Sweet Shoppe

My town has had an old fashioned candy shoppe for 5 months now and I didn't know it. How could this happen? This is probably sign number 16 showing me I need to expand my two mile radius off the cul-de-sac and get out there in the world a bit more. Preschool pick up does not a life make. I'm losing my mojo, there was a time when I could sniff out a lemon head at under 5 miles. This mommy gig dulls your senses and makes you weak.

Thank goodness for Ava and her extreme social calendar filled with activities galore. Her most recent Brownie outing, was none other than the Sweet Shoppe here in town. Well, you know who was crashing that party right? Oh yeah, the Liv'ster and I showed up with dollars in our pockets and proclaimed we would simply peruse the shop while Ava and her Brownie Buddies learned their lesson about the power of pennies.


Here's Liv, two fisting the candy coated blueberry gummy heart and the smartie's large lollipop. Notice the sugar induced trance starting here in this photo. She's off in another world. I must have taken 16 photos of her as we sat down with our two rather large bags of candy. She absolutely couldn't bring herself to smile, she was taking the experience that seriously.

It was ok, I was smiling big enough for the both of us, that place is so grand.




Here is Livi barfing blue onto her lollipop after I let her eat 37 pieces of penny candy in less than 6 minutes.

But seriously, she still wasn't smiling. It's all in a days work. The kid didn't crack a smile and relax until her blood sugar levels were just shy of causing diabetic coma.












A little while later, the Brownie troop released 10 little 1st graders each with $4.00 to spend in the shoppe. Mayhem insued and Ava rose out of the chaos wearing big red wax candy lips among other purchases.

Ironically enough I've seen a few Hollywood stars appear on the red carpet with similar collogen implants. I'm sure Ava paid a bit less for the big lips. (I couldn't help myself from asking her if she'd like to borrow my Styla lip pumping sting lip gloss when I saw this. Sailed right over her head, the kid's still doing time in JV with Bonne Bell's Watermelon chapstick.) Ava's dear friend C opted for tropical fruit Razzles instead, smart girl.





Here they are all hopped up on sugar with the shakes. These are the faces of our town's dentist's next Mercedes Benz.

Are you looking for a winter time blues buster? Gather your pocket full of change and head on out to the nearest candy store. It will be good for your soul, bad for your teeth but good for your soul.

Sledding Down The Mini Mountain

Since we don't usually get a ton of snow around here on a regular basis my girlfriend and I decided to take the kids to a small hill located a few miles away. When I say small hill I do mean small hill. We live at the tip of the beginning of the thousands of miles of flat lands where folks use the land to grow feed corn and soy beans. Anything resembling a bit of a hill is quite frankly an anomaly for my kids.

So, imagine Ava's complete glee when she saw that I had packed her sled and had driven her to a mini mountain with free reign to slide down as many times as she'd like...with the caveat that we would go in when her woosie of a mother got too cold to take it any more. Which, is usually in the range of about 45 minutes. Here they are, Ava and her friend E. The calendar says they are three weeks apart in age...but we suspect they may have been separated at birth. Kidding. Snow bunnies, I tell you. They hopped on their snow gliders and handled the mini mountain like pros, even when an oversized inflatable raft with no less than 5 teenagers came flying at them while trekking back up to the top again.

Of course little Liv wanted in on the action. I panic'd and had visions of those same teenages slamming into her little 30 pound body. This is the face I got as I explained the finer points of a possible trip to the emergency room visit resulting from 170 pound teenagers hitting 30 pound three year olds at 20 miles an hour. She didn't seem to appreciate my mother bear attutude and promptly told me to kiss off.

I relented and in the interest of compromise and hopped on the sled sitting behind her so she could put her pedal to the metal and feel the need for speed.























Here's a tip if you try this at home. Don't wear boot leg jeans while quickly sliding down a hill...your ankles will get very wet and very chilly very quickly. Must check to see if pink snow pants are made in my size. Hey, if the stay puff marshmellow look can work for cute little Liv, I'm sure it could work for me as well.

This is what we looked like at that all too important 45 minute mark. Me, grinning through the 15 degree wind and Liv telling me "I go home now. I coooold." We toughed it out for another few minutes so Ava and E could take 2 more runs down the mini mountain. Then of course I really felt awful when Liv spiked a 104 degree fever later that night. Ummm, perhaps she was being quite serious about the "I go home, I cooold," comment. Don't forget to vote for me...mother of the year. It's now Monday and Livi and I have been inside these four walls slurping Motrin and Delsym ever since.

