Attack of the Three-Year-Old Diva

Ah, three-year-olds. I love 'em. One moment life is great, they're laughing and having fun. The next? A shrieking, wailing, kicking alien is writhing on the floor, incensed because you dared - dared - to put their juice in the monkey cup instead of the birdie cup.

Good times, people. Good times.

I'd love to say that Princess G never appears to have morphed into Reagan from "The Exorcist." She looks so angelic - wavy blond hair, big blue eyes, three dimples, a happy-go-lucky personality, well-developed comic timing and a wickedly funny sense of humor. (Note that I did not choose the word "wickedly" by chance.) Everyone tells us how adorable and sweet she is - and she is.

Sometimes. Usually the first 27 seconds after she wakes up. Then it gets ugly.

Case in point: a typical work/school morning. We're getting dressed, brushing teeth, doing hair, etc., and out of the blue, Princess G decides she doesn't want to wear shorts to school. She wanted to wear a skirt.

No, I don't think you understand. SHE WANTED TO WEAR A SKIRT. WHAT PART OF THAT IS CONFUSING, YOU DIMWITTED EXCUSE FOR AN ADULT?!!

Yeah, I didn't quite get the intensity of her desire on first blush. However, about 30 minutes into her 45-minute crying, screaming, Tasmanian devil rant around the house, I started to catch on. (I pride myself on my intuitiveness as a mother.)

There was naked ranting at one point (on her part). There was hiding in the laundry room banging heads against the wall at another point (on my part). There was the thinking stair. There was the taking away of the next gymnastics lesson. There was the banishment of the favorite toy to the top of the refrigerator. There was the threat of taking her to school in her pajamas. There was even the threat of taking her to school naked. (It was late. She had stripped. I was desperate. Like you wouldn't think about it, too.)

Thankfully, there was no yelling (on my part - at least until I was in the car alone later). And, there was no giving in. Finally, there was acquiescence. Shorts were on. Noses were blown. Tears were wiped (those were mine). And we finally made it to school. Completely clothed - both of us. And I finally made it to work. Where I twitched in a corner for the next hour.

There's five months to go until we hit four. I think strong pharmaceuticals may be in order. Or at least one naked trip somewhere. (On my part. I can't guarantee rational thinking if I have to hear that shriek again.)

But They Look So Sweet...

They are darling, aren't they? Such sweet little faces, such beautiful inquisitive spirits.

But that's their public face...a very clever and diabolical cover they've invented.

Their true personas only come out around Mom, and the truth they're hiding is scary enough to make your hair stand on end - or at least make your nose glow a little.

The horrifying secret I've learned - after only a couple of weeks into the summer - is this. In the privacy and security of their home, they're WILD, SCREAMING, WHINING, FAIRNESS-CRUSADING, TOSS-ANY-MANNERS-MOM-HAS-TRIED-TO-TEACH, PUSH-YOUR-SISTER-INTO-A-WALL-IF-SHE-BUGS-YOU BANSHEES.

Think I'm exaggerating? Lying? In need of stronger meds? (You'd be right, but still.) People of the jury, I give you Exhibit A: This Morning's Activities

• Wake up
• Whine about who got their chocolate milk first and in what cup
• Argue over whether to watch PBS or Noggin
• Shove each other off the bed
• Try to block the other from being the first down the stairs
• Get mad at the dog for getting fed up with the fight on the stairs and going around them to technically be the first down the stairs
• Argue about who gets the breakfast plates out of the cabinet
• Argue about who gets to say prayers first (I'm sure God is most thrilled about this one)
• Get mad when Mom chooses one to go first, whine about how unfair the world is and stick out tongue
• Whine over said tongue insult
• Start trading insults over the breakfast table - "You're a baby!" "You're a poopy-head!"
• Trip over the dog while getting up from the breakfast table to go hit alleged poopy-headed sister. Get mad at sister for obviously conspiring with said dog to deliberately arrange the tripping. Sit on the floor and cry.
• Stomp over to the "thinking stair" when Mom orders both there for timeout.
• Start shoving each other and fighting over who gets to be on what step.
• Pout and stomp up the stairs when Mom moves alleged poopy-headed sister to the landing in an effort to stop the stair territory battle.
• Quietly crawl up the stairs and taunt alleged poopy-headed sister by singing the theme song from "Willie Wonka" (actually only the small portion of the chorus that is known) until...
• Said sister snaps and "accidentally" pushes taunting sister down the stairs, resulting in a goose egg on the head and a cancellation of the day's planned visit to the pool.

