Return from the land of Lego

Rather jeg-lagged today as I basically spent the last 24h awake, in meetings, roaming airports and on planes. ( I did catch up on some movies as those are how I watch them these days, on the plane, the plane.)

But I had to share the cuteness that is the girl, who was obviously thrilled with the latest "Mom guilt" purchases that came her way this time. (Oh, the brilliance of marketers who continue to keep the parent pocketbook-challenged.)

(When leftover Lego Star Wars and Spiderman no longer cut it...)

And on the controversy, why can't we all just be Friends?

A syrupy birthday post after all

"So how much is Barbie blown?" asked the harried Mom, before uttering "oh that sounded good" under her breath.

Replied the balloon lady, "Well, I wasn't going there, but since you did... she's $4.99. She's real cheap."



I was thinking about doing a gooey, sappy, happy birthday post for my little Diva, who turns six years old tomorrow. The thing is, I'm not exactly a sappy, gooey person in real life. Sure, I may come across that way sometimes on this blog - I've certainly posted some drippy, syrupy words around these parts.

The reality is that my girlie's behaviour isn't always the most deserving of the accolades that I wish I could shower on her everyday. She is still fully capable of the "meltdown in public places stunt", which she exhibited in full force a couple of weeks ago at Party Packagers while shopping with me for loot bags. We had already made a deal that this was still going to be about her - after all, these would be for her friends at her upcoming birthday party.

Upon entry into party junk mecca, reason, however, flew out the window. After I refused to buy her her 1 millionth stuffed Ty doggie, she unleashed an epic tantrum that had her snotty and gasping for breath. Even the promise of a free balloon from the store manager on the condition that she stop crying, did nothing to deter her. The Diva tossed her coat on the floor at the cash - the cashier looked at me with pity in her eyes. I dragged the screaming, bawling 5 year old sans coat into the winter night, to pick her brother up from soccer practice with no minutes to spare. A party time was had by all.

I lectured her in the van about what happens to little girls when they misbehave in the party store - that all they end up with is a 'BIG FAT ZERO".

That, my friends, is reality.

But then a few days later, driving in the van to a playdate with her best friend, chatty Diva brings up that same exact conversation.

"Mommy, I told Anna the joke you told me after Party packagers, when you were so angry with me."

I held my breath.

"I told her that my mommy made me laugh, when she said that all I got for bad behaviour was a BIG FAT ZERO!!!!! You're so funny Mommy, there's no such thing as big fat zero! Anna thinks you're a funny mommy too!"

Whew.

*****

On the eve of her 6th birthday, my little one is currently lying here next to me, dealing with a crappy cold that hit her yesterday and caused her left eye to swell like she went a couple of rounds with Jaden Smith in the Karate Kid (she totally could have taken him, actually). She's coughy and snotty for a different reason this time, and likely feeling stuffed beyond her toy bears. But she's not complaining. She wants to build the gingerbread house, and watch me make ginger crackles later - the operative word is "watch" because she doesn't want anyone else to get sick. She wants to help me wrap the presents. She's got Christmas spirit and then some.

She is a real trooper, this one. She's tough, she knows what she wants, and she lets people know it. All while being as sweet as her sweet tooth gauges her to be. She can be a pain to her brother, but then criticize me when I tell him to be more assertive on the soccer field (Mommy, he's trying his BEST!). She's got her Daddy wrapped around her little finger.

She still climbs up on my lap for spontaneous snuggles. Especially after she's been bratty.

And honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.


Happy Birthday, my sweet Guppy!

Sunday, when I should get off my ... and do something productive

Hubs: "I had a dream about you last night", nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

Moi: "Oh yeah? I had a dream about Bradley Cooper."

Uproarious laughter.

Hubs: "Was he clothed?"

Moi: "Yes, fully."

Hubs: "How unfortunate for you."

I love my husband.

******
Mama, can you type in "www.horsedoctor.com" on the computer?

Why, have you played a game there?

No, I just want to see it.

Check it out. There's a beautiful xray of a human knee, as far as I can tell.