Ava, with the immune system of an elephant could have stayed out all night and begged to go back for more. Ahh yes, I told her I'm happy to bring you back the next time it snows 12 inches, my little winter white stuff bunny...which will hopefully be around 2012.

A Foot Of Snow

Who knew that when we would wake up yesterday morning we would see all this snow?

We woke up to about 8" of it! Schools were cancelled and we sat in the playroom watching another 4" fall before lunch.

The girls were of course dying to go play in all the glorious white stuff.

The backyard was covered, top to bottom.



Livi made sure she was styled appropriately. There would be no shade of pink under represented.
























Why is it that people under the age of about 12 years old do not seem to feel the immense cold that is associated with rolling around in a foot of snow while the air temperature hovers around 14 degrees?

They cold have played all day and all I could muster was that my ankles were wet and freezing! I only lasted 45 minutes.




I think Liv is pondering how long it will take before hypothermia will settle in under those snowy mitts. Chloe tore through the backyard as if she hadn't been out of the crate in 3 months. I honestly don't know whether she realized her face was covered until it melted off on my couch.

Party Weekend

I think it hit me about 2 hours before Ava's 7th birthday party that I had accepted RSVPs from 14 little girls plus 2 of my own bringing the grand total to 16 little girls here at my house in the middle of January (we live in the mid-west and a January party outside is out of the question). Sixteen little girls all painting in my kitchen and playroom. I needed xanax...I've never actually had a xanax but I'm sure if I ever really needed one it would have been at that moment 2 hours before the party. I started having flashbacks of Ava's 5 year old birthday party where no one would dance! It was a dance party, imagine my distress. To calm myself I popped a handful of pinata candy and did a little self talk, how bad could 2 hours possibly be?

All that fretting. And for not. It was fun. Yeah, I swear it was fun. I know there are many of you who are giving me the hairy eyeball right now and saying "Right, this is some wacko uber helicopter mom who volunteers 16 times a week at the school, makes sure the kids eat 18 servings of veggies a day and speaks in a kind voice ALL the time like that weirdo mom with 18 kids on tv who never loses her cool. Nope, I swear it's just me, Perrin, and I didn't sell any girl scout cookies this year, not one damn cookie. Then I had to make the cookie walk of shame to the cookie mom, who somewhat passively aggressively told me that Ava would not technically be counted in the final counts so that her lack of numbers would not affect all the hard working kids in the troop. (Oh honey, it will take a little more that that to offend me sugar.)

Here is little miss immediately after swiping her finger across the bottom of the cake to get a finger full of icing. Due to not having any of that aformentioned xanax, I yelled.

She doesn't look as if she carrying the brunt of emotional scaring yet does she?


Here is a part of the posse painting their paper mache letters. They look so serious.

Probably the best moment of the whole day happened when Ava's friend's "other mother", who used to be her father, but after a good bit of surgical intervention is now the daddie'um'sort'of announced that she would like to stay to watch the party. Oh, ok then...they are 7. If you stay you help. To which she readily agreed and was a huge help supervising painting and dishing out cake and ice cream with my other 2 girl friends whom I had previously wrangled into helping with the party. We had to slap our friend who accidently played "If I were a boy", by Beyonce on the stereo during the party. You might think this quite hilarious. I would too if I hadn't been in charge of 16 little girls at the time. Did I mention 16?

Ahh, these are the things of memories.

I shall leave you with Ava's beloved Pixos...her absolutely favorite prize of the day. Kept her busy for 2 solid hours after the party. If you don't have them run right out and get them.
Pixos rock.


How will we ever top a painting with Beyonce party supervised by none other than the transgender community? Who says the midwest is boring.

Auto Gods on My Side

Update to Yesterday's Post:

1. The Muffin Man is a god, pure and simple. See, there is an upside to NOT marrying the metrosexual emotionally in touch type of man, who knows nothing of making cornices from scratch and fixing old cars. I love my cave man. The fuel injection stuff he bought and dumped into the car worked! Started up this morning like a charm. I'll surely be driving my 1999 black heap of beauty with the dented front bumper for another 5 years.

2. In an odd twist of good luck the seemingly broken ice maker miraculously started working again after I defrosted the thing and shook the motor around a bit. Yipee Skipee.

3. My very old and dear friend from way back in middle school was able to adopt a little boy domestically in December. We got the birth announcement today. I cried. Can't wait to send something blue.

