Kick. Kick. 
There have been several instances recently where the school did not call me and I wished they would have.  The one time they actually do call, I don't even pick up.  Thank goodness it was a cold and not something worse.  Kick. 
This cold is pretty nasty, I haven't slept, and I'm worn out from taking care of the two sick Littles this afternoon.  But nothing feels nearly as bad as having let my daughter down.
Sometimes I feel like I've got the hang of this parenting thing, but then again.  Some days it kicks my youknowwhat.  Ouch.

Stepping Up

Yesterday at exactly 8:23am, something big happened!
Little Miss stood up. She didn't wobble.
I held my breath, She held onto nothing.  Then She reached out for me, took a step, and fell into my arms. I clapped and exclaimed, pulled Her to Her feet, and let go. I stepped back as She balanced there.
We've done that dozens of times.  She thinks about it, sometimes She starts to move forward, then you can see Her deciding "Nope! Not gonna go there!" and She plops down.
But yesterday.
She stood there kind of hovering.  Thinking it over.  Then She sllooowwwly, slowly lifted Her arms towards me, keeping that precarious balance... and She went for it!
A step! Two! THREE steps!!! 
And then whoa! Teeter, wobble.  She fought to hold on for a moment, came to a balance again for a moment, then looked up at me and grinned. And dove into my lap.
After that, She demanded an immediate nap.  Whew.  Walking wears a girl out!
WALKING!  Guess who else around here is about to get worn out.
From the chasing a walking toddler, but also from the cheering Her on.  Go Missy, GO!  Yay! 

J's Job Description

Remember Little One's description of what I do all day? Today it was J's turn.  All the kids were asked what their dad does all day while they are at school.  Here is Little One's answer:

"He works at work and he comes home and gives me a kiss"

As far as I know, that is the right answer.

MARDI GRAS!!

Down here, they have this little thing.
Called MARDI GRAS!!.
It's kind of a big deal.
For our introduction into MARDI GRAS!! some of our new friends helped us get started.  For one, we were given our first ever "King Cake", which is similar to a familiar (to me) Mexican tradition, but with a twist. 
We were told all about the holiday from those who have been here long enough to know, and we decided to jump right in.
Did you know that the birthplace of the MARDI GRAS!! parade is not actually New Orleans, but Mobile, Alabama.  Fact!  Since the New Orleans version of this celebration is just a teeny bit much for the under-threes, we decided to check out Mobile's time-tested, original version.  Mobile understands our wish to participate without scarring our children. Too much.  So the parade there has a special "family friendly" street, where there is no alcohol or nudity, and the people on the floats throw stuffed animals along with beads and moon-pies.
It was packed, and given my many experiences with various DC-area parades, along with the wild reputation of MARDI GRAS!! I was a little apprehensive as the street filled.  But you know what's nice about the South? Even when they get wild down here, they still have manners. People kindly made room for us at the front so the Littles could see.  The people next to us shielded the kids from incoming moon-pie projectiles and chatted jovially with us between floats.  The older kids caught prizes and handed them sweetly to my girls. Amazing.
 The parade itself was LOUD, colorful, quite the spectacle.  There was music, costumes, amazingly decorated floats.  We caught obscene amounts of beads and other 'treasures' and had a really nice time hanging out with friendly strangers.  It was purely fun. 

So fun, in fact, that when our own town had a local version, we went to that parade too! Even though it was raining, we had a good time there, too!
Little One did get a bit chilly.  I wrapped Her up like a little waif in my scarf, and Her pitiful look turned out to be a great marketing strategy, as people jumped down from floats to gently slip scores of beaded necklaces over Her head.  Between all the attention, the goodies, the music, and the allergy-safe moonpies, She had a ball in spite of the cold.

And Missy? Oh lord. 

Heeeyyy! 

Rain? What rain? Cold? What cold? Insanely loud noise and overwhelming crowds and sights and sounds?  Bring it! Love it!

Up Top! We scored tons of random stuff!

Our little MARDI GRAS!! queen sat up as high as we would lift Her and grinned ear to ear.  She waved the princess wave and clapped Her hands for all who passed.  She giggled and
squirmed with delight when She was bestowed with beads or a teddy bear, She bounced Her diapered-booty to the beat of the blaring speakers as they rolled by.  She had SO much fun.  ...Maybe TOO much fun.  I'm thinking I may just have to watch
out for this one!