It's gonna be a long summer, isn't it?

Uh...I'm So Proud?

Here's Princess E in her natural state:

Here's Princess E after being attacked by either the ghost of Tammy Faye Bakker or the makeup artist for this Robert Palmer video:

Okay, so maybe she was getting all gussied up for her dance recital dress rehearsal.

But I'm still worried her sister is preparing to be the 21st century version of Madonna. Oy vey.

Where's the nearest convent?

Glory In My (Extra)Ordinary Life

This is why I love being a mother:

And this:

Oh, and this:

Thank you, Lord, for my perfectly ordinary, yet so extraordinarily blessed life as a mommy to two anything-but-ordinary princesses.

Happy Mother's Day to all!

Life Goes On

A big Southern-accented thank you to all of you who have emailed, commented, Tweeted, left a Facebook message, called or given me great in-person hugs regarding the loss of Elvis. God is good - He always shows you how many wonderful friends you have when you need them the most.

And so life goes on - and the humor that highlights every day of life with the Princesses makes it that much more precious...and/or head-bangingly crazy. Case in point: The Great Car Music Fight of 2009.

Here's the deal. I didn't know it when I bought it, but apparently the only music that can play in my car is one of the three High School Musical movie soundtracks. (I guess I should be grateful there are three to choose from.) Princess E always sings Gabriella's part (and the British chick from the third movie - E apparently has a talent for mimicry and can do a spot-on British accent), while Princess G owns Sharpay. (And I mean owns it - when we're watching any one of the HSM movies at home, she'll act out every scene verbatim. It's flippin' hysterical.) I, of course, am asked to sing all the guy parts. Given my singing voice, that's probably pretty accurate.

Anywhoo, The Great Car Music Fight occurs whenever one of the princesses dares to encroach upon the lyrics of the other. It usually goes something like this:

Princess G & E: "I want fab-u-lous"

Princess G: "Hey, that's my song!"

Princess E: "I like that song, too!"

Princess G: "I don't care! It's my song, isn't it, Mom?" (I, of course, have turned up the music to eardrum-splitting levels in the hope that it will drown them out. What? Me, passive-aggressive? Nooo! Heh heh.)

Me: "Ladies, either we all get to sing whenever we want, or the music goes off."

Backseat: grumble, grumble "Okay, Mom. Sorry."

Princess G (loudly singing): "I want fab-u-lous!"

Princess E (louder): "That is my simple request!"

Princess G (screaming and glaring at Princess E): "I want fab-u-lous!"

Princess E (shrieking and glaring back): "Bigger and better AND BEST!"

I click music off: "That's it. Music's off. We're listening to nothing."

Backseat (sobbing): "But Mom, she's started it! She's so mean! You make me so mad!"

Me: "That's it. Now you've done it. Mom gets to choose the music now." Click on the local sports talk station.

Backseat: "Nooooooo!!! Mom, please, we'll be good. We promise! Please not just talking!!"

Guess I should apologize now to their future husbands for developing in them an early hatred of sports talk. Eh, if that's the worst thing I instill in them, you should just thank me and move on.

Me: "Nope. You choose the behavior, you choose the consequences. (Ah, the wisdom of Dr. Phil.) We're listening to this all the way home. And if you whine about it, we'll listen to it at home, too."

Backseat: sniffle, sniffle, big sigh, whisper, whisper, "We're sorry, Mommy."

Me: "Thank you, ladies. Let's just turn the radio off completely and play a game, okay?"

Backseat: "Yeah! Let's play I Spy! No! Let's play Find the Alphabet! Mom, you never play the game I choose! Mom, she is so pushy - why does she always get to choose the game?"