Maybe we should buy the domain.

*****

I took the girlie to the Mall for my emergency purchase of new glasses. I needed an opinion, and who better to accompany me than a 5 year old fashion plate? Especially as I didn't have contact lenses to wear and I can only see clearly about 2 inches from my face without optical apparatus.

I short-listed a few, and it came down to Prada, Persol, and Ermenegildo Zegna.

The Persol were geeky chic, but too big for my face.


I put on the EZ pair:

To which the girl commented:

"You don't look like my mommy."

A gentleman standing next to me said, "Well, that isn't good."

I looked over at him with a smile. And then I recognized him. Guess who?

Dr. Joe. The Parenting and Life Counsellor, regular contributor to Cityline. Canada's answer to Dr. Phil, perhaps (I bet he gets that all the time, whether he likes it or not.)

Lest my daughter develop major psychological issues based on my choice of eyeglass frame, I think it was prudent that I went with Prada.

The big reveal will happen later this week.

Friday Fragments - Simple Things

Don't forget to check out the home of glorious Fragments( Mrs. 4444)

*****
Well that was certainly cathartic.

The boy's face is fine. He's all smiles again, with a bit of a shiner and a story to share.

Today is another day. Let's celebrate the simple things.

*****

I noticed something the other day. Something quite wonderful.

My daughter doesn't just walk. She skips - everywhere.

Oh, the pure joy of being a happy 5-year old little girl.

*****

Speaking of stories, the one thing that I look forward to when my husband comes home from his work trips, (other than seeing him, of course) is the colourful tales he has to share about his adventures.

After boarding his flight last Friday, and getting settled into his seat, he noticed this odour in the cabin. The odour of someone who'd had beans or something unsettling for breakfast, apparently. The passenger in front of him turned to his wife and made a grimace that showed his displeasure of the stink as well. My husband just tucked his nose subtly into his elbow as his defense mechanism.

You would think that would be the end of it, after all, one expects some level of dissipation at some point.

However, throughout the rest of the flight, the smell was relentless. The wife of the passenger in front even took out a small spray bottle of perfume/deodorizer and gave it a couple of pumps. My husband kept his elbow close.

After the plane landed, the pilot announced: "Welcome to lovely Chicago, folks"...

and the fellow in front of my husband piped in "... and whoever has been shitting their pants the whole flight, let's have another just for good measure."

My husband could barely contain the guffaws. Even while telling me the story.

****

Colourful number 2:...

After the man had settled into his hotel, he headed over to the convention centre to check things out. He looked to his phone, to see if there were any messages any of his colleagues. On his Blackberry screen he saw a trail from one of the guys from his office, and decided to continue the text conversation (in blue below):

Hi, you all settled in?

Yeah.

So do you want to meet for dinner?

Actually, I'm meeting some friends for dinner later on.

So do you want to meet for a drink before, maybe?

No, I'm running a bit short on time.

And then he noticed this colleague way over on the other side of the auditorium...

Hey, I see you over there, don't want to shout across the room...

No, you don't see me.

Yes, I do.

I'm in my workout gear in the gym at the hotel.

No, you're not. Is this Mike?

No, this is Jane.

JANE, his FEMALE colleague from the U.S. office.

Oh my frickin' gawd. She probably thought this guy was going middle-aged conference crazy. My man, he's smooth, isn't he?

****

The girlie promptly had a tea party with her Daddy last night, just before bed. And she brought it over and shared it with me as well.

I don't really play with my kids. I just realized this - I shop for them, I feed them, I bathe and I clothe them, I talk with them... but I don't play with them a heck of a lot.

But my husband does.

So I've resolved that I need to make the time to play.

Simple things. Wonderful things.

Let's play.

Weekly Winners - Halloween-ish

Adding to my excuses for the lack of posting recently:

1/ The camera was "lost" while I was away on business. I came home wanting to take pics and to rectify this, purchased myself a new one for me, myself and I (for my birthday week, of course).

