Baby, I COMPLETELY understand.

While I completely and absolutely believe that my children are their own unique little selves, there are times I see a lot of myself twinkling from the bottom of their eyes. Usually it is Gracie who mirrors back the best – and more often, the worst – of my traits and habits. But not always.

Take this morning, for example. Gracie might protest for the first minute or two that her alarm clock did not go off, and might whine when the light goes on in her room, but once she makes herself acknowledge that yes, she must indeed move, the girl is UP. And talking, of course, because for Gracie, awake=talking. We shall call it Gracie’s Constant for that is what it is. But Bee-girl, oh this morning is a very typical morning for Bee. She whines when the light goes on. Whines and cries that she does. not. WANT to go to school. Rolls over and clutches Bear. And then cries some more when I am mean and start counting to three before she loses bedtime and other sundry privileges. She gets dressed under protest. And more often than not, she’ll climb back into bed and take as long as possible putting on her shoes, and then cry because she’s ignored my warnings and missed breakfast.

This morning came with extra whine and tears because, oh, I don’t know. Because it was Wednesday and I won the mommy-lottery or something. Who knows why. But she was crankier than usual and I started snapping (and getting upset with myself for snapping) and then we were late getting out the door. It was morning FAIL and I was feeling pretty bad about it.

As we pulled up to her dad’s house, Gracie smiled and chirped and cut her story short because I told her she had to stop talking and go to school. Bee always takes a minute to heft her giant backpack onto her tiny kindergartener body and follow her sister out the door. I reminded her to remember her sweatshirt, wished her a good day and told her I loved her – standard drop-off ritual. That’s when Bee turned to me and in her most pitiful voice said, “Mom….I’m tired!” like it was a revelation. “Aw, baby. I know,” I said to her. “What if I fall asleep in class?” I chuckled to myself – it was a new question, but one she’ll be asking herself her entire life if she’s anything like her mama. “It will be okay,” I assured her. “No, it’s not,” she warbled through her tears. “You’re not allowed to sleep in class.” “I know,” I said, “but I will understand and it will be okay anyway.” That made her feel better and she finished dragging herself out of the car, down the lawn, and into her dad’s house.

Bee and I – we are not morning people. I hate to think of the struggles she has ahead of her – at least until I let her discover the magic of caffeine. But at least she will always know that she has a well of sympathy and understanding in her mama.

Quote of the Day.

I’ve been watching The Sing-Off with the girls. Gracie is fascinated with singing and anything rocker-girl-esque. (Yes, my little diva. Shocking, I know.) So I figured watching the show with them was one way to help clear it out of my Tivo queue a little faster, rather than waiting for them to be gone or asleep before I tried to sneak it into my already crowded lineup of shows. (Instead I find I’m trying to find snippets of time when my very busy children have time for TV, and so it is taking even longer than if I just watching it myself, but that is neither here nor there.)

So, we’ve been watching the show and the girls quickly realized that there is a lot of drama involved in the backstories of the contestants. A lot of drama. Bee, for instance, seems to think that every other group lost a family member because two – out of about a hundred singers! – mentioned during the group interviews that they had recently lost someone.

It must have made quite an impression on Bee, because the other night when we were watching, they showed clips of the groups practicing and bickering and a few of the singers started crying because they were sick and possibly couldn’t sing that week. Faced with the possibility of elimination, those singers got a little dramatic with the sobbing and the tears, oh yes they did. And that’s when Bee said to me…

Bee: Did their mom or dad pass by?
Me, quickly interpreting: Pass away. No. They’re just sick.
Bee: ”Pass by” means died.
Me: It’s “pass away.” And yes, it does.

Brings a whole new meaning to passing someone by in the hall, doesn’t it? And yet, exactly how my days seem to feel at a certain place we shan’t discuss.

I can’t make this stuff up.