 
We hit up our favorite fish market and had a big seafood dinner to celebrate, along with our King Cake, and decided that these Southerners know how to have a good party! 
Little One spent the next few days dressed to the nines, parading through the house hurling plastic beads at everyone.
Miss, in the absence of an adoring public, has learned how to get Her sister to fetch Her the box of necklaces, and how to loop them over Her head Herself so that She sounds like a locomotive coming, crawling proudly with Her weight in plastic dragging under Her belly. 
I think it is safe to say that we are all hooked. 
Bon Mardi Gras!!!

If The Shoes Fit...

You know how parents always have Those Stories? About like, the time you stuck something up your nose or whatever?  Something you did that made no sense and drove them nuts?
I blessed my mother with plenty of Those Stories.  One of them would be how even though we lived in the mountains, where it would freeze and snow all winter, I adamantly refused to go to school wearing anything but my patent-leather maryjanes.
Through most of high school, believe it or not, I made my own purses to match each pair of (sky-high-heeled platform) shoes, and I painted my finger and toe nails to match my outfit- every. day.
In college I did my fair share of velour pants and flip-flops- when in Rome, I guess- but I still spent most of those Arizona days in heels and sundresses.
I wore a grey and pink pinstriped, satin-lined business suit and heels to my job interview to be a nanny.  For an infant.  I dressed up for most of my jobs; from director to diaper-changer.
And then I became a mom.
I stopped working and stayed home.  Barely sleeping, rarely leaving the house or interacting with other humans, and spending most of the day handling various body fluids and cleaning agents.  Some strange hormonal imbalance due to childbirth drove me with inexplicable force to chop off my hair (This is an epidemic among new mothers. The CDC should check it out). I wore ballet flats on a fancy day.  
Like Canadian Geese just KNOW which way is south, I intuitively sensed that heels were no longer allowed.  That in my new station in life yoga-pants, T-Shirts, and ponytail was the required uniform.  I wasn't a complete mess (most of the time); I had a washed ponytail, I wore clean ugly sweatpants- I just knew that getting all fancy only to be spit-up on 11 times was silly.  SILLY guys.
But here's the thing.  When I got pregnant with Little Miss it really hit me.
I'm grown up.
I'm not just doing this for now, I'm not doing it on the side.  Someone asked me at a party when I was about six months along, what I "do".  I pointed to my round belly and laughed.  "This is it."
This is it. 
I started thinking about what that means.  I started thinking about what I wanted to "Be" when I grew up. I realized that while the occupation might have varied over the arc of my youth- from ballerina to nurse to professor and so on- what I wanted to Be was more of a feeling; the way I wanted to conduct myself and feel about myself, in any role.  While there are dozens of things I've wanted (and still want) to do when I grow up, you know what I really always wanted to be?  Myself.
Happy with My Self.
And here I am, all grown up. Really.  So if I'm ever going to be what I want to be when I grow up...now is the time.  And so for starters I started waking up in the morning and instead of wearing the "uniform", I started getting dressed like Me.
I was happy to find out how much better I felt from day to day, how much more I felt like I was in the right line of work because I felt more comfortable in my own skin. 
But what really surprised me was the reaction I got from my "colleagues".
Since moving here, where my daughter goes to school with children who all have these dazzlingly pretty moms, for Pete's sake, I have received SO much attention over my SHOES.  I tell you I have had literally dozens of comments- at least one from almost every mom I have met, as well as all of Little One's teachers and several of J's coworkers- about my shoes.  
 People seem to be as shocked by a stay-at-home mom in heels as if I showed up for preschool drop-off wearing a leather cat-woman suit and a couple of writhing-snake medusa heads. 
"You wear those to clean the floors?" "
You can carry a baby around in those?"  
"Is there some reason you wear those all the time?"
In not particularly mean-spirited tones (but still interestingly, I think) I have been called Betty Crocker.  I have been called a Stepford wife.  Partly I guess because I like to bake and do art projects with my kid, but honestly I think it's mostly about the shoes.
I've met some amazing moms here. We've had some great conversations about, among other things, the various complexities of raising girls in today's America.  About the Pink Princess culture and the messages of objectification, materialism, and over-sexualization that batter them from all angles.  Issues I am plenty concerned about.  But when these issues come up, they tend to circle around...to my shoes.  Not in a nasty way, but a "why do you feel the need to thwart my message of feminism by parading about in those contraptions all the time?" kind of way.  A dumbfounded way.  A why on earth would you? kind of way.
Recently during a conversation like this, I was asked what kind of message I think I'm sending to my daughter. By wearing, you know.  THOSE.  All the time.
So I thought about it.
In case you've seen me walking to school in THOSE and you are wondering also, here is the answer:
I don't know.
Little One once overheard Her friend's mother (who is going through a divorce) talk about how the friend's daddy didn't live in her house because her parents weren't married anymore. And for a week She cried every time J left for work because She thought that if he wasn't at home we ceased to be married. And you remember the Say Cheese episode? Not to mention Her interpretation of what I do all day.
Which is simply to say that my child is three and some things are lost in translation.  That She extrapolates what She will from any given circumstance and I have very little control over the way Her brain processes things, when it comes down to it, even when I try.  So I don't know what message my child gets from the elevation of my footwear.
But I can tell you what I hope.
IF my shoes are sending messages to my little girl, I hope they are saying this:

1) Take yourself seriously
You might be the CEO. Or the President! You might not.  Whatever you do, take it seriously.  I don't care if you are a senator or a businessperson or a teacher or a janitor or an artist or a stay-at-home-mom.  Never put "just" before your job-description; not when you say it, not when you think it.  If it's your job, treat it like it matters.  Show up in whatever outfit and attitude help you do that.

2) Get up in the morning and take on the world
Wake up. Today day may bring a jet to France! The day may bring 8 hours of collating papers. It might be seven loads of laundry.  But the point is, go for it. Get up like you are ready to take it on, whatever it is. Take it on! And remember that anything can happen. So get ready for it.


3) Glamor comes from inside
 No, you don't need fancy shoes to be fancy. You don't need to be a princess or a ballerina or a supermodel.  You don't need perfect hair or the perfect figure, or expensive clothes or anybody's permission. Glamorous is about feeling as fancy as you want to be.  Go ahead and wear your party dress to the grocery store.  Wear lipstick when no one else will see it.  Or just be confident and use good manners. Smile. We all have a little princess, a little diva in us. Express yours any way you want to, whenever you want to, as much as you want to.  For you.

4) Have fun with life
Even if you were a princess, life would get mundane at times.  We all have to go through routines and get our chores done.  It's not all five-star hotels and roller-coasters.  Not literally. But day-to-day life is fun- as fun as you make it.  That's why we have sudden dance parties in the kitchen. It's why we jump in puddles. It's why we play dress-up.  Find what's fun for you, then sprinkle it like spices into a pan, all over your life.

5) Don't buy into stereotypes, and don't be afraid of them.
Girls don't all like princesses.  Boys don't all like sports.  Stay-home moms don't all wear sweat pants. Powerful people don't all wear suits. Sometimes the innocuous-looking person is dangerous, sometimes the scary-looking person is sweet.  Wearing glasses doesn't make you a nerd, or smart. Being a cheerleader doesn't make you shallow, or cool. Sometimes tough guys cry. Sometimes little girls in pink tutus are feisty and tough.  Sometimes the mom baking cupcakes in heels is a graduate-degree holding feminist who has worked as both a butt-wiper and construction worker. 
You seriously never know.
So resist the temptation to label others. And, more importantly, resist the tendency to label yourself. If you like glasses, wear them. Don't think whether it will make you "seem" too smart or too nerdy. If you like tackle football, play.  If you like rap, or country, or heavy metal, or showtunes, listen and Rock Out! Never let someone elses idea of of "should" dictate you.


 6) Be Yourself
Which brings me to the Main Thing.  If my shoes are talking and they say nothing else, I hope they say this: Be You.
Don't be what is expected. Don't be what you think is 'normal'. Don't be what doesn't rock the boat.  Be You.
My Nana, in her 90's, still wears splashy colors and gaudy jewelry.  If someone were to call her tacky, she'd say "hell yes I'm tacky! Ha!" But mostly people just call her awesome.  Because she rocks those three-inch hoop earrings. She looks amazing because she is the right kind of coordinated- her outsides match her insides.
Does everyone belong in 3-inch hoops or 3-inch heels?  No. Do I give a flying rat-squirrel if you don't like my style and you prefer air jordans or converse sneakers or tivos or CVS flip-flops? No! Will I be some kind of disappointed if my girls grow up and wear the same pair of scuffed-up hiking boots every single day? Hell NO! Will I be some kind of disappointed if they don't? No. In the much-overused (but I think very wise) words of my sister's ex-boyfriend:  
Girl. You do you, and I'll do me.
Me.
I happen, by whatever concoction of nature, nurture, DNA, MTV, or heavenly mandate, to be a girly girl.  I am not a baggy-jeans T-shirt kind of girl.  I'm a "oooh, can we bedazzle that?!" kind of girl.
I am not a sit-on-the sidelines, follow-the-leader kind of girl.  I'm a walk-tall kind of girl. A maryjanes in the snow girl.   I retain the right to change my Self and my style whenever and however I want to. Because my feet and my Self belong to ME and I can do whatever the heck I want to with them.  But for now, myself has a few pairs of shoes.  They have heels.  And at the moment they fit me.  So I'm going to wear them.