The Man found the other camera in his backpack about an hour after I came home with my new toy, of course. Mansearch at its best.

2/ I've been fighting for my laptop time. Busy people with busy Webkinz to tend to keep getting in my way...



"Busy people" are just lucky that they're pretty darn cute. We're happy as long as these remain extensions of the removable kind.

And I cheat here, a bit. I didn't take these, but had to share.

GaGa by day, stomping out spiders with killer heels...

GaGa by night, partying it up with Andy...

( I was apparently yelling my age at everyone last night - gin and tonics are as good as lie detectors, I suppose!)

A happy and safe Halloween to you all tonight!

(And make sure to check out Lotus' gallery of gifted winners)

The Lesson

The girlie had her first piano lesson last night. Her brother started his lessons in the fall, and she's been curious from the start. But given her young age, the piano teacher suggested that we just let her observe and get used to the presence of the teacher every week, before letting her give it a try.

I love their teacher. She is GREAT with children.

I actually used to teach piano as a teenager. I even taught my brother up until he sat for his Grade 2 Royal Conservatory Exam. He got first class honours at the age of 7. So in theory, I could teach my own kids at least the basics, even though it's been over 20 years since I taught anyone.

In theory. You see, I pretty much could have killed my brother during his lessons. It's so much harder to teach your own - your expectations are so high, you assume they can do better, they never practice enough, etc., etc. Just ask my brother what those years were like, I bet he'd still remember the torture.

So when it came time for music lessons for my boy, I wasn't even going there.

After four months, he can read simple music, count and play with both hands. He practices every day without prompting, and to be honest, I've only sat down with him a couple of times just to see what he's playing. I'd say that's massive restraint on my part.

When the teacher rang the doorbell yesterday, the girlie came up with me shyly, and only agreed to go to the piano room with the teacher if I accompanied them. I did so gladly, as it was the deal. The teacher welcomed it and let me stay in the back.

What a joy it was to watch the girlie concentrating, looking at the teacher with such attention, and focusing on her fingers and the book in front of her. She learned the number of her fingers, the difference between black and white keys, and long and short notes. She even played two simple pieces. And she was beaming, ear to ear, as the teacher told her how well she was doing.

After 15 minutes, it was over. The plan is to do 15 minute weekly sessions for the first month, just to ease her into it.

As her brother went in for his turn, she ran to the other room with me, jumping up and down, shouting, "Mommy, I want a FULL lesson next time!" I told her it would come soon enough, but that we were so proud of what she had done for the very first time. More ear to ear beaming.

*****

This morning, as I put the coffee on and got breakfast going, instead of heading to the TV room, the girlie walked over to the piano.

"I'm practicing first thing every morning! I'm good and I can do it, better!"

Do you think she's in the running with her brother?

You betcha for sure.

The Gift

My most memorable Christmas gift?

There have been many - Christmas has always been a time when I've been giddy with excitement, brought to the point of NO WORDS I've been so excited. ( I have witnesses.)

But there's no getting around THE ultimate Christmas gift:


My Christmas baby, the Christmas miracle, who came a month early in December 2004.

*****

But we were more than ready for you. The cycles, the struggles, the heartache, the journey ... we'd been trying and hoping for a long, long time.

There are not enough words to express what a wonderful gift you've been to me, your Daddy and your big brother. You've shown us the value of patience, shared the joy of your boisterous laugh, made us marvel at how perseverance and stubbornness can reside in the tiniest person and opened an incredible new view of the world.

The world through your eyes...and the world is your oyster, princess.

Who could ask for a better Christmas present?

(This is my latest effort in the writing group I've joined with a bunch of blog pals. Join us:

Are you smarter than a kindergartener?

I'd forgotten that a four year old has the capacity to talk non-stop. From the time that the girlie wakes up in the morning, until her head hits the pillow at bedtime, the verbal onslaught is relentless.

The boy was certainly chatty enough at this age; but the girlie takes it to a whole new level. When the L-boy used to verbalize each and every thought that happened to pop into his head, he would still be content even that we let him unravel a soliloquy, with the occasional head nod, or "yes", "really?", "well, that's very special"... to acknowledge that at least our subconscious was still following him. After all, who can respond to each and every single question that comes out of a kindergartener's mouth?

