The VERY important question posed to me this morning:
“I am going to put the basket on top of the car, and load all of the suitcases on it. Would it be classier to wrap each one, individually, in a contractor bag or cover the entire thing with a blue tarp?”
For some reason, my Standards Manual for the Good Taste Challenged, doesn’t actually cover this scenario.
Witness Exhibit A:
I’d like you to draw your eye, specifically, to one sage green overall dress (“the dress”) that has been in said subject’s closet for close to 6 months now; unworn, unseen, unloved.
Now, may I present Exhibit B:
I invite you to pay special attention to the location of the pockets of “the dress” (approaching the middle of the back), indicating the notable size incongruity between “the dress” and the person on whose body it currently resides.
May I present to the jury that on roughly 6,457 occasions over the past 6 months, it has been suggested that the subject wear “the dress”, to which, the response has consistently and resoundingly been “NOOOOOOOO!” May it also be stated that this may be the only child on the planet who, with some regularity, has to be bribed with coins to wear various pieces of her own clothing.
May I present to the jury that on this, the 20th day in the 12th month of the year 2006, said subject INSISTED that she wear “the dress” regardless of the fact that it was indicated that it’s size was no longer adequate, and the side fastening devices could not be adequately secured. And, let it further be stated that, much to parental dismay, “the dress” was worn to school.
I ask the jury to overlook the subject’s doe eyes and bubbly personality, and find her guilty of being three.
I am sure that my lack of posting about sleep issues has lulled you all into the impression that we are actually getting some. Oh how thou art mistaken. In fact, we went from relatively bad to that’s-it-I’m-outta-here over the last couple of weeks, bouncing firmly along rock bottom as we coasted into last weekend on nothing but caffeine fumes and short tempers. Blame it on teething, blame it on ear infections, blame it on the rain in spain falling mainly on the plain, the bottom line is that it is now month 8 and we are still unsure how someone so cute and easy-going can create such prolonged torture. All I know is that it got so bad that I didn’t even recognize the pain anymore. I no longer woke up in the morning tired and wistful, instead I was just glazed. I started to realize how bad it had gotten when I started having mystery stomach aches by lunchtime each day, then finally realized it was from consuming an excessive number of triple grande mochas from Starbucks. I know that given the situation, my subconscious was in the early stages of implementing a plan wherein I could eliminate the trouble of having to lift my arm to drink by being fitted with IV drip, thereby allowing me to conserve what few granules of energy I had left.
Then something strange happened. Two nights ago, was a night like any other: down at 8, up at 11, up at 2, up at 4:30 – which was then, up for the day. Typical. Then, there was last night: down at 8, up at 5:15. Dwuh? Nine. Straight. Hours. Did that really just happen?
But then, this is the part wherein the joy realized from such miracles is inevitably transient: By 5:45 he had barfed an entire bottle of formula all over me, my hair, the bed and the comforter.
And that, children, is the tale of the Miracle on B Street.
Hi Stelly,
Last weekend you turned three.
It was intended as a low-key affair, with a few of your peeps from the inner circle, and one set of grandparents. However, this party was a testament to the fact that birthday fun is in no way limited by small numbers. That day, the four of you were only beaten in energy production by THE SUN. Had we actually invited your entire class from school, there is a good chance that we would have been able to sell back some kilowatt hours.
As you peruse the photos from this year’s festivities, don’t be too alarmed when you stumble across the photos of your “birthday cake”. You’ll note that I put birthday cake in quotes to signify that it is wholly innacurate to consider this thing a celebratory confection. I saw the writing on the wall when you insisted that, this year, you wanted a round cake with a ladybug. Stella, there is a reason you have had cupcakes for your first two birthdays: I am not a particularly good baker. Furthermore, I am horrid at frosting and decorating cakes. Your father – ripe with naiveté – decided it couldn’t be THAT hard. HA. Well, it tasted good – nevermind the pools of strawberry cream cheese frosting encircling the entire base of the cake, or that the two layers had to be held together with sawed-off bamboo skewers, or that it was adorned with creepy red and black bugs with sharp and pointy claws. The latter of which, I am sure will give you nightmares for a while. The lesson here is that I need to Mom-up and get better at this whole birthday cake thing, or you are destined for a life of disfigured cakes with depictions of abstract buttercream motifs. And, I love you just too much to let that happen.
This past year has been full of so many big changes for you. I have watched you go from toddler to girl, and then some. You are silly and fun and stubborn and smart. Oh girl, are you smart. Listening to you talk – how you say your words, and string thoughts together reminds me, daily, just how much you are growing up. And, this year you were thrown the mother of all curve-balls: a younger brother. It has been a joy to watch you fill the role of big sister. As these pages will attest, it has been bumpy, but hopefully it is also clear that it has been fun, and overwhelmingly joyful to watch our family take form. Through all the chaos, arises my admiration for you, and what a great girl you are becoming. In case you, or anyone else out there is wondering – yes, I know how lucky I am.
Happy day, sweet girl.