At which point I grab my iPhone, stick an earbud in one ear, (The other by now is completely deaf. I told you God is good.) and play my favorite music until we arrive at home and I can duct-tape them to the kitchen chairs for a good half-hour session of sports talk radio.

Oh, like I'd do that. Seriously. Fifteen minutes is my absolute sports talk limit for them. Heh heh.

My Little Hockey Player

I know what you're thinking. Wait, I thought she had the two prissiest little pink-wearing, tiara-loving, bow-head princesses in the Midwest.

I did. I still have one. The other is now apparently starting a new chapter in her life as a substitute defenseman for the St. Louis Blues.

To be fair, she wasn't actually playing hockey when this happened. She and her dad were catching softballs in the front yard. Unfortunately, he forgot to tell her not to catch the ball with her face.

The good news is the missing tooth was already loose. The better news is that the other front tooth is loose as well. Hopefully it will fall out soon. Very, very soon.

Until then, I wonder if just the right kind of lip gloss will act as camouflage. Or maybe I should just stick a big bow on her Angelina Jolie lip. Pink, of course.

There's A Tony In Her Future

Princess E is happily making her musical theatre debut next weekend with her Living Water Academy classmates. It's just a spot in the chorus, but hey, future Broadway divas have to start somewhere. If you're in the area, you'll have two chances to catch her onstage in "Go, Go, Go Jo!" (apparently the elementary school version of "Joseph & the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" - who knew?) Friday, March 6 @ 7 p.m. or Saturday, March 7 @ 2 p.m. at West County Community Church in Wildwood. No ticket needed - it's free admission, and you'll be able to say you "knew her when," which hopefully will someday translate into sweet Broadway tickets.

On a related note, if anyone in the West County area is looking for a preschool through 8th grade Christian school for their child(ren) - or knows someone who is looking - Living Water Academy is hosting its "Spend the Day @ LWA!" private visit/tour the week of March 2. Princess E has loved every moment of kindergarten at LWA, and my dear knight and I are thrilled at her academic progress, social growth and spiritual development. It really is a place where kids are nurtured at a time when they most need it. Two thumbs up from this family!

This One Takes The Cake

Several of you saw my Tweets (I'm at username MistieT, BTW - follow me!) about my latest birthday cake creation, and I promised to post a photo, so here it is. I love making these special occasion cakes, so what I lack in artistry I try to make up for in enthusiasm. What matters most is that Princess E loved it - and that it only took an hour or so of scrubbing to get the pink icing stains off my hands. :-)

The Great Sixth Birthday Sleepover Extravaganza (aka Yes, I Have Indeed Lost My Mind)

The scene: ten six-year-old princesses, one three-year-old mini-princess, and "High School Musical 2" on an endless loop for 15 hours in our basement.

Go ahead. Get the hysterical laughing out of the way now. I'll wait...

OK, wipe your eyes and get ready. I know you're going to start laughing again when I tell you this, but I promise it's true: it actually was pretty easy, and it was a lot of fun.

Sure, there was enough high-pitched squealing to make my ears bleed a couple of times. And yes, I do now have a long streak of pink nail polish on my basement carpet. And I am now reconsidering the New Year's Day football-watching party I was thinking of hosting, just because the thought of gearing up for another party anytime in the next six months or so makes me start twitching.

But, it was absolutely a hoot spending time with Princess E planning her "dream sleepover party" and watching her make great memories with her adorable group of friends. It was fun to see them all get so excited over making their mini-scrapbooks, singing and dancing to HSM 2 (over and over and over again), and painting their toenails wild rainbow colors. And it felt great to wake up this morning (okay, it was a 5:30 a.m. wakeup, but I did actually get some sleep - granted, it was only about four hours, but hey, I'll take it) and realize that everyone actually made it through the night with no tears, no calls home, no real drama at all.

Well, okay, there was a little drama. Poor Princess E caught her heel on the edge of her skirt while playing musical pillows and pulled her skirt totally off her skinny little tushie. She was mortified and immediately ran off sobbing to hide in her playroom tent. But this is how sweet her friends are - not one of them laughed at her, and several of them ran after her to give hugs and coax her back to the party.