Picking Up The Local Accent

Little Miss has just started to try out animal sounds.
She has a brand new interest in looking at board books with animals, and pointing to each one asking me, "This?....This?...This??"  So that I will demonstrate the name and sound of each one. 
Today at story time we were going through this routine and came to the pictures of the sheep. 

Little Miss: "This?"

C: "That's a sheep.  Baaa Baaa!"

Little Miss (very excited): "Bah Bah! Bah Bah!"  

While waving "bye-bye" enthusiastically.  

And then of course, since we had said our goodbyes, She smacked the book shut and declared, "Aaaaaall done!" 

 Well after all, that's how it's said around here.  Bah-bah, y'all.  

Job Description

Today at school all the children were asked "What does your mom do when you come to school?"
Such an interesting question.
You know, here I am, blogging all the day long about Little One and Little Miss, but have I ever really told you Peanuts what I do? What I do?  Well no! And I bet you are all dying to know. I bet you wish you could hire a paparazzo to document my typical day for you, to quench your curiosity. 
I bet you've been wondering and imagining all the many amazing things I accomplish on a given day.
Wait. No. Longer.
Little One has you covered.
Today I got the little note (and a giggle) from Her teacher after school.  According to the resident insider, the expert observer of my life, here is what I do all day while Little One is at school:

"She does nothing; she just sits in the chair all day. Sometimes she mops the floor, that's all. I clean the house and dada cooks."

So there you have it. 
The charmed life.  My minions slave away for me, and I kick back in my throne.  Nice.

You know. I'm not sure whether to be really amused by this alternate reality, really disturbed that this is what She thinks, or to just take it for what it is.  A really good idea!  Thank you Little One.  Your childish innocence is filled with the glorious ability to see the world for what it should be.  Now.  Let's take that lovely dream, and make it happen!  Minor revision, though?  That mopping part.  Got to go.

Valentines Day Love

Oh Valentines Day.
I know, I know. Commercialized.  Hallmarky.  Cheeeeeeesyy. 
Every year all the couples get all obnoxious and smug and all lovey-dovey-PDA all over the place. 
All the single people get all bitter and snappy and whiney and eat cookie dough out of a plastic tub.
Please, people. 
This year, Peanuts, I don't want any complaining around here!
Valentines Day is about LOVE and CHOCOLATE.  The end.
And seriously, I don't care who you are, you can't beat that.  Love. Chocolate. 
The two things that make life worthwhile, guys! What is not to celebrate. 
Sure it can be about cheesy gifts and romance if you want to tack those on, but at the bottom of it all, the core essence of V-Day?  LOVE.  CHOCOLATE.  
So lets have some celebrating ok?  Jump on this sweet, reddish, heart-shaped holiday and enjoy it!
If you need some Chocolate, well go buy some.  I mean, I have some but it is for me.
Love, on the other hand. 

If you need some Love this valentines day, hit me up.  I've got nothin' but love for you!
I've got lots and lots, tons and tons!

And unlike chocolate, I'm more than happy to share it with you! So- 

Happy

Happy

HAPPY

Valentines Day!

Safety Suzie

While we were driving recently, Little One, placidly gazing out the window, suddenly FREAKED OUT! She screamed at us to STOP THE CAR STOP THE CAR! And GO BACK!!!! 
Partly out of curiosity, we did.  She pointed at the roof of a building, where two men were standing.

Little One: "Oh. Mine. GOSH GUYS! Do you SEE that?! Do you SEE there is some GUYS up there onna top of that building there?! OHMINEGOSH!"

J and C (confused): "Uh, yes...yes we see them....?"

LO: "GUYS.  Guys, they are way up there with no mommies or daddies or anything. This is NOT SAFE UP THERE! Why are them up there like that not bein' safe?! OH. NO."

We explained to Little One that they were grown ups, and they were being very careful.  We told Her that it looked like they were probably up there for a reason.  It looked like they were fixing the roof.  Little One was so relieved.