Well, in the world according to the girl, her parents are supposed to. If we just nod an "um-hmmm", she'll yell, "Hey, you weren't listening to me! Listen to my words!"

But there are some glimpses of brilliance hidden amongst the verbal diarrhea. And I'm not just saying that because I'm her mother.

The other day she asked us,"Mommy and Daddy, where was I before I was born?"

Now we initially thought this was an open invitation to launch into the sex talk, but at 4, we thought it a bit premature. We were at a loss, and then before we uttered anything, she pretty much answered it for herself. She was talking spiritually. As in, "Was I with the other babies in heaven, waiting to be born? Like where Gong-Gong is?" Wow. Silent mutual stares of "help" between the parents seemed to have saved the day.

And then yesterday, I inadvertently (well, because it was right on the road being run over by the half a dozen cars in front of me ) ran over an already flattened road pizza formerly known as skunk. As we drove over it, and I sucked in my breath (wishing I knew how to kiss my teeth), bracing myself for the stink that would now envelope the van, my girlie asked what was the matter.

So I told her that I had run over a skunk, and that I wished I had been able to avoid the poor thing. But that it was already dead when I ran over it.

And she asked me this:

"Mommy, why don't they just make sidewalks for animals? Then they can walk on their own sidewalk in a line, and people will know not to run over them. And maybe they can put up a sign to show drivers that there are skunks and other animals on that sidewalk."

Good point. Never mind about the details of having to train the animals to stay on their side of the road. But the sign is a grand idea - look at this:


(image from stock.exchange)

At least skunks have legs.

And my son's response when I told him I ran over a skunk? He checked out the tires to see if there were any skunk guts adorning them. No such luck. Boys.


But the best one yet?

As I ran the kids out of the house this morning to drop them to their camps, decked out in my "interview" suit to meet the headhunter (more on that later), the girl looked at me and said,

"Oh, I like your outfit mommy. I like your necklace. You look like you are going to talk at the front of a meeting. You know, the lady who talks to all the people when they come to a meeting, you look like her!"

"Well, Mommy did do something like that before I had you and stayed home. Do you think that might be what you want to be when you grow up, sweetie?"

"You had to stay home to take care of me and Goh-Goh, right Mommy? So we don't get hurt (guilting already!!), right? I can be that lady when I grow up, but only when you're a Grandma."

And then she took one look at my shoes and said, "Oh, but be very careful Mommy. You don't know how to wear heels."

And she was brilliantly right.

My feet are KILLING me.

Wordless Wednesday - Sweet

So now what do we do?

My kids get away with a lot. They're good kids, but they know how to work the system.

Take my daughter, for example. She's four AND A HALF now, she's quick to point out. And she just graduated from junior kindergarten. In September she'll be a "senior".

But get this; she has her own room, complete with her own pretty bed...which she hasn't slept in since she was three.

Where has she been sleeping, pray tell?

Why, in her Mom and Dad's room, on the couch next to their bed. Mommy and Daddy need T-shirts with "LOSERS" blazoned across them.

How did this happen? Well, she used to go to bed pronto right a 8 PM, we'd tuck her in with her stuffed guys, give her a kiss good night, and she'd be good. No drama for the night.

But she started getting up in the middle of the night and crawling into bed with us. And then before we knew it, she was spending most of the night in bed with us... so our new rule was, get in the couch, if you're coming into our room.

Then somehow we ended up being too tired, and she weaseled her way into getting tucked into the couch right away, bypassing the whole bedroom ritual entirely. (I suspect it was the hubs that allowed this to happen on a night while I was out. Yeah, I blame him for everything, and this is no exception. No willpower against girls who have certain grown men wrapped around their cutie little fingers). And to be honest, there's something just too sweet about hearing your little girl's gentle breathing next to you.

It just became habit.