Gees, perhaps I should go buy a lottery ticket. Hope my luck holds out. Tomorrow is (insert music of doom) Ava's 7th birthday party. No less than 14 children have RSVP's yes. Tack on my 2 and that my friends, is a houseful. The Muffin Man is certain someone will take the paint we are providing for crafty purposes and use it on the walls. To which I replied, "How is that different that what we deal with around here on a daily basis?" Yeah, he nodded pointing to the coffee maker that Liv almost totaled last night as she snuck away and tried to "make coffee" on her own. Just for insurance purposes though, you'll be happy to know I did not purchase the glitter I had in my hand at the craft store.

Hey, why overtly tempt the gods right?

Vehicular Irony

Last month the Muffin Man and I sunk some serious cash into my beloved yet antique 10 year old Dodge Durango to have its falling apart transmission rebuilt. There was a day in our not so distant history that we would have opted for something shinier and newer, with a long warranty. The Muffin Man loves to shop for cars. You know how some people think of this task somewhere right up there with having their toe nails pulled out, not the Muffin Man. He is a born salesman and can haggle and waggle with the best of the very best car salespeople. It's blood sport for him, I've seen him walk away from a decent deal just because the guy was not a sales person's sales person. I've seen him puff up, beat his chest and swagger off every lot east of this town's beltway. I've had friend's divorce and his first comment to me is...hey, if she needs help buying her next car have her give me a call. Yeah, she's becoming a single mother, divorcing the louse and setting up her own house all by herself, I'm sure the first thing on her mind is call Perrin's husband when I buy a car in three years. God love him, his heart was in the right place.

So the ink on the check for the new transmission is barely dry. Probably because the check had too many zeros on it. This morning car disaster strikes again, my car won't turn over and start as I have Liv in the backseat ready for preschool and the pooch in the front seat primed and ready to have her nails professionally ground to the quick at the groomer. (I am now paying more for my puggle's pedicures than my own, but that is another story for another day.)

How could the car be broken? To add insult to injury it wasn't the same sound made a few short weeks ago when the transmission was on the fritz. Oh no, that would be under warranty, so it surely couldn't be the problem.) I immediately steal the Muffin Man's car out of the other side of the garage and head off to preschool in complete denial. No, that isn't completely true, I left the pooch and the preschooler to their own faculties as ran into the house to shout at the Muffin Man that the car is broken. Can I deal with morning routine and borrow his car for poochy pedi's and preschool drop offs. He agrees while mumbling something about a family that is sinking him slowly and sadly into the poor house and bread lines akin to 1923.

Upon my return back to the cul-de-sac the Muffin Man informs me that the problem is not a battery, no clicking sound, and is probably a fuel injection issue. Fuel injection issue...speak English man! Speak Green Dinero English, what are we talking here? The next three year's worth of car repair budget was spent 3 weeks ago.

He shakes his head at me as only a man saddled with a shrieking wife who knows not one damn thing about cars except how to pick a color can. Then he takes his jeep up the street for fuel injection cleaner, whatever that is. I run after him asking if I should call AAA and the Dodge dealer. He waves his hand at me silently telling me to step off, I slink worriedly into the kitchen to research why the ice maker seems to be in the fritz too. It's true, I couldn't make this stuff up.

As he comes home his mood is brightened with his fuel injector cleaner in his hands. He states that either this will work or we will need to go shopping for a new Volvo. They are now apparently $10,000 off asking price down the street, how does he know this stuff? Clearly this is joke since we both know quite well $10,000 off or not, a new Volvo will never be within our reach for us as long as we are housing two very expensive little creatures who are systematically eating up our savings in yogurt cups by the thousands and coloring on our walls.

That launches us into a quick but philosophical discussion about why this is the absolute best time in the history of car sales in the United States to purchase a car and we are beating our heads and wallets trying to save the old Durango for yet another 5 years. Did you ever hear the Car Talk Click and Clack brothers on NPR talk about selling an old car? One brother states that in 40 years he has never actually sold a car, they just all turn to dust in his driveway. Yeah, this is us. My seven year old Ava, will probably learn to drive Flintstone style in this car.

It appears that the Muffin Man has helped us dodge (yes, a pun) disaster at the Dodge dealership by purchasing fuel injector fluid. Or, I suppose the real test will be when I drive it up the street for preschool pickup. But apparently as of this writing we are back in business.