LO: "Ooooohhhh! OK!  YES! Yes, them ARE fixing that roof there! GOOD JOB guys! You figgered it out and ever'one is ok! That is just, that is just great guys.  Good work!"

Motorcycle helmets are a must

Let this be an example to you about Little One and Her obsession with safety.  She makes sure all the people and dolls are buckled.  She's on constant alert as to what Little Miss is playing with- is it too small? To sharp? To heavy?  She is on constant alert for things that could make Her allergic, assessing every food item She sees.  She asks questions ALL THE TIME.

"Mommy, is him a stranger?"
"Is him a nice stranger or a not nice stranger?"
"Mommy is that car going too fast? Is it going to bonk some other cars?"
"Mommy is Miss s'posed to go over there? I see some paper She could eat there! Is that safe for Missy?"
"Mommy look at this poor little buggy.  He is so small! Where is his mommy? Is he lost?"

It is a hard thing to figure out at this age.  Strangers are particularly difficult.  For both of us.  Where is the line between being friendly and polite, and keeping our distance out of caution?
Exactly how much freedom should a crawling baby Miss have? Exactly how much should Little One have?  How much, really, should anyone have? Difficult questions.
So Little One, our little scholar, has taken on these philosophical mysteries in a form true to Her style.  An academic research project.
She now totes along Her little purse wherever we go, containing a few tiny pens and a small notebook. This is Her field journal.
When we are in the car, She breaks out the pen and notebook, and announces, "O-K! Ready guys? Can you please tell me aaaaalll about DANGER."
She wants us to list it, like this:

J: "Crossing the street without a grown up. That's dangerous."

Little One (carefully but swiftly scratches a tidy row of scribble from right to left on one line of the notebook): "crossing the street without a grown up...mmmkaayy....got it! What else?"

C: "Um....the chemicals mommy uses to clean the house. Those can be dangerous".

LO (scribbling the next line): "OOohh! Good one Mommy! Yes! Chem-a-culls. Got it. What else? Tell me 'bout some more danger things". 

We go on and on like this until we arrive. She caps Her pen, sheaths Her field journal, and totes it along.  At home, if She thinks of a danger we haven't covered yet, She races to the closet to enter it in.  She's got quite the catalog going.

We try to balance things out a little by making a list of things that are NOT dangerous.  At the end of this project I think we will have a very thorough report. I'm thinking we should submit it to some anthropology journals.  Just as long as we handle the paper gingerly to avoid paper-cuts, watch out for strangers and look both ways before crossing the street to the post office, and securely fasten our seat-belts on the way home. 

Becoming Little One

Yesterday was our parent-teacher conference.
Little One's teachers had some great things to say about Her school work.  Apparently She is really excelling in reading and writing; ready for kindergarten!  Her math skills aren't as superlative, but are right on target for Her age, and She continues to be a prolific little artist.
But what Her teachers were really excited to talk about was Her "personality".  Which, they informed me (with twinkles in their eyes), is really "coming out".  By which they mean that Little One is no longer the shy, observant, cautious bystander She started as back in the fall.  They said that despite being one of the smallest and youngest in the classroom, She has emerged as a definite leader.
She has a long, long list of friends and apparently is very busy at snack time making the rounds to all these peeps, basically hosting a social hour.  She has transformed the snack table into the "water cooler" of the pre-school classroom.  She leads rambunctious games on the playground; chasing all the kids roaring at them and threatening to eat them up as they play "tiger" (I know exactly where that came from, it's a book She loves called Little Rajani).  The teachers said that the kids love playing with Her and follow Her lead.
They also said She is known to them as the "policewoman".  She apparently patrols the classroom, hands clasped behind Her back, surveying everyone and their work.  She "helps" students who are getting the lesson wrong, "reports" when rules are being broken, and rushes to clean up any messes that may have been left (making sure to inform Her teachers first that She is going to clean it up, but She did not make the mess).  She at times has to be reminded to worry about Herself, and do Her own work.
But they promised me that She employs Her, uh, "leadership capabilities" in a gentle way that has not caused Her friends to revolt, which is good.  They also had a nice laugh over an exchange I had with Ms. Janie last week:


Ms Janie:  "Boy, Little Miss certainly is getting a new attitude these days!"
C: (putting my hand on my hip) "Oh really? How so?"
Ms Janie: (cracking up and pointing at said hand on hip) "EXACTLY like THAT!"

Little miss attitude.  I'm pretty sure She gets it from Her father.