But this was ridiculous. It's just bad news to lose the sanctity of your own bedroom. It can't be good for a marriage. Bad enough that kids invade your entire consciousness, let alone your sub and then total unconsciousness.

She promised, though, that she would go back to her room, eventually. Before she was ten at least. Well, that argument didn't fly, so she deferred it to her sleepover with her baby cousin, which was two weekends ago. She slept in her room, with her cousin in the playpen beside her. Not a single hitch.

It was beautiful.

But guess what? She went right back to our couch the next day. Grrrrr. And I have little energy to fight.

So here comes my little hero.

"G, if I sleep next to you on the air mattress in your room, will you stay in your bed?."

"Yay, it will be like a sleepover. Yay Goh-Goh, I will, I will sleep there all the night if you're next to me!" she shouted with glee. Literally jumping up and down and clapping.

Her last words to me as she faded into sleep this past Monday were,

"Mommy, if Goh-Goh sleeps here with me forever, then it's okay, I'll sleep in my own bed."

And she did.

And she has every night now, since Monday.

With her big brother by her side.

I asked my boy on Tuesday if he wanted to go back to his room. He replied,

"Uh, no, not just yet. It's comforting hearing her next to me sleeping. It's okay Mommy. I'll let you know when I'm ready to go back."

Where did we get this kid?

And so his Mommy thanks him. And his Daddy too.

Because of him, we've got our bedroom back.

Not that we've got the energy to do anything with this new scenario, but it's the principle right?

Always be my baby

As I was helping my little girl dress for school this morning, she asked me,

"Mommy, did I drool like a dog when I was sleeping?"

And I answered her truthfully.

"You did drool, but it wasn't exactly like a dog."

"Why do animals drool, Mommy?".

"Well, they do sometimes when they're hot, or when they're excited or ready for food."

"But I'm not a dog."

"No, you're not a dog. But humans drool sometimes too. Like babies. They drool when they're teething."

"Oh. So THAT'S why. Because I'm your baby, right Mama?" as she giggled and snuggled into me.

I melted.

"Yup. You're exactly right. You'll always be my baby.", I whispered in her ear as I squeezed her right back.

*****

In the day to day, it's not always top of mind what miracles my kids are. They're great kids, but they still know how to get my goat. But it is always with me, that without help, we may never have had our babies.

And I'll get the occasional nudge when I find out that, yeah, some of the hopeful baby vibes that I've sent out over the internet, do make their mark.

Congrats to my friend Xbox and his wife ET. He was the one who inspired me to open up on my blog about our infertility struggles. And I'd like to think that I was able to give them some hope on their own journey.

Looks like he'll have to switch subject matters now. I can't wait to read his take on the wonders of being expectant parents. Should be a wild nine months!

Enter Insanity

You know when I prayed for that baby who was so long in coming? So desperate was I for baby that I said that I wouldn't care if we had a brat.

You know when we named that same baby a moniker that has graced magazine covers and Paris runways, and I said it would suit a girl with attitude?

Gahhhhhhh!!!! It's freakin' payback time, now.

I'm all for my daughter being strong-willed, stubborn and assertive. I just wish that she had someone else to practice on.

We're going through a bit of a trying time with the little one lately. She seems to be happy calling all the shots, not being too keen to follow rules (unless she comes up with them herself), wanting everything her way and for her royal subjects to wait on her hand and foot. Princess syndrome, all day, 24/7.

She's been fortunate. Her big brother is fantastic to her. He's a really wonderful kid. And perhaps, therein lies the problem.

She knows this. She hears her parents talk about how wonderful he is; she hears her relatives tell their wonderboy stories; she hears her brother's friends parents mention how mature beyond his years he is … all about him, him, him. No wonder her current modus operandi is that any attention, no matter how garnered, is better than attention toward her brother. The more annoying she gets, the better. Things are particularly testy when she needs a nap.

Today was an especially spectacular example.