In the end, hopefully we will NOT be shopping for a new vehicle at the very best time to haggle a great price on a new car. Instead we will be purchasing a new ice maker for the fridgedaire.

The Long Walk of Mandarin Shame

It's taken me a few days to sit down and write about this since I've found myself strangely emotional and guilt ridden about the fact that Ava has put her foot down and does not want to attend Mandarin classes at Chinese school any longer. She says it is boring and she doesn't like boring. God forbid the poor child be bored for more than 3 1/2 minutes. This is the price to pay for the permissive parent. She been fighting me for over a semester now and I woke up a few weeks ago and agreed to let her quit. I just can't take the persistent whining on Sunday mornings, "How many more hours until I have to go to Chinese school?" I can't stomach the refusals to attempt homework. I can't even entertain the thought that she would grow up with a bitter distaste of Mandarin language lessons or worse yet Chinese culture. So, I let her quit. I tell myself I'm letting her chose, I'm respecting her decisions. I'm honoring her choices in life. But, then I find myself wondering is this isn't a cop out. She's 7, what does she know about the lessons of tenacity, seeing something through even though it is hard. What am I teaching her?

When I told her she could stop Mandarin classes she cheered giving me a loud and resilient "Yes", complete with arm pump for effect. I shot her daggers with my eyes begging her silently not to gloat. She's been at the school since she was 3 years old. We've been at the school since she was three years old. We lasted 4 years as a blended family in a sea of authentic Chinese families, which is longer than most if I look for a silver lining. She knows a whole host of Chinese children's songs, she understands the 4 tones, and she counts to 100 like a Beijing native. She really is learning, it's slow going but she is learning. Until now.

Over the years I'd learned to smile politely amongst a cafeteria full of Chinese parents, being the only or one of a very few white parents. It used to unnerve me a bit being so blatantly, a minority an outsider, but now I suppose I'm used to it. I never broke into the inner sanctum of Chinese folks at the school. I never had that picnic in my backyard where I envisioned I would invite all of our new Chinese friends over for American hot dogs and hamburgers. Chinese ladies that could really cook would bring their yummy dumplings and leeks with pork in mismatched covered dishes. This back yard party of my imagination would have been a united nations, laughing, coming together as we watched our children play on our gym set. Because after all, children all over the world are truly all the same right? In my fantasy these families would have become our great friends, the fact that we had 2 Chinese born daughters would have been enough to bridge that wide cultural divide. But, that's not true. Chinese school is a place for Chinese families to go where they don't have to assimilate for 2 whole hours a week, like they have to at their kids' schools, at work and out in the community. I can't say that I blame them for using the school as their cultural comfort zone. I would certainly do the same thing if I were an expat living in China. Thoughts of running with my daughter's crowd were perhaps a little naive on my part, admittedly so. But then, they aren't really her crowd either. She's so American now...living here for over 6 years. She has no memories of her life in China. Their food isn't as familiar as my white chili. She identifies with Miley Cyrus for heaven's sake. Giving my child two hours of Mandarin language instruction a week wouldn't be enough to to give her cultural familiarity to use in her adult life, I see that now.

This straddling of culture and ethnicity was brought to my attention again last night when after the girls' showers I was blowing Ava's hair dry. She studied herself in the mirror as I flung wet black hair all over the place. She placed her finger in her eyelid and lifted the fold. She giggled, "Why is it that I have no eyelid like you Mommy?" "Oh, you have classic Han Chinese eyes with a deep epicanthal fold. It is what makes you a gorgeous Chinese child." For one quick moment I saw her differently, she looked so foreign, so beautiful, but so foreign as I glanced at my tired and slightly wrinkly large eyelids and dark hazel irises. Then I blinked again and she looked familiar, the child I see every day, my dear sweet Ava.

I have no idea whether I did the right thing, letting her quit. These parenting moments where you just don't know what is truly best always get the better of me. I prefer parenting in black and white with a red bow tied on top. Once again, reality right? I plan to offer marital arts or dancing in the fall once the dust settles and she realizes she won round one. Maybe she will want to go back if it is more on her terms. Hopefully the story isn't over, only a short intermission on a long journey.

And The Winner Is...

To determine the big winner of help Perrin decide on a birthday craft to keep 7 year old short people busy for two hours while hyped up on cupcakes and bug juice is.....Ahh ha, can't give it away just yet.