That moment made all the effort worth it, at least for me, and I think probably for Princess E, too. We have a great family, but we also have been blessed by God with an amazing extended family of friends who love and care for us. So I lost some sleep and gained some leftover cupcakes that need to find a home somewhere other than my thighs. Big deal. I had the pleasure of seeing Princess E surrounded by loving friends who I hope will be around for the long haul and who I hope have great memories of what for many was their first sleepover.

So happy birthday, Princess E. You are a treasure I cherish more every day. I am honored and humbled to be your mom, and I'm truly looking forward to hosting many more sleepovers with you for many years to come.

Music To My Ears

I love this time of year. Especially the torturing of children part.

Not physically, you sicko. No, I mean the mental torture that we adults benignly call "the annual visit to Santa Claus." Let's think about this from the child's point of view

• You're forced to get all dressed up in uncomfortable and usually scratchy clothes
• You're made to stand in line without any drinks or snacks - don't want to get those clothes dirty before the photos, darlin'!
• A grouchy elf who's obviously been eating all the snacks you've been wishing for pushes you up in front of...
• This large hairy man dressed in weird, blood-red clothes and screaming "Ho Ho Ho" in your face while trying to grab you and pull you up to sit on his knee.

This isn't a memorable childhood experience - it's a bad outtake from a "Stranger Danger" video. No wonder the little darlings run screaming. It's a miracle they don't spend the rest of the Christmas season twitching uncontrollably every time anyone mentions the name "Santa."

But, of course, we parents continue dressing them up in outfits they wouldn't be caught dead in otherwise and dragging them out in the freezing weather to wail at the first sight of the Big Red Dude. It's a rite of passage - or just another little memory to file away until they leave your home and begin a long relationship recounting the horrors of their childhood with their friendly neighborhood therapist.

Faithful readers may remember Princess G's reaction to Santa last year. Trying to be a little smarter this year, we skipped the possibility of a public nudity citation and caught him at the kids' Christmas party for the King's company. Surprisingly, neither princess ran away screaming, although Princess G made a pretty wide berth around Santa to get her present, while Princess E submitted to a two-second lap sit before thanking him for her present and getting the heck outta Dodge.

So, we had to make do this year with shrieks of terror from some of the other children attending the party, a few of whom you may hear in this priceless video of Princess G opening her present. Not that I've listened several times to snicker at the sound of the little boogers freaking out in the background or anything. Heh heh.

Of course, once Santa exited the building, the Princesses were all fired up to sit on his "throne." They are princesses, after all. So here they are, scratchy clothes and all, grinning ear-to-ear from a serious sugar high and thankful that, for another year, they've survived the trial that is The Great Santa Visitation.

Kids Need A New School?

Stuff To Do Alert: If you or someone you know in west St. Louis County is looking for a pre-k through 8th grade Christian school, Living Water Academy is hosting an open house this Saturday, Nov. 15 from 10 a.m. - noon. It's a small school with big academic goals and an even bigger heart for children, and an awful lot of parents who are tickled pink with the small class sizes and array of academic offerings.

And yes, this is a shameless plug for my child's school. Princess E is enjoying her kindergarten year at Living Water, and we couldn't be more thrilled. We're exhausted, but still thrilled. So come check it out - or pass the word to family or friends who may be looking. And come say hi if you do attend - I'll be the one on the computer introducing people to our new school Twitter account - follow us at username LWANews.

See, we're even technologically savvy. I'm tellin' ya, it's a great school. Check it out.

The Littlest Princess Turns Three

Yes, we're definitely in the world of "big girl, mommy, not a baby anymore" according to Princess G. She hit the big three with a bang this morning, delaying her usual "nothing gets in the way of me and my morning chocolate milk" cup to open a birthday present her daddy left on the table.

Her reaction was so priceless - and so Princess G. A gasp of excitement, a huge smile and a big "Ooh, wow! Thank you!" that darn near made me cry. She pushed me over the edge tonight, when she (completely uncoached) came up to me while I was cleaning the kitchen after diving into her birthday cake, patted my cheeks with her little hands when I bent down to see what she needed, and said, "Thank you for the chocolate cake, Mommy. I wuv you." Yep, that's a Kleenex moment.

