In honor of Mother's Day (early), I felt the need to take a snapshot of one of those little things that matters the most. Can you identify this object? (Hint: you probably can, if you're a mom.) Okay, have you made your guess? Don't peek until you've guessed. The answer appears below the fold. NO CHEATING! You're supposed to make your guess FIRST. Okay? Okay. Happy Mother's Day, everyone.
The Birthday Extravaganza Weekend of 2005 has drawn to a close. There are big dolls and medium dolls and little tiny dolls. There is a Polly Pocket mermaid aquarium where the little fish will actually swim around when you fill it with water. There is a pretty pink outfit with matching hair bows and a beautiful bathing suit and oh, the books and crafts and kits. It's enough to keep a 7-year-old busy for quite a while. Chickadee is 7 whole years old. I have not strangled her, nor sold her to the gypsies, nor traded her for goods or services that are a better return on my investment. I think I...
Y'know, when I was making those aprons, with the Sugar and Spice pockets, I was having a good giggle. Girls are most certainly NOT composed of sugar and spice and everything nice. At least, none of the girls that I know are. Girls are made of hyper and melodramatic and everything self-centered. Though that is not nearly as pithy. Sometimes the truth just doesn't make for adorable aphorisms. This is not to say that the birthday party was not a grand time. Insofar as you can cram a group of girls into a small space and force them to pay homage to another girl hogging the spotlight, I'd say it...
Tonight was time to Prepare For The Party. On account of, I require Crafty Friend to assist with these sorts of things, and this was the night she could come help me. The only other option was Friday, and as the party is on Saturday, that seemed to be cutting it a little close, even for me. As of today, we have 6 girls coming to the bakery with us for the party. And also I believe there was a bottle of wine, tonight. Not sure. It's gone now. (What time is it? Crap. This work thing, it's cutting into my blogging. Right now? While I'm writing? Still tipsy.) (See how inebriated Mir manages to...
I was catching up on blogs tonight, and realized that I read an awful lot of women who are pregnant/adopting/expecting in some way. There's something about the anticipatory joy of motherhood (fine; parenthood, but I'm reading women, here). I find it very compelling; partially because that stage of life is behind me, and partially because there is nothing quite like the empty canvas that is the dream of raising a child. When you're expecting, you picture the wonderful ways in which your life will change and your child will cause your heart to swell every moment of every day. Then, too, people...
It was 65 degrees outside today. Anyone visiting my site from Texas or Florida or anyplace warm is cordially invited to shut it; for us, this was a monumental day. Today was the first day this year where I could say with utter certainty that YES, winter is OVER. [Pardon me while I take a brief pause to engage in the ceremonial springtime bonfire. Feel free to throw any salt-and-dirt-crusted snowpants onto the pyre, as well as any ice scrapers, warming cables, and the like that you wish to dispose of. Those little canisters of lock de-icer make a nice popping sound when they heat up, you...
Somehow--mixed up with my headache and my fever and my general discontent with the entire world--I feel like the issue Where The Kids Rank has been striking me a lot, recently. Jay just wrote an interesting musing on the issue of kids vs. spouse, and a parenting community I belong to recently had a discussion about what it means to prioritize your kids and your marriage appropriately. Granted, I have no spouse to worry about in this equation, but it's still an issue about which I have an intense curiosity (due in part to the fact that my own marriage started unravelling as soon as the kids...
"It is too early in the morning for you to be shrieking at the top of your lungs." "I'm not." "Yes, you are. Please stop." "I'm not" "You most certainly are, now cut it out and stop arguing with me." "I am NOT! That's only the MIDDLE of my lungs!"
Me: Put your pajamas on, please. Him: You sit on the floor. Me: Okay, I'll sit on the floor while you put your pajamas on. *sitting down* Him: *tackling me and knocking me flat* DODGEBALL! Me: *wrestling a squirming boy off my chest* What?? What about the Taj Mahal? Him: Hee! No, Mama, Dodgeball! Me: You don't have a ball. Him: NO! Mama! I knocked you down. That's dodgeball! Me: *peeling him off of me, sitting back up* Ummmm, no, actually that's not dodgeball. Put your jammies on. Him: Okay. But first... *launching at me again* DODGEBALL! Me: Ooof. Um, honey, first of all, please stop...