We had to have an executive round table meeting with folks over in research and development. This is what that looks like over here.
What you see here are research and development. Research was preparing to catch the bus at this breakfast meeting, thus the coat and mitts. Development decided to forego pantyhose and the power suit and instead opted for her snuggle bear jammies. It was also her idea to bring cranberry bread with butter to the meeting. Do you think Hilary will take her pink security blankie to her senate confirmation meetings today? We all have to start somewhere right?


Many of your fabulous suggestions were placed on the table using only Robert's Rules of Order, of course.

Some of your suggestions, although seemingly well thought out met with minor apprehension and did not receive the ultimate winning vote. As you can see here "Miss I Forgot My Power Suit" has a little work to do on her emotional quotient score at breakfast meetings.

Or maybe it was the fact that I forgot to buy hot chocolate at the grocery this week. We may never know the whole truth on that one.





Ultimately it was Ani's comment about cardboard boxes to paint with the existing mongo box of old acrylics I want to use up that lead me to cardboard initial letters. (Same aisle, next to the treasure boxes, so she gets the prize.) Each little party goer will receive a cardboard 6" inital corresponding with her name to paint and then take home to place with all of the grade school crafty junk she already has in her room. Yipee! So many of you had some pretty dang good ideas that I might use one or two of them in the event that 12 little girls do not finish at the exact same time and might need a little more painting entertainment. That won't happen right? They will all work neatly and quietly and finish in a timely manner right? Naivite is a beautiful thing, yes?

So, at the end of the meeting both research and development seemed to be quite happy with the party planning ideas and decisions.

A motion was raised to bring donuts at the next meeting of executive minds on the cul-de-sac.

Motion denied.







Now to the business of thank you Ani for a great idea that will ultimately make me the most popular mom on the block, I mean quietly entertain 7 year olds in the middle of January for 2 hours.

I made you a panda pouch. Little pandas with apples. I thought pandas ate bamboo, but what do I know?

Go ahead and email me or comment with your full name and address and the panda pouch is yours, ready to be shipped off to Puerto Rico. Oh, you lucky gal...Puerto Rico.

***I did not link to Ani because I could only see a profile, no actual blog. Ahh well, just email me and I'll ship it rightout.

Many thanks for the help and so many nifty ideas. :)

Yea, she's groovin'

This is a happy child about to turn 7 years old. What would make little miss 6 and 3/4 so happy?

A party.

Plain and simple. A party. The kid is, shall we say gregariously social.

Her first choice for this year's celebration of Seven was Build A Bear.

Sorry, we know it is not exactly your fault you were born 3 weeks after Christmas, and we are shopped out, paying bills and quite frankly not all that up for cake either after the 10,000 cookies we consumed in the month of December...but still, you may not invite 26 of your best'est friends evahhh to Build a Bear at $18.95 a pop.
Insert long face.

You may however, sucker us into inviting 12 schreeking banshee little 7 year olds over for cake and ice cream, a candy pinata, and craft...if Mommy can figure out a way to entertain 12 little friends using old bucket of Delta Cream Coat acrylic paints that are currently slowly drying out upstairs in a closet.

Seriously, what could they paint? Have any ideas? Extra bonus points for anyone who comes up with something (think cheap) they could paint AND take home as their take home little gift. (I know it is rather scroogey of me, but I hate those gift baggies kids get at birthday parties with .10 trinkets and candy, ooh the candy and the rotting of the teeth.) And, for the record this is especially evil of me because if anyone can appreciate the finer points of a birthday party garbage, I mean goody bag...it is Ava. But, alas I can't do it. Must find some painting craft and make that pass off as cool gift.

Insert happy face. On her. She's having a party.


***Anyone who comes up with a winning birthday party craft or painting activity will receive a free 1001 uses pouch from me!***** Leave a comment and if we pick your idea, I will email you off line and send you a free zipper pouch.

Crafty Corner Notes

Do you remember my reference to Ava's plethora of of social events this month? And our strange association with numerous families who at one time or another found themselves extremely fertile somewhere at the end of February/beginning of March, subsequently having their offspring right at Christmas time? Her next birthday party is tomorrow, and since her friend is a good family friend as well, I've decided to invite ourselves along for the movie time fun. The Tale of Despereaux...surely to be the highlight of my month, so far, that is. I'll think I let Liv tag along, if she promises to keep her dirty little mitts off my extra large buttered popcorn. I don't share popcorn...ever.