She's always been a sweetie - a cuddle-bug, a big hugger and snuggler, sometimes to the chagrin of the King, who's had to make room for her in between us at night more times than I care to count (don't tell him, but I love having her snuggled between us). She's also completely and totally a mama's girl - and although I would like to go to the bathroom by myself at some point again in my life, I'm loving every minute of it. Even the hissie-fits she occasionally throws always end with a sobbing "I sorry, Mommy. Pick me up." And yes, I'm a completely whipped weenie - of course I pick her up, hold her tight, nibble on the rapidly disappearing folds of baby fat on her neck and try to sear every part of the moment into my brain, so I can recall it when the baby fat is long gone.

Happy Birthday, Princess G - thank you for being my feisty, funny, fun-loving honey bun. And thank you God, for giving us such a treasure.

The Tooth Fairy Needs A Bailout

We've had a bright spot in an otherwise tough week - guess it was only a matter of time until the kiddos made us all laugh again.

After at least a month of playing with a loose front tooth, Princess E took the next step into parental bankruptcy due to orthodontia - er, I mean big kid-dom - and said sayonara to her first tooth.

She was (and still is ) beside herself with excitement - see exhibit A:

We're taking donations to support not only her dental work fund, but ongoing dance classes to relieve her of her uncanny resemblance to Elaine from "Seinfeld." Please help - friends don't let friends have kids who dance like this.

Through The Valley, With Children

One of my husband's beloved aunts is dying. We found out only three weeks ago that cancer had invaded her brain, her bones, her lungs, even her eye - it was everywhere, and it was spreading rapidly. At best, with aggressive chemo, she had about a year.

One week into the chemo treatments, her body began to shut down in protest. It was too much, too late. Now, she possibly has a week.

We had prepared ourselves for a year. A year sounded like enough time to get those last family celebrations in with Aunt Sharon around - Thanksgiving, Christmas or Easter, when she makes her prosciutto-wrapped asparagus we all fight over, and she holds court at the dining table, keeping everyone entertained and laughing. She's the baby sister of a large family and, as such, the natural "tease" who has never lost the ability to goad her brothers and sisters into at least a mock food fight or a "pinch war" - apt substitutes for the ponytail-pulling and frog-in-the-bed tricks that surely went on frequently while they were all growing up in rural Missouri.

A year wouldn't have been enough, of course, but it at least allowed us to delay the pain, to pray for a miracle and to spend time making memories we hoped we'd be able to live on, or would at least comfort us, after she was gone. But a week? What do you do - what can you do - in a week? And what do you say to little princesses who see Mommy and Daddy crying and speaking in hushed tones, then Daddy rushing off late one night and not seeing him again until the next day, carrying a sadness that, despite his best efforts to hide, he wears like a thick blanket that overshadows his normally upbeat spirit?

We do what we do when we don't know what else to do - we hit our knees and pray, grateful that God is there, bewildered that His plan includes this, angry that this senseless disease runs rampant and indiscriminate, frustrated in knowing that a week is all that is left, and searching, always searching, for what to do and how to explain it to children.

And then we get up, because He tells us over and over that He is with us, He is our refuge and strength, He is a very present help in trouble - and He, despite the world's best efforts to tell us otherwise - can most definitely be felt in our very getting up when all we want to do is crawl under the covers and let someone else take care of it. He takes care of it for us, with us and through us, whether it's in finding just the right resource to help walk us through talking to the Princesses, opening our eyes to wonderful friends new and old who will drop everything and rearrange their lives to help with no hesitation or resentment, or in locating a favorite kind of dessert to entice the palate of a kind, loving woman walking through the valley of the shadow of death with dignity and grace.

Aunt Sharon, I pray that your final request is fulfilled - that God's "job" for you in the next life will be to rock the babies in Heaven. I know I've learned an awful lot about rocking my Princesses - and the fruits of surrounding children with love, gentle discipline and respect - from the way you've lived your life. Be still now, and know that He is here, with you and with us, and that your family you love so much will be okay. Sadder, quieter, and with a very empty chair at the holidays, but we'll be okay. And, we'll look forward to seeing you again someday, as you always were here in your happiest moments, surrounded by children.