Auntie Kim made me a trade: I would clean up the kitchen, empty the dishwasher and load it again, and she would give the girls a bath. Ha ha ha – sucker! Twenty minutes later, I had showered, taken out the trash, and was finishing loading the dishwasher when Kim came out of the bath.

“Hey!” I heard a short person yell from the other room. “Why are you leaving me?” Turns out Gracie (the short person in question) wasn’t bathing fast enough. Kim thought leaving her on her own would be incentive to hurry. Yeah. That short person doesn’t hurry for anyone.

Just to prove my point, five minutes later Gracie was still toweling off, singing and then talking to herself. A dramatic pretend-play scene was unfolding and Kim and I were desperately trying to decipher exactly what was going on. I was only catching three words out of every twenty. One of them was “leopards.” And then I saw understanding dawn across my sister’s face. She started signing to me – Gracie was playing with pretend leopards. And teaching them sign language.

“No! This is ‘C!’ That’s ‘A!’” we heard ring out. Hunh. Funny how distinct each word sounded now that I knew what she was talking about.

And then…Gracie finished her alphabet lesson with her leopards and led them all in a rousing rendition of YMCA.

I. kid. you. not. But peoples, this is why I am a mom. That is all.

Told you so.

When I said I knew my child was a klutz, I wasn’t kidding. Tonight, Gracie hurt herself sitting on the toilet. Seriously – she has a pretty bad bruise and cut on the inside of her thigh. How does a child manage to do this, you ask? Well, it helps to be both gifted and talented and mighty klutzy. Then, all she has to do is accidentally lift up the toilet seat a teeeeeeensy bit and then when she sits down, a bit of skin has to be trapped under the toilet seat. At this point, said klutzy child will commence screaming.

No, I’m not kidding.

Yes, I actually took a picture. I’ve become That Mom.

An excellent example of a klutzy kind of accident (versus getting a shovel to the face because a riled up classroom full of children isn’t being properly supervised. Ahem.) and one that happens all the freaking time around here.

Thank god it’s my weekend off because I need to stock up on band-aids and ace bandages! I hope your weekend is full of much more exciting plans than mine. Heh.

Ohhhh. THOSE standy-uppy things.

So far – cataclysmic head injuries aside – I am loving The Year of Seven. Gracie is so much more mature (um, aside from a love of fart jokes), is interested in more Middle Childhood fun things like Legos and chapter books, really is just so much more her. It’s awesome.

There are, however, a few drawbacks. Like, she wants to make up her own mind about things. I know, right? Doesn’t she realize that she is allowed to make up her own mind always and forever, unless mama wants something different? Surely I showed her that contract right after she was born.

A few weeks ago, I was helping Gracie wiggle into her uniform shirt. I told her it was about time to order her some new ones – the shirts fit just fine once we get them on. The getting them on and off bits, well, those are a little tricky. “I don’t like these shirts!” she complained, all sporky and stabby out of nowhere. I want shirts that have things sticking up, not all straight.

Uh….come again?

“You know,” she continued, having seen my whatchootalkingboutWillis? look, “they have sleeves that don’t go straight down like this,” insert hand motion making a right angle downward, “they stick up.”

Uh….huh?

“Like a dress shirt?” I asked, completely bewildered. Did she not want to wear polo t-shirts any more? They looked wicked comfortable to me, but if she wanted to get all dressy all of a sudden…

“NO! You just don’t understand!!!!”  Ah. A mom’s reward for trying to get it. Why, WHY, isn’t there a font for whine?

Eventually, with our superpowers of desperation, whine, and exactly half an ounce of patience scraped between us, I figured out entirely by magic that Gracie wants puffed sleeves. Oh, no, not like Anne-girl (though Anne of Green Gables did come to mind, and might have been the reason why I broke down and paid $2.50 more per shirt). Gracie’s version of puffed-sleeves meant she wanted her sleeves a little bit gathered at the tops, so they looked girly as she put it, not like stinky boys’ polos. Hey, I can’t help it that Target is plain. They is also cheap, yo.

