Never Fully Dressed...

... without a hat!

Sometimes it is because Mommy is just too tired to fight with a squirmy-wormy little girl with tangles in her hair and tears in her eyes.

Occasionally it is because it is cold outside and well, a hat is just Required.

But usually it is just because they are too darned cute for me to resist. Especially when they are matchy-matchy big sis/little sis hats.

Here, Caelin is showing hers off to the utmost, pretending to be a model. Which is really quite clever, since she is photographed as much as most models, anyway. Only thing missing, really, is her paycheque. Unless you count peanut butter cups as payment. Which thankfully, she does. Give it a couple years and she'll realize that the 'cups won't take her nearly as far at the mall as some cold, hard cash-er-oonie.


Gracie, on the other hand, will accept no bribe of the 'cups to look at the camera until she sees fit. Nor does she pay attention to the screaming lunatic behind the camera, simply ignoring the waving arms and calling voice as though Mommy weren't even there. This explains why most of my Gracie photos will show her looking away because sometimes, well, I just get tired of waiting and take the picture anyway.

Rhymes with Ducky

... and starts with an "F". This is Gracie's first little bad word.

The little stinker is, I am embarrassed to say, quite good at uttering it too. She mutters it just under her breath enough that she *thinks* no one hears her say it. Of course, she missed one time and said it loud, which is why now, finally, I am on to her. Who knows how long she was saying to herself before I actually figured out what the heck she was saying.

So far, at least, it is issued toward the computer, mostly, and the dog sometimes. The little angel would never think of saying it about her mother, right? Right? Damn.

Tinier Dancer

When it comes to the end of the day, all is right with the world only if "Me Too", formerly known as Grace, if she has been the equal recipient of each and every right, privilege, and candy that has been afforded to her big sister. And so, at the ripe old age of 3 years and 1 week old, Grace started her own dance lessons. And as she gleefully reminds Caelin every Saturday morning as they don their outfits, hers is FIRST.

Watching Day for Grace's class made painfully clear the reason why they ban parents from enjoying a performance every week. That reason is Grace. While she was mildly interested in the lesson, her focus was mainly on how she could turn, wave, and smile at her parents without getting in trouble from her teacher yet again.

I think MY proudest moment was when their (oh-so-patient-she-should-be-declared-a-saint) teacher asked them all to stand in a line, and they all, including Grace, stood nicely, ready to dance. Mind you, Grace was the only one facing backward. And secretly winking at Mom.
Someday, perhaps, the ballet school will kindly suggest that Grace try a more creative outlet where she can express her um, different, personality, but in the meantime, she's purty darn cute in that tutu.

Don't really like you, either.

It had to happen sometime. I was finally told off by one of my precious little darlings.

And none of you will be surprised to learn that it wasn't by Caelin... of course. During the painful ordeal of having to get through an entire tiny bowl of mac-n-cheese, which is normally a favorite by the way, Gracie had dramatically thrown herself on the floor for oh, let's say, the fifth time.

Now here's where I should be blaming myself, really. Expecting a polite, well-mannered child such as Gracie to appreciatively accept my advice to sit her ass down on the chair was pushing it. I ought to be grateful that I didn't get the bowl of pasta right in the face, to be honest. Instead she told me off: "I don't like you, Mommy. I like Daddy, and I like Caelin, and I like Steffanie (who doesn't even live here, let me add). But I do NOT like you.".

Being a mature, loving, wise mother, I reached over and looked into her big blue eyes, and said "But I like you, honey". Well, okay. No. I didn't. I will embarrassing admit that yes, I said "Fine. I like Caelin better anyway. Go play with Daddy." Who wasn't actually home yet.

Strike two for the Mommy of the Year award. I won't be holding my breath when they announce "... and the award this year goes to..."

Tiny Dancer

I get it, I do. Letting the parents watch their darling little dance prodigies practice ballet every week distracts the girls from their lessons. I see the reasoning, but I still think it sucks. Totally sucks. Only 2 days a year do we get to sit on uncomfortable plastic chairs, poking our significant others and trying to quietly whisper to each other that no, we are not at all biased. We are objective, reasonable, non-judgemental people who just happen to be the parents of the better-than-best dancer in the room. Obviously.



Now that Caelin is 6, she is in what they term "pre-primary" ballet. When I took lessons oh-so-many eons ago, the positions all had numbers. Like First Position, Second Position, Third Position... you get where I'm going with this. Apparently this number system was so confusing to little girls (not our genius, mind you - she's brilliant, and a great dancer if I forgot to mention), that they have been renamed into things like "Pizza Position". Because really, if they're going to be ballet dancers, they're going to get to eat loads of pizza. Really.

I hate to bombard with photos (no I don't), but I have kazillions of shots of this 45-minute rare watching event. Though I have to say, I thought it was quite obnoxious of my normally so-sweet husband to giggle at the crazy woman scooting around the room on her tush for a better angle while the "civilized" parents sat on their uncomfortable plastic chairs and took, like, 3 photos each. Amateurs. 132 pictures isn't so much, not when your kid is this darn cute, anyway.

My Happy Halloweenies

A happy (late) Boo to Everyone! Thanks to the husband, we had an amazing yard display this year. Despite some problems to be worked out with the moving ghost and the el-cheapo- Michaels-brand fog machine crapping out, the kids loved it all!

The creepy fence made from recovered barn wood:

The creepy walkway of skulls flanked by tombstones, pumpkins and a plethora of ooky-spooky creatures:




And spookiest of all, my Pink Poodle and Pirate Princess!



The pouty face above was brought on by the realization that going outside with Mommy did NOT mean Trick-or-Treating quite yet, but actually meant being expected to smile patiently for the camera instead. Poor mistreated child. The Mommy of the Year Award may be passing me by again this year.

The girls, of course, enjoyed a "mountain" of candy and shared it so nicely with their Daddy, like the princesses that they are. (Sometimes).

More than a Little Strange...

Perhaps even a tad delusional, for me to make the leap from inconsistency in most things to the "promise" (and I use that term lightly) to keep an updated and not too boring blog.

The concept behind a blog has always been a bit strange to me - making the assumption that there are people out there with nothing better to do than read my rambling thoughts and look at pictures of my (albeit, darn cute) kids. But yet, here we go.

For those of you who were wondering (see, the clever reference to the title that took me sooooo long to come up with), I hope you will enjoy hearing about the craziness and wonderfulness that I live with every day. For those of you who stumbled upon this blog unfortunately, please accept my humble apologies for dragging you through my mundane thoughts (although I am sure you will enjoy the photos of my amazingly gorgeous children).

Let's do this!