Is She Ready To Graduate Yet?

So we're about six weeks into kindergarten with Princess E - I don't know about her, but I'm exhausted.

I thought kindergarten was supposed to be this fun, let's-get-used-to-going-to-school-for-the-next-16-years (at least) rah-rah time. It's flippin' boot camp, people. Naval Academy plebes have it better.

We have the daily folder check for homework, notes home, etc. We have the weekly list of Spanish words to practice, the math concepts to review over the weekend, and the maps of the U.S. and the world to "look over" as often as possible. We have the contest to see how many books you can read in a month - if you reach a certain level, you get free pizza at Pizza Hut, which seems to me to be in direct opposition to the goals of the P.E. teacher, who has a monthly sports "theme" and seems to have been trained by the Chinese Olympic team in coaching regimens.

Then we have the sign language "songs" practiced weekly to learn new signs, the daily discussions of current events (which of course have to be rehashed over dinner at home - that's led to some interesting discussions!) and the nonstop writing practice. Did I mention the two Bible verses Princess E has to learn perfectly each week? Or the twice-weekly computer lab, which apparently has as a goal having the kids proficient enough to be recruited by Microsoft by first grade?

And I haven't even mentioned the nature walks, the field trips, or the art and music classes and the weekly Bible knowledge quizzes. Or the quantum physics.

Kidding. That's in second grade.

Now, let me mention that Princess E is loving every moment of this. Every day I pick her up and ask how her day went, her answer invariably is "great!" Her teachers are so skilled at making it all fun that she doesn't even realize how much they're cramming into every day.

I, on the other hand, have a main "family calendar" dry erase board up on our wall in the kitchen with all activities color-coded to each person, a Google calendar, a task list on top of the microwave, and a phonics reference sheet, world map, and Bible quiz Q&As next to the field trip permission slips and daily classroom schedule stuck to the refrigerator. I've got a stack of activity reports, teacher updates and "homework" samples piled on a corner of my desk in the kitchen because I haven't figured out where to store these yet, and I've got the Bible verse book permanently affixed to our kitchen island so we can work on the verses any moment we can grab during the week.

It's at this point that I admit my utter weenieness as a mom and bow down to Dana, Adrian and all those other super-moms out there who go one step beyond this and actually, miraculously, seriously home school their kids. I also bow down to Laura, who even though she just had a baby six freaking weeks ago manages to blog more often than I do, take precious photos of both her adorable kids on cute outings around town, and make ridiculously cute signs to mark each child's monthly age milestone.

Y'all just suck - and yes, I say that only because I'm totally jealous of your awesomeness. Or you never sleep and you're taking great drugs - to which I say, "You're holding out on me. Share or I'll spread vicious rumors about you, two ferrets, a gallon of olive oil and the entire defensive line for the St. Louis Rams."

Hey, it worked in high school. Didn't even have to say it in sign language - or quantum physics.

God Made Them Cute & Funny For A Reason

Here's a sampling of recent quotable quotes from the Princesses, which, given their recent penchant for fighting with each other like two little Tasmanian devils, may be the only thing saving them from being duct-taped to their closet doors by the Queen. (What, I wouldn't leave them there more than an hour. Or three. I'd undo them regularly to go tinkle.):

Princess G wakes up every morning with the same question: "Mommy, is the sun open yet?" And yes, when it goes down, "the sun's closed."

Princess E: "Mommy, we're having a special day at school tomorrow - Egg Day!" (Translation that I fortunately got from another mom before I stayed up all night making an egg costume: They're having "Decade Day" - a 50's poodle skirt works just fine. Runny yellow yolk makeup is not necessary.)

Princess G, when asking for green peas at dinner: "Peas pease!" (Don't quite have that "l" sound working yet. This is so cute, however, that I serve peas several times a week just to hear her say it.)