But, Gracie did conjure the magic of Anne. My girl wanted puffed sleeves. She might not be an orphan in desperate need of love, but she is a terrific kid and who am I to stamp down the tiny little bit of Girliness suddenly emerging? I broke down and spent an hour or two finding uniform polos with puffed sleeves. (Old Navy has ‘em for $7.50, if you’re ever in a similar emergency.) 

The shirts arrived last night, in a bit of cosmic timing. We had just gotten home from check-ups with our pediatrician, and having just listened to me recount the accident – again – affected my Gracie-girl. I noticed she was quiet on the way home. Turns out, puffed sleeves do quiet the soul in ways on the most imaginative and cleverest girls can understand. I’m glad I found something so simple that can help her through her week.

I just hope she doesn’t start begging for an amethyst brooch, next.

To my brand new seven-year-old on her birthday.

Dear Gracie,

Tonight, at 10:51 p.m. (for you love to know exactly how things work these days), you will turn exactly seven years old. Seven! S-e-v-e-n. Last year I was pretty much blaaaah! about you turning six, but this year I think I’m okay with seven. Know why? It suits you, kiddo. I was trying to pin down the why’s of it this morning, and the best I could come up with is that this past year you have learned how to be much more You. You’re six, but more focused, more refined, more…Gracie-ish. And I have to say – the confidence and the maturity (and yes, still the goofiness) looks fabulous on you, love!

I couldn’t be happier or more proud that you’ve left most of your insecurity behind with your six-year-old self. Have I mentioned your confidence is dazzling? Because, really, it is. School was so much easier for you this year. You really blossomed with your team teachers this year and you love them dearly for teaching you so much of what you crave to know. It makes my heart so happy to see you excited about school instead of literally making your tummy sick over the thought of it like last year. You wanted to invite Mrs. N. and Mrs. D. to your sleepover and didn’t understand why you couldn’t. You complained about having two weeks off for winter break because you wouldn’t get to see Mrs. N. (I think she was secretly happy for the break so she could think up some new things to teach you. You schooled me on capacity and volume the other day, and you’re halfway through the second-grade spelling curriculum. When we applied tape to the end of the yardstick to reach a balloon stuck on top of our cabinets, you told me we made a simple machine. It’s all I can do to keep up with you!

Your confidence has spilled over into your friendships, too. You heard the term “bff” and have declared it your favorite phrase. I hear over and over again how Little A. and Big A. – your besties for years – are your BFFs and how you and Little A. are going to live together when you grow up. I love that you cling so fiercely to “your people” and love that you aren’t afraid to make new friends too. You invited a girl from daycare I’d heard of, but hadn’t met, to your party this year…and left out the fact that she was four years older than you. I didn’t think that she would be interested in attending a 1st-grader’s birthday party, but the thought never occurred to you. Gracie, I hope you never lose that feeling of being where the parties at, being “TOO” cool as you would say. Life is a lot more fun when you are laughing at yourself.

Yes, love, in fact if anything, we might need to gently (oh so gently) try to remind you that you aren’t the center of the ever-loving universe. Not that that’s quite what you think – you tried to give away half your toys when we were choosing what to donate and you gave your sister all of your Easter candy yesterday (although I do suspect you’ll want some back) – so it’s not so much that you’re selfish. It’s more that there isn’t a single note of humility in your ginormous vocabulary. It’s your biggest flaw by far. Now, don’t freak, Gracie – I can hear you freaking all the way from here. Having a teeny tiny flaw – one that’s a little cute (for now), and just a little annoying – isn’t the worst thing in the world. Everyone has flaws. Yes, I know you know that because you’re frequently pointing them out. So don’t panic that you have one too. You don’t need to say that others messed up when they didn’t, just so that you can be more right. And you don’t need to always think you’re the best at something. I promise with all my heart that I couldn’t possibly love you more even if you were perfect. It’s such a hard lesson, Gracie-girl, but you’re growing up so quickly and I think you can start to understand this: always try to better yourself, but be ready to forgive yourself if you fall. Revel a little in your mistakes. Laugh at them if you can. Believe your friends (your true friends…and your mama) if they tell you that you need to work on something. Even grown-ups don’t get it right. You finally are starting to understand what I mean when I tell you my job is to teach you how to be the best person I can, and that sometimes that means scolding your or telling you no. Well you know what? YOU have to teach yourself, too. Don’t worry, Gracie-boo – if anyone can do this, it’s you.