After a wonderful morning at school with further playtime at the playground with her classmates , we came home with her best pal to a fabulous lunch of hot dogs and toast with grapes on the side. The girlie had a couple of quick meltdowns which are par for the course, but after a half hour of watching "Flushed Away "with her buddy, we were off to their afternoon sport program. More play time, this time along with her other best friend in tow. Life shall we say, is sweet.

”Okay, time to drive your pal home, Mommy has to get gas for the car and rush back in time for big brother to be home.”

"No, I don’t want to go home. I want to stay at my friend’s.”, as we drove up her friend’s driveway.

“Well, not today sweetie. We have to arrange it with his Mommy. But I picked up some nice crafts that we can work on when we’re home.”, I said patiently while her pal bounded out of the car. I opened up her side of the van so she could say good-bye.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I WANNA GET OUT NOWWWWWWWWW!!!!”.

Screeching at the top of her lungs, tears rolling down her red face, her arms and legs outstretched as she tried to bust out of her five-point harness ... she was truly a sight to behold. I couldn’t reason with her, so I just shut the van door to muffle her screams as I returned to the driver’s side. I got into the van, and reversed, with her screaming continuously ringing in my ear. All the while repeating that we had crafts and fun stuff to look forward to.

Then I looked at my rear view mirror and I saw her undoing her carseat buckle.

I cracked. I pulled over to the side of the road, opened her door, read her the riot act about how her behaviour was unacceptable as I tightened up her belt, shut the door yet again, muffling higher pitched screams, and then got back into the driver’s seat.

I was done listening to any more hysterics. So I did the only logical thing. Not even paying attention to what was on, I cranked up the radio to almost full volume…

Don't even know how the hell that showed up on my dial. But it was exhilarating, I wanted to just let loose with some good old-fashioned headbanging on my steering wheel.

In any case, it made the little old lady walking by with her little dog almost jump out of her skin.

And the girlie? Stupefied, within 30 seconds, her tears seemed to have dried up, her wailing stopped, and after I lowered the volume, we drove the two minutes to the gas station.

After pumping the gas, I got back in the car and her royal highness Princess G squeaked out...

"Uh, Mommy, can we go home and do crafts now?"

And with that, she promptly passed out on the way home.

Now THAT was an awesome lullaby.

The Fear

Is it just me, or is the school playground not the equivalent of a war zone? The possibilities for major injury just ABOUND.

As spring has sprung, the kids are all about the climbing walls, poles, monkey bars, ladders, slides ... and all I see in my head are metal bars *CLANG*, chains - *CLANG*, the ground far below- *THUD*, wood chips and sand in the eyes- SPLINTER/SCRATCH/OUCH!!!.

And the warriors, as soon as they're let out of the cage known as school, are just FLYING all over the place. Flying monkeys resembling a hurricane with my little girl channeling Dorothy at the epicenter.

Things were fine last year when she was three. She didn't venture far from me, content to sit in the swing and try the see saw if there was another toddler around to play with. Or just push the sand around with her shovel.

Those days are over. This year, she's out to play with the big boys.

"Be careful, little G, this is making Mommy very nervous. Make sure you take your time crossing those bars, and concentrate when those kids are climbing around you!"

"But Mommy, I am being careful. I'm a BIG girl, I know what I'm doing!!"

"I know you do, sweetie, but it's making Mommy a bit of a wreck, watching you."

"So Mommy, DON'T WATCH ME!"

Clever little thing. I'm already scared.

Weekly Winners: I knew you were coming so we...

Guess what we got from a friend this week...guess what Mommy always wanted as a kid...

Patting it just so

Ready to roll ... but in through the out door (we`ll figure it out ...)

Pink-a-licious

Uh, yum?

Exhausted ... what did Mommy put in the mix anyway?

Thanks for visiting! Don't forget to visit the home of Weekly Winners, chez Lotus.

Mother's talk

As anyone who's ever had a kid (and anyone who's ever been a kid) knows, a parent has to wear several hats at once, often more than one on any given day.

Cook, chauffeur, dishwasher, nurse, cheerleader, coach, hairstylist, psychotherapist, massage therapist, personal shopper... the list goes on.