Princess E explaining playground politics: "All the girls meet under the slide to plan our next moves. We're all superheroes, Mom - I'm SuperFast Girl, Audrey's Strong Girl, Leah's Flying Girl and Abigail's Gymnastics Girl."
Mom: "Where are the boys?"
E (scornfully harrumphing): "Oh, all they have are spider webs. We beat them all the time 'cause we have superpowers. They're scared of us."

Princess G, when told she needs to get ready for bed, but she doesn't want to lay down alone: "You seepy, Mommy? Go get you jammies on, Mommy - you seepy, too."

Like I could duct-tape someone so cute...is Scotch tape allowed?

"It's Great!"

That's Princess E's analysis of kindergarten. In her first three days, she's already gotten her first homework, had Spanish, computer and sign language classes and learned that dawdling over her lunch (she's a notoriously slow eater) means that she won't get to eat everything in her lunch box.

And, she's also been laughed at.

She told a "secret" to one of her friends (it involved a, shall we say, bathroom problem), and that friend - being a five-year-old - immediately told everyone in their seven-person kindergarten class. Of course, at that age anything to do with bathroom habits are funny, and they all started laughing at her - which broke her oh-so-sensitive little heart.

Does it make me a bad person if I want to go wring the necks of a bunch of five-year-olds?

The teacher dealt with it well, and the Princess and I had a talk about 1) sharing "secrets," 2) the dos and don'ts (or the who's and who nots) of sharing personal information, and 3) that you can really make a person feel bad by laughing at them. As much as I hated to see the sadness in her eyes, maybe there was an underlying reason from the Big Guy for the whole incident. Maybe He just wanted her to learn compassion and respect and integrity early on, in a way that would imprint on her heart so that she'd never forget it.

And maybe the Big Guy wanted to teach me a lesson early on, too. That I can't protect her from the big bad world anymore, but I can be there to pick up the pieces afterward, cuddle her on my lap, and reassure her that at least one person in the world knows she's one fantastic kid.

Gosh, kindergarten is hard.

The Countdown Winds Down

So Princess E starts kindergarten on Wednesday. Although a bit "apprehensive" (yes, that's a direct quote from her), she's beyond excited, especially about taking her lunch in her new Barbie lunchbox.

I, however, am just trying to hold it together until I get out of sight after dropping her off at school.

I was doing pretty well until this afternoon, when we settled down for quiet time and she brought me the book she'd chosen for me to read to her.

I don't know where she found this book. I thought I'd buried it deeply enough in her enormous personal library of books that she'd never find it again. I haven't read it out loud in a couple of years...not because it's a bad book. It's a marvelous book, but I can't get five pages into the dang thing without crying - and that's on a good day. On this day, I was almost hyperventilating by the end because I was sobbing so hard. Princess E was wiping my tears away, saying, "Mommy, don't worry. I'll always be your baby. Will you always rock me?" which of course only made me sob harder.

Damn book. Complete with illustrations of a red-headed kid. Seriously, that's just cruel.

Don't worry. I eventually pulled it together and, with a smile on my face and waterproof mascara intact, escorted the Princess to her "Meet the Teacher" event at school, which fueled her excitement to no end. She's going to have a ball, and she's going to learn so much from a fabulous teacher and her seven cute little classmates. She's going to be just fine.

And eventually, although a piece of my heart is being dropped off at school Wednesday, I'll be fine as well. A little more cognizant of the weird juxtaposition of pride and pain that is inevitable with motherhood, but still, I'll be fine.

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be.

Be happy, be well, and always know how deeply you are cherished, Princess. Mommy loves you.

Let The Store Bans Continue

Y'all may remember when I had to switch grocery stores for a while. I guess we all knew it was destined to happen again, but this time it's much, much worse - it happened at...gasp!...Target.

I know. It's heartbreaking, truly heartbreaking.

Princess G had just about mastered potty training, so much so that we went to Target for the Grand Choosing-O'-The-New-Panties ceremony that is the gold medal moment, so to speak, of the Potty Training Olympics. It also was her first time going out to a store sans pull-up, so I was prepared. We'd gone potty right before leaving the house, and I had extra panties and a Ziploc bag in the diaper (actually just clean clothes & wipes) bag, but given how well she'd been doing the past few days, I felt confident we could do it.