Yes, this year, the Year of Seven, I can tell it’s going to be a good one! We are moving into Middle Childhood. It’s a year of Beverly Clearys and other chapter books I have been waiting to read with you since you were born, a year of complicated Barbie plots to act out and fashion shows for me to judge, the year of your own library card and getting to stay unsupervised in the children’s room, a year of American Girl look-a-likes and playing Frontier outside. Your eyes sparkle every single day, Gracie, at the possibility of all the things you can play and learn. You are dazzled by the world right now and I, sweet girl of mine, am dazzled by you.

Happy Birthday, Gracie-boo. I am so honored that I get to share this year and all of its adventures with you. I love you, kiddo!

Operation:NoMoHo – Find #1

One of the more awesome aspects of Operation:NoMoHo was clearly unearthing treasures that we had long since forgotten. I brought a few of them home in my carry-on because I had promised the girls (especially the Bee-girl who was sobbing at the thought of my leaving for a week) that I would bring them back some of these treasures. Some of the treasures will wait until Christmas (or a birthday) rolls around; some clearly had to be paid out now.

One of the gifts that just needed to be handed out now was one of Auntie Kim’s old dresses. My mom made her this dress because the prints were girly and prim and proper and almost what Kim would have called (at the time) Victorian. Kim was allllll about that girly crap when she was younger. And so my mom made her this dress for Christmas. When we found it, Kim was happy with keeping a picture of it before we donated it. I, however, took one look at it and knew I had to keep it for the girls.

You might have heard that my girls – Gracie, in particular – are a wee-bit obsessed with Dr. Quinn? And I might have mentioned that they will play-act Dr. Quinn and prairie days and living on the frontier and all that. Gracie dresses up in her Laura Ingalls costume that I made her for Halloween two years ago. Bee is left scrounging in the dress-up box and feels rather left out. Kim’s dress was my great equalizer. Bee would not only get a treasure, but she would also have a dress that looked like it could fit the proper time-period…to a five-year-old, at least.

I think she’s a little thrilled:

Yes, all is well now. Or, I should say, all was well once Bee got over the tantrum she pitched because I wouldn’t let her wear it to school. Now we will see how quickly I can make her a bonnet and apron – hopefully before this frontier stage fades!

It’s not the *worst* invention ever, but it’s close.

I made a bit of a mistake this morning. Well, really, it was a necessary mistake, so maybe it wasn’t so much of a blunder as it was totally and irrevocably committing myself to something that needs to get done. I told my daughter that we could sell chocolate tonight.

Yes, the all-evil and much despised elementary school fundraiser. Is there anything parents fear more? Anything more hated? No, no there isn’t. Load an eager young grade-schooler with a box of chocolates that weighs more than she does and then tell her she has to sell them all. Even though there are probably several other classmates in your same neighborhood. I hate to think how many parents have just shelled out the fifty bucks for the box and secretly eaten every single one a them bars while hiding in the closet (Yes, the closet – the CLOSET OF SHAME) rather than face anyone they know with yet another thing their kid is selling.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, now the mighty, mighty PTA school system brainwashes the kids into believing they can’t sell chocolate to anyone unless he or she is a close, personal friend. No strangers, no soliciting, no hefting the chocolates through the neighborhood – no, I practically got fingerprinted by my own daughter before she’d sell to me. Because there’s Stranger Danger(!), you understand. Pfft, whatevs. I remember carrying my fundraiser crap door-to-door when I was a kid. (No doubt shoeless in the snow uphill.) Parents didn’t care about you getting abducted; hell, they were probably hoping someone would keep you for an afternoon. So lax were the rules, that not only were we encouraged to sell crap to people we didn’t know, parents didn’t even walk with us! My mom sent my sister with me and pushed us out the door, humming a happy tune under her breath.