I made this little hipster bag because I saw this fabric and it made me think of E, the birthday girl. Seriously, how could you have a bad day while carrying a bag with ice cream sundaes all over it? It reminds me of her sweet little personality. The only possible hitch might be the lack of pinkness, but I'm throwing caution to the wind hoping the sugary sweetness makes up.

It is now 5 days before Christmas and last night I found myself obsessing over the idea that E would need a ruffled denim skirt and appliqued tee shirt to match ice cream bag. I should have been focusing on the English Trifle I have promised to produce for Christmas dessert. We all know that I sometimes have a lack of focus in the cooking department if I can happily occupy myself elsewhere until the last possible second. Denim skirt and matching tee shirt were of course not on hand in E's size laying around the sewing room. When I awoke this morning to both of my children watching cartoons, allowing me to sleep all the way to 7:50 am...I must pause to express thanks for that small Christmas miracle, I had one thing on the brain. Go to children's resale shop to fine E a denim skirt and matching tee to applique. The muffin man packed the girls off for a morning of indoor swimming at the local pool, and I was left to my own devices. Can you beleive he was happy to take them to the pool in December but gave me the hairy eyeball when I gave strict instructions to wash them off after swimming with soap and shampoo to rid their little bodies of chlorine? I often wonder if there is something really wrong with that little Y chromosome.

All's well that end's well. It was great fun creating that ice cream sundae outfit made from resale shop finds for an amazing little 7 year old. Hope she likes it. If not, I'm sure she be distracted by the stuff under her tree in the next few days. Ugh, late December birthdays...what are these people thinking?

No Malls In December

It was off to the mall last night to see Santa. This was of course against my better judgement, since I have a rather stringent "Perrin steps foot in no malls in December" policy which I have been able to stick to quite nicely since Al Gore invented the internet. http://www.sendittomyhouse.com//thank you very much for the free shipping!

However, this year the girls really wanted to see Santa. Or rather, Ava really wanted to make sure Santa knew she needs a Wii and little Olivia wants to make sure every single one of her teeth rots from her darling little head before Easter, so she's asking for candy, boat loads of it! This is important stuff that apparently cannot be placed into the competent hands of USPS. It is business done the old fashioned way...in person, at the mall. Think vintage 1985.

Being a big white woman, taking two little adorable Chinese children to the mall dressed to the nines can of course bring a tad bit of attention our way. Admittedly, sometimes I'm a bit more in the mood for this than others. And, since I had very important meatloaf in the oven waiting to sit on my hips back on the cul-de-sac I suggested we simply go incognito this year and wear our comfies. Ava had other ideas. I know, you are shocked. Before I had threatened to drop a lump of coal into their stockings for the 30th time in retaliation for their sisterly quibbling...Ava had Olivia's best red velvet hand-me-down dress with matching tights and socially appropriate for a 3 year old turtle neck laid out on the bed. Livi declared, "I wear shiny shoes too." The rest is history. They dressed themselves in their finery, just so Santa would know Ava meant business about the whole Wii issue. When Ava brings out her beloved plaid skirted velveteen dress, recently inherited from her one-size-taller friend's closet, look out, deals will be made. Transactions will be processed.

Here they are waiting in line to see the big guy.
























Of course I arrived at the mall with my Konica Minolta with super zoom in hand, only to be accosted by the sign saying something about please refrain from taking personal digital pictures until you have purchased the minimum photo requirement. Hmmmph. Have I ever mentioned that my favorite Christmas story is in fact the Grinch? But then, even my sour little heart swelled two sizes as Santa, donning a real white beard, greeted my excited children with a warm and hearty ho ho ho. "Come on up to Santa's lap", he bellowed. Not to spoil it for those of you willing to read to page 327, but we all know who sprung for the $17.99 for 2 5"x7"s right?

So, here is my personal digital picture after they had my debit card in their hot little white gloved elfy hands.

The original, taken by the elves, is remarkable similar. Ava, working the crowd assembled to see these adorable children on Santa's lap..and Livi...deer caught in the headlights.

Quite funny, if you know them in real life, or are as easily entertained as I am.

A few minutes later, after receiving their "it's a sure thing" candy canes, Ava stopped and pointed to the Christmas tree nicely decorated next to Santa. Guess what was left unwrapped under that tree?

A sign...a sign from God and Jesus and Mary too. Holy mother of electronic wonderment. Yes, this was left unwrapped under his tree. Yes, Virginia, errr ugh, Ava there is a Santa Claus.

