Just because Easter and associated hype and excitement and chocolate WEREN’T ENOUGH, we thought today, the next day, would be a good time to have Chickadee’s last day as a 7-year-old. Just for fun. Or maybe the calendar just sort of worked out this way. Whatever.
Also the child managed to lose a tooth this weekend, and decided to wait to give it to the tooth fairy until tonight.
It’s almost more excitement than I can handle. And tonight Chickadee admonished me to make sure I remember what she’s like at seven, because today is my last chance. She’s been referring to herself as eight for a couple of months now (and if you catch her at it, she admits “Well, ALMOST eight!”) so perhaps the transition doesn’t feel as startling to me. But yes, her last day of seven-ness. Let’s make sure it’s remembered.
Math Is Hard
[At math enrichment, this morning]
Me: Okay, so we have 10 sides on this die, with 10 different possible numbers. Tom just rolled a 6. Can anyone tell me what the chances of that were?
Boy: About 22%?
Another Boy: I think there was a good chance.
Boy Whom Chickadee Has A Crush On: There’s a 10% chance.
Me: Right! Good! Can you tell us why?
BWCHACO: Because it’s 10%.
Me: Welllllll… yes….
Chickadee: I don’t get it, Mama.
Me: Okay, we have 10 possible numbers. They’re all equally likely. So we have a 1 in 10 chance of rolling a 1. A 1 in 10 chance of rolling a 2. And so on. Does that make sense to everyone?
Chickadee: I’m confused.
Me: What are you confused about, sweetheart?
Chickadee: I’m not sure.
Me: Yes. Well. That does sound confusing. Here, let’s lay it out with the number tiles and see if it makes more sense.
*I make the boys help me do a visual representation, and then Chickadee gets it. We move on.*
Me: Okay, so now we have two dice, each with ten sides, and Joe rolled a 37. How do we figure out the chances of that happening?
Chickadee: You explain it to me three or four times?
Where Babies Come From
[In the car, this evening]
Chickadee: *holding up her stuffed rabbit* Heeeeello, let’s get together and make out!
Monkey: *holding up his stuffed rabbit to meet hers* Okay! Let’s!
Me: WHOA! What??! MAKE OUT?
Chickadee: They’re just KISSING, Mama. Get over it.
Monkey: SMOOOOCH! KISS KISS!
Me: Um, NO. I will not “get over it.” There will be no MAKING OUT in this car. Where did you even HEAR that phrase?
Chickadee: Oh, FINE. Nevermind. *holding up rabbit again* Hi! Want to go on a DATE?
Monkey: *pausing from mauling his rabbit, holding it up to meet hers again* Okay! Let’s go!
Chickadee: Excellent! Let’s get into my limo.
Monkey: Alright, can I drive?
Chickadee: No, silly, it’s a limo. Someone else will drive us. It’s fancy.
Monkey: Oh. Okay!
Chickadee: Let’s go to Pizza Hut! For our date!
Monkey: Yay, pizza!
Chickadee: Okay, we’re at Pizza Hut now. Time to eat our pizza!
*sounds of exaggerating chomping from all in the backseat*
Chickadee: We’re done with our pizza. Now it’s time to adopt a baby!
Monkey: I want a little boy baby.
Chickadee: Okay, I think there’s one over there. Let’s steal it.
Me: Adoption and STEALING are not the same thing!
Chickadee: Well they don’t know the difference.
Me: WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE RABBITS??
Chickadee: This is what they do on dates. Stop interrupting.
Me: They take a limo out for pizza and then kidnap babies??
Chickadee: Sometimes. It depends what they’re in the mood for.
Monkey: Maybe they should have dessert first.
Chickadee: We need to save the dessert so that the babies will have something to eat.
Do What I Want, Not What I Say
Chickadee requested yellow cupcakes with strawberry frosting for her in-school birthday treat, and also that we use the new Reynolds shaped baking cups that we got in the mail to try. I was happy to oblige.
And then I went to three different grocery stores and couldn’t find strawberry frosting, so I spent her inheritance (meager though it was) on a teeny bottle of strawberry extract so that I could force the frosting to be strawberry, dammit. When I explained this adventure to my daughter–ready to be showered with gratitude–she remarked that “Oh, I don’t really need it to be strawberry. I just want it to be pink.”
That would’ve been useful information to have a bit earlier.
Anyway, after some discussion it was determined that we should use only the hearts and stars because, let’s face it, I sort of blew my chance to use the egg-shaped ones. Whoops. (Monkey’s Bulbasaur oversees all of my baking, by the way.) On the other hand, I did get to pretend to be artistic while taking photos. Anyway.
So. The frosting. It looked like this, and then I added the strawberry extract and it looked like this. See the difference? I didn’t, either. So I added half a bottle of red food coloring, and then it was completely toxic (though still mildly strawberryish!) and then it looked like this. Phew. Houston, we have pink!
Meanwhile, I give the baking cups a big thumbs-up for making the cupcakes seem really exciting when, well, they’re just cupcakes. I was concerned that the cake would stick, but it pulled away from the sides and lifted easily (although in the end, I decided to leave the cakes in the cups for transport to school). You should totally buy those and use them to inspire the awe of your daughter. Because lord knows your investment in that stupid strawberry extract isn’t going to win you any points.
Let’s Not Get Crazy
[As I tucked her in and gave her one last snuggle, tonight.]
Chickadee: So what do you think will be different this next year, when I’m eight, that’s different from when I was seven?
Me: I dunno! Your hair is getting longer this year.
Chickadee: Besides that.
Me: Hmmm. Maybe you’ll GET BOOBS!
Me: Hahahahaha I’m just kidding.
Chickadee: I think I’m a LITTLE YOUNG for that.
Me: Yes, you are.
Chickadee: How old will I be, do you think?
Me: Uhhhh… I don’t know. Everyone grows at a different speed. Maybe around 11?
Chickadee: So I only have three years left before I get boobs?
Chickadee: I think once I have boobs I’ll be old enough to have my ears pierced.
Me: Only if you’ve figured out how to put your dirty socks in the hamper by then.
Perhaps I Doth Protest Too Much, But I Really Like Money
[Left under Chickadee's pillow this evening, along with a pen and the envelope containing her tooth.]
Dear tooth fairy,
tomorow is my birthday I will be turning — O sorry about the late tooth as I was saying I will be turning 8. I belive in you in fact I think your the best.
P.S. I would apresheate it if you write back — thanks again
to write back write on back of paper
Today was a good day to be seven, I think. I hope tomorrow is a good day to be eight.