Yeah, so I said something like “screw that crap” to Gracie under my breath and forced her to carry her Massive Box of Overpriced Chocolate World’s Finest through the neighborhood. Hey, we totally know Drives A Red Ford Lady and Runs With Green Earbuds and Dude On The Corner. They’re practically family.

Gracie did great – last year she ran away three times before she would say anything to Aaron across the street. This year she sold her box of chocolates before we left the street. “HiMyNameIsGracieAndI’mSeven AndIGoToFirstGradeAtMySchool WannaChocolateForWayTooMuchMoneySoICanGoOnAFieldTrip? and she thrust the box at them with just a lil bit o’ crazy in her eyes. I might make her stick with her schtick because it didn’t take us 20 minutes. Which would explain why I was dumb enough to agree to a second box.

Second box has been sitting on the floor near the “backpack chair” for the past week and a half.

And so tonight I told the girls they weren’t getting dinner or baths (kidding!)(mostly) until that box was sold. Three streets and the outside loop left. I really hope we get that sucker sold because my closet is already full of Easter candy.

My happy little capitalists.

Like I’ve said, spring is coming to North Texas. (And before you get too mad at me with my bloomin’ trees and mild weather, remember that right after spring comes summer Hell for the next six months. So shoosh.) The sun has been shining, afternoons have been in the 70s, and everyone is itching to spend time outside.

I, of course, am taking advantage of the rare quiet inside. And to make it last, I decided to bribe encourage Bee and Gracie to extend their time in the sunshine by offering them $1 each for every giant bucket they filled with weeds flowers from the backyard. They each filled it two times over the course of an afternoon – it was the best $4 I’ve ever spent.

I told the girls they had to save one of their dollars and the other they could spend at Target. We poured over the entire store as they looked at every single item the dollar bins had to offer, at chapsticks, at dollar nail polishes, and at candy. And considering that every minute we spent in the store was one minute less I’d spend refereeing fights at home, I didn’t even mind their sudden indecision.

I think those two afternoons were the most fun Bee and Gracie have spent in a long time. Want to know why? Because one night after school, while I was innocently preparing a delicious and nutritious dinner for my loving children, they were outside “playing.” I thought they were around the side of the house hunting for their pet frog Bopper who lived in the rainwater that had collected in the kiddie-pool. That was no problem - I’d just bleach their hands…and arms…before dinner. But oh no – they weren’t frog hunting. Or digging in slime. Or playing bean toss. Nooooo. I looked out the back door to call them for dinner and was left speechless. The girls happened to slam their way inside at about the same time and I finally spluttered out the question that had been stuck inside my mouth – you know, before my jaw hit the floor.

“WHAT HAPPENED TO THE BACK DOOR?”

“What do you mean?” Gracie asked.

“The windows are covered in mud!!”

“Oh! We put mud on them so we could clean them and earn more money!” Gracie happily informed me.

That is how I figured out that my children are not only happy little capitalists, but also much, much smarter than I. Oh, mommyhood – sometimes you kill me.

Quote of the Day.

This is from last week, when we were snowbound and rules were lax.

Bee: Can I please have some cookies?
Me: Sure.

I got her three cookies, sat her at the table, and then…

Bee: Can I please have four cookies?
Me: Mayyyyybe. You didn’t eat your lunch.
Bee (without missing a beat): Well, mayyyyyybe I love you.

And THAT is why I didn’t kill my children last week. They’re too dang cute, wielding their little swords of facetiousness like that.