I've got a bit of hathead today.

It's been a bit of a rough week in this household.

The boy got hit with a 24 hour stomach bug. He doesn't get sick too often, we are lucky that way. But he'd also managed to clang his head with the steel garage door on his way in an hour before bedtime. Great timing. So I was concerned that his nausea may have been associated with a concussion. Do we keep him awake? Do we let him sleep?

In the end, I decided to sleep next to him on the sleeping bag (oh, boy, there go the bones). He likened it to a sleepover. He seemed fine, but was having bad dreams and then a very verbal stomach. Thank goodness he doesn't share his Mom's emetophobia. He managed to get whatever it was out of his system, every 3 hours. He was back on his feet, and after a day resting, all is well again.

Yesterday's saga was not as fun. I don't know if I've shared this, but my daughter HATES anything fruits and vegetables and fibre related. Yes, this is a concern. She's already had one really bad bout of constipation and we had to take her to her pediatrician for that. (I'm sure she's gonna love me for this story one day.)

For this particular episode, I was a little more prepared. The poor thing was sitting on the toilet, her face so red, tears streaming down her cheeks as she told me it hurt and she wanted it OUT! "Is it going to be stuck forever?"

It was breaking my heart.

I'll spare you the details, but fixing it involved suppositories.

Yes, a parent's job is never done. Jill-of-all-trades, master of none.

So down she sat again, a bit happier knowing that Mommy had done something and that she would be productive at some point. With her princess book on her lap, she smiled.

"You're like a doctor! I love you mommy!"

"I love you too monkey."

"I love you because you make my poo come out and go away"

So apparently I am a master of one.

You can write "shit disturber" on my next hat.

Moobage?

Little G has been growing into a very girlie girl lately, and she was watching me with interest as I got dressed the other morning.

I had stopped by La Senza a little while ago and brought home a couple of pretty bras as pick-me-ups for spring. Little G picked out the orange and pink polka-dotted number with the pretty frills for me to wear. (The more frills the merrier when you're a sporting the equivalent of terrain of the Prairies as your boobage).

"Mommy, why do you wear a bra?", she asked.

"Well, because Mommy doesn't want to walk around just, well, hanging as it doesn't look so neat and tidy. It looks and feels better under my tops and T-shirts when I wear a bra."

Whew, was that a good answer?

Not that I have much to hang about. In actual fact I didn't want to admit that it was part of my optical illusion to make it look like I have something up there. I don't want to get into that whole body image discussion with her just yet. Hopefully the lack o' rack that her mom inherited will bypass her generation.

"Oh. Well then why doesn't Daddy wear a bra?"

Oh boy.

Next she'll be suggesting a mirdle.

Wordless Wednesday - Lock's broken

(they teach you important things in kindergarten ... who knew?)

Wordless Wednesday - Axl Rose or Fashionista?

Discuss.

1234

ONE

A busy girl from day one, exploring and always on the run...

TWO

A party girl, loving the pretty frocks, fancy hats and Dora-do

THREE

You love your jammies and your special bedfellows (especially Daddy and Me)

FOUR

Our special girl, who continues to bring love to our lives

and joy to our hearts,

with a smile that tells us that there's just so much more in store...

We love you Princess G.

Happy, happy birthday!

A Happy song for my happy girl...

Weekly Winners #50 - What a Week

It's been quite the week. Here are highlights from the girlie's perspective.

And thank heaven for little girls...

"I'm glad Mommy had the energy to take me to the gingerbread house decorating class. My favourite part was the icing glue. Yum."

My birthday party - look at me, I'm queen of the world!!

"Yay, big bro made it!!! Just in time for the singing and the cake!"

My family photo at the party. I'm playing shy, Mommy and Lboy have their commercial smiles on, and Daddy looks like he's ready to go skiing or do something else...

Back at home, opened presents and found a cupcake icing machine! Yum, strawberry frosting...

Chocolate cupcake ready to be frosted...

Ta-da! End to the perfect birthday party day!

For other winners, visit LOTUS.