Constantinople

Tonight at bedtime:

Little One: "Tonight I'm gonna have a GREAT dream! I 'cided I'm gonna have a good dream, about a wonderful ocean.  And in the ocean gonna be a sea turtle, and some flowers and pictures in there, and lots of SEA HORSES! Gonna be a red, and yellow, and a green, and a orange, and easy anOTHER orange one! So many kinds of them!"

C: "Wow! So many sea horses!"

Little One: "Yes! And I will be the finder for all the sea horses, so I will get to tell what them are called! And they are going to be called Salt, and Pepper.  And Constantinople."

Monsters

Tonight while I was at yoga, thinking I was all deep and philosophical with my "Om" and my conscious breathing and my Savasana, the real existentialism was going on at home.
As J was tucking Her in, Little One confided that She had a worry.
She thought She had a "bad brain".
So he asked Her.  Why do you think your brain is Bad?
She said it was because She was having nightmares.  She had bad nightmares, She said, about monsters.  Monsters chasing Her. So Her brain must be bad.
Poor J.  He reassured Her that Her brain was not bad and had a long talk with Her about dreams, what they are, how everyone has nightmares sometimes.  Why, he himself has had nightmares!  In fact, he's had lots of bad dreams, since he has been alive a long time.
Which led Little One to ask whether- since he's been alive a long time- he was going to die?
What a lot of worries for such a little head. 
Whenever Little One has had fears about monsters, J has told Her that if She ever sees a monster She should laugh at it.  Laugh at it, and it will go away.  Which has worked so far.
But tonight She told him that in Her dreams, only the little monsters will go away if She laughs at them.  The big ones, She said, She has to fight.  She has to fight them to make them go away.
When J was telling me all this (after He had talked it out with Her and sent Her peacefully to sleep thank goodness) we stood there in the kitchen looking at each other as if to say, "did you just see that two-headed goat fly through the window in a hot air balloon?"
We were all "whoa", and aghast, and like, stunned from being slapped upside the head with a big piece of oh-so-this-is-when-parenting-gets-all-tricky...damn.
My first reaction was where the heck did She get all this?  Brains being "bad"? She must have heard that somewhere?  Fighting monsters? Fighting? What?!
My next reaction was to want very badly to be able to get into Her dreams with Her, somehow, so that I could take those suckers out myself. I'd like to see those nightmare monsters try to mess with this mama.  Bring. It.
My next thought was of course gratitude, for the fact that J was the one who happened to get to deal with this.  I will take the period talk, you get bad brains and nightmares and the inevitability of death.  Fair's fair, right?
But after awhile (and maybe a glass of wine) I chilled out a little and thought it through.  Here are the things I like about this kind of disturbing conversation:
I like foremost that when Little One had a worry, even a worry that She thought was shameful-something wrong with Her- She had the courage to tell Her dad.  I like that She knew he was a safe place to bring that fear to, someone who would listen and help, without judging or hurting.  I like that a lot.
I like that She is not afraid to ask hard questions.
I like that even in Her sleep, Her deep subconscious, She has internalized some of the lessons Her parents have taught Her- including How To Deal With Monsters.
And despite my initial horror at the idea of Little One fighting anything, ever, I have to say that there's something else I like, the more I think of it.  Little One says that the big monsters, She has to fight.  She fights them and then they get scared and run away.
You know what.  We all have our demons, our monsters to face.  Some of us spend a lifetime figuring out that you can't run from them. You can't hide from them.  You can't always laugh them off.  Sometimes, you have to face them.  Sometimes in life scary stuff happens and you have to just go in arms flailing and feet flying, screaming and fighting and Manning. Up.

A lot of us never get to the part where if we fight our demons, they will get scared of our awesome fury and run away. This girl has that down at age three.  I hope She remembers it, in real life.
Today at school a little boy apparently chased Her around the room. With something from his lunch that She was allergic to, telling Her to eat it.  I wasn't there to stop him.  She had to tell him NO Herself.  You see, I guess it's good I can't get into Little One's dreams to fight Her monsters for Her.  I won't be able to fight most of Her Life Monsters for Her.  She has to do it on Her own, now and always.  So I'll stop wishing it. I guess.  Instead, I will believe in Her ability.
But I do hope that whenever those Life Monsters come Her way, that if She starts to worry something is wrong with Her, or if She's scared, or just tired from the fight, She'll always know who will be there to listen.  To remind Her that She is intrinsically Good. That She is never alone, that She is loved.  I hope She'll always know that even when Her troubles find Her in places we can't follow, we'll always be right here for Her to come back to, hugs waiting.