Ballet Recital

Six months ago my baby would not unhinge herself from my neck long enough to do one tumble in a gymnastics class. We asked for a refund after the 2nd attempt at class. She was just petrified and couldn't bring herself to try those monkey swings and fun mats.

There were times when I wondered if she'd ever climb off my hip outside the house. Even my chiropractor suggested dislocating the 29lbs. of Olivia off my right hip in attempt to curb some lower back pain.

All good things come to those who wait.

This is Olivia immediately following her ballet recital today. All grins. From both of us. She loves it. I'm not sure what has prompted her wonderful turnaround and confidence to try something new without me in the room. I'm not questioning it, I'm simply signing her up for more ballet after Christmas. Oh, and tap too. She's giddy just talking about tap dancing and I haven't even climbed up in to the attic yet to fish around for some old tap shoes.

In the interest of full disclosure perhaps her darling friend E seen here in the black leotard, may have helped with the bravery issue. Yes, that's me in the background camera affixed to eye snapping pictures cursing my camera for it's inability to capture even the slightest movement of a three year old. Grrr... Do cameras go on sale after Christmas?






One more photo of the sugar plum fairy in the tiniest little leotard and skirt available.

China Buddies

This is Liv and her little friend E.

If there is one thing I am eternally grateful for these last few years after bringing the girls home, it is their playgroups. We have been so very fortunate to have found a playgroup for each of the girls comprised of little girls adopted within months of each other. Each playgroup has kids born within 4 months of each other. I cannot express how much this has meant to us. Besides the obvious companionship and camaraderie, these playgroups have given all of us the sense of normalcy. Our adoption choices are simply another way to form a Midwestern family, not a curiosity at the mall or some one's judgement of "saving those poor children". It has been amazing to have a place to go where each parent knows what it is like to have to answer awkward questions at the grocery store. Each parent knows what it is like when a child has terrible meltdowns and you wonder whether this is a normal mix of temperament and development, a bout of over tiredness, or something more deep ceded centered around profound loss. And here in the playgroup, while little girls listen to library story hour or dance petite ballerina at parks and recreation...Mom's have a safe place to just talk it out.

As playgroups often do, our groups are a litmus test of developmental psychology. Watching each of the girls' personality emerge and grow throughout the months surrounded by sisters of circumstance is both pure entertainment and perhaps a window to gauge years of social and emotional interactions to come.

I am stunned by this picture. It really does capture Liv and her friend E. E is rambunctious and quick. She is sly and funny. She, by her own doing is always perfectly accessorized. She is ultimately feminine. Liv is so cautious with new things and new people. She seems stunned then cameras emerge. But at home she is one of the sweetest people I have ever met. She is kind and once she trusts you she will shower you with hugs and genuine love. At home she bounces from one piece of furniture to the next...preferring you roll and skip from room to room rather than walk on the floor. She relishes the confines of these walls that are home.

I suppose this picture, taken by E's mom, is reminding me I need to take more pictures of my own...to remember their journey.

The Social Butterfly

Where are all these women coming from who have in their lives had the nerve to get themselves pregnant somewhere around the month of February or March and then have the little darling somewhere right around the holidays? Hmmm...where are you? Doesn't anyone get knocked up in July anymore? Well, if there are, Ava doesn't know them and isn't interested in their birthday parties.
So far, she's been invited to no less than 4 birthday parties this month. This, in addition to the Disney on Ice, Holiday show at the high school, neighborhood party and Lion King later this month. No wonder she fell asleep on the way home from the Brownie Troop holiday party yesterday after school.

If this keeps up I'm just going to have to write that school of hers a note saying there is absolutely no time for her to learn her 7's addition facts and well, that reading assignment is simply getting in the way of movies at the IMAX. That should go over well right?

I know we'll just get her a personal assistant and fly Paris Hilton in to consult on the finer aspects of gracious social management.

The Muffin Man and I? Not so much. Pretty much socially challenged these days. We like to go to the meat counter at the grocery for entertainment. Giddy up.

At the Office

Hey, hope your holiday season is starting off as well as mine.

May you get to wear a party dress, have a drink in your hand, and have lovely snowflakes painted upon your face.






Did I ever tell you the one about the balloon parrot who made it to the office party?

















Later on in the evening there was dancing on desks and lampshades worn as hats. May your season be merry and bright.