That confidence, of course, is the kiss of death in Mommy-land.

Princess G goes marching down the Target aisle, new packages of Disney Princess (what else?) panties in hand, just proud as punch. I stopped to look at something, only to hear Princess E scream, "Mom, she's tinkling!"

Yep, poor Princess G was standing in the middle of a huge puddle, still clutching the prized panties, bottom lip quivering and eyes starting to fill with tears. "Mommy, I tinkled," she said with such sadness you'd have thought she'd just peed on Cinderella herself.

I rushed to give her a hug, lift her out of the puddle and assure her that everything was okay and we'd get her changed and dry in a jiffy. But of course, I also had to figure out how to clean up the huge puddle on the floor. Fortunately, this was Target - lots of employees around in easily spotted bright red shirts. Of course, the two closest to us happened to be about ten minutes out of diapers themselves - and both of them gave me this "Eeewww" look when I told them what happened while profusely apologizing. One ambled off to get the cleaning equipment, while the other called for "cleaning backup" on her walkie-talkie and walked over to see the damage, the sight of which caused another little sneer to appear on her face. Fortunately, Princess G didn't notice the brat...excuse me, I mean, employee...or she would have felt even worse about her accident.

I didn't even stay to see the full cleanup - I just got the Princess to the restroom, got her all cleaned up and changed, bought our new panties and headed out. Princess G recovered nicely, especially after downing a chocolate milkshake, which we all know fixes just about everything when you're two (pretty good for what ails you when you're 38, actually). We'll be heading to the other area Target for the next few weeks, just to be sure we're not on some Cleaning Crew Hit List at that particular store.

And for the charming and sympathetic teenage employees we encountered, I wish for them a future filled with a little more compassion, a couple of new mops...and two-year-old triplets with seriously full bladders.

Yes, Virginia, It's Possible To Be Too Connected

I work part-time for Standing Partnership, which (for me, at least) means I’m in the office two days a week (reveling in my “adult” time) working away and the other three days enjoying “mommy time” with my two little Princesses (yes, that is a deliberate and well-earned capital P). I keep my laptop open on my kitchen counter and glance at emails as I pass through during the day, just to stay up on the latest…and because I’m a bit obsessive that way.

Given my OCD, I thought it would be a great idea to update my cell phone to a snazzy little Smartphone. I had visions of being a multitasking queen - fire off an email while the Princesses hit the playground, catch up on my favorite blog while waiting for dance class to end, edit an important work document (aka play on Facebook) while hanging out with other moms (aka hiding in the restroom) during a playdate.

Are you laughing at me yet? Yeah, I totally deserve it.

You can imagine what happened next. I nearly broke my nose walking into playground equipment while texting someone. I missed the announcement about dance recital shoe color because I was reading a blog entry, thus causing what my family now refers to as the “Great Tap Shoe Meltdown of 2008.” And, I’m now looking for new playgroups but am finding them all mysteriously “full” - I think I’ve been blacklisted.

Here’s what I learned from this experience:
1) Verizon will kindly take back said Smartphone within 30 days with no hassles. (Love you, Verizon!)
2) Boundaries are a good thing.

Every one of my clients - and everyone at Standing - has my cell phone number. They can call me anytime, 24/7, and I’ll take the call. I’ve talked with clients while at home nursing babies, giving baths and participating in tea parties. But, do I really need to have email at my fingertips round the clock? Does it really help my clients to scan RSS feeds with one eye while keeping the other on the kiddos? Was I more productive with constant access to everything I need to work?

For me, the answer was no. In fact, I think I even got a little less productive, because I was trying to do everything at the same time - and doing none of it very well. My clients deserve all of my attention when I’m at work or when there’s a crisis, just as my family deserves all of my attention when I’m not at work or when they have a crisis - even if that “crisis” is a skinned knee or broken heart (we take “So You Think You Can Dance” very seriously around our house).

So, if you really need me - or if you know of a very forgiving playgroup willing to accept a mom with a slightly dented tiara and a busy cell phone - give me a call. I promise I’ll be there.

(Cross-posted at Standing Partnership's blog, Where Do You Stand?)