Busy Little Crazy Lady

I'm not exactly sure why I'm sitting here blogging this afternoon when I should be in the sewing room tackling the 19 bags I am making from 2 shows this weekend. But I've been hulled away all day and need an internet break.

So what have I been up to while unintentionally ignoring blogging?

Making bags. Lots of them, I tell you lots of them. I am eternally grateful for the sales and yet will be ready for a little holiday break in a few weeks when orders are filled and each and every teacher in our lives gets a little yummy Pink Evita bag, and toss in a few assorted friends and hostesses who will also be receiving oh, assorted baubles o' fabric..this all equals up to my eyebrows in fabric and a Christmas tree that is weeks away from moving from its current horizontal position into something more upright.

Also I have few funny stories to share. The first will be entitled I'm Too Sexy For My Treadmill, and it goes a little like this.

I'm at the gym a few days ago schlepping along to some vintage Janet Jackson on my shuffle. It look down and I've been walking a good clip for 45 minutes. I'm feeling quite good about myself and the lovely sheen I'm working up. So, I venture into the weight room area...extra confidence required here...and pick up my oh so heavy and 9lb. weights to do a few bicep curls. Everything was going great until RIP and out comes my left ear bud. In a quiet panic I drop to the floor looking for the little rubbery piece that covers the earphone thingy since it is my last little rubbery thingy and of course it would be 9 months before I could remember to go to Best Buy to buy another $.26 worth of rubbery ear piece thingys. No, rubbery thing. I casually walk around in a circle while trying to still look cool. Damn...no rubbery thingy where the hell is it? Then I try to reinsert ear bud since my endorphin high is headed south quickly.

I'll be damned if the rubbery thingy is lodged in my ear. I try with all my might and my stubbly little fingernails to dislodge the rubbery ear piece from my ear. No luck. I end workout routine and head to the shower. Surely it will come out with a little slippery soap. Then I get self conscience thinking people will know I cannot manage 9lbs. of weights and have a permanently lodged ear piece rubbery thing in my ear. But then I remember that since I cannnot even reach it with my pinky finger, people probably cannot see it. This is of course anyone at the gym would even care if they knew. I now suspect they wouldn't. The shower provides no luck at all and I drive home with rubbery piece still stuck in my left ear.

It took 6 tries and eyebrow tweezers to get the thing out! I kid you not. The Muffin Man suggested an ipod lawsuit so small ear canaled people like myself are not injuring themselves while being too sexy for their treadmills.

Next story. I fished keys out of the toilet at the bank...barehanded and lived to tell the story.

Ok, the title pretty much sums it up. I wnet to the bank for a "quick" trip yesterday with Liv. Of course since it has been a whole 7 minutes since she last used the potty she insisted on using the bank potty which by the way is behind a locked door. Teller lets us in and Livi does her thing. I come out and do my banking. Liv runs amok, vandalizing their water fountain and taking a loan at 4.5% interest. Upon finishing our banking I casually say hmmm, Liv I can't find my keys. The teller asks if I might have left them in the bathroom, to which I reply, "Of course not, I never loose my keys." Then I follow her into the bathroom, which she had to unlock with a key, after dumping the contents of my bag on the counter. I peek my head in and announce, "No keys." She gets this look of doom on her face and loudly announces in her MOST grossed out voice EVER "Oh my God they are in the toilet."

Everything stops as Liv starts to cackle uncontrollably. "Livi, did you toss Mommy's keys in the potty?", I ask in my you know she is really a mean mom overly sugary public nice voice. More cackling from the three year old. The teller yells to some guy who has an office with an actual door that he needs to get her some gloves. I tell her not to panic and quickly scoop them up with my bare hands. (It was clean water, folks.) She announces that never in a million years would she ever touch something so deathly gross. I wash the keys with soap and of course my hands too and turn to her and say, "Yes, but you appear to be only 25ish... and I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess you have no children." To which she quickly conceded. I told her to think of me in a few years when she is administering her first baby butt enema at 3am in the dark while her husband sleeps peacefully. Ahhh yes, think of me then you young and blond germ free little vixen.

So, I leave you now for number 9 of 19 adorable little bags to sew. They are calling my name and refuse to make themselves. Everyone have a crazy happy turkey day. And don't forget to wash those hands.

In The Kitchen With Liv

Guess what she did this week? Baked her own 3rd birthday cake.

It was yellow, upon special request. The end result was not exact picture worthy but it was yellow and it was sweet. And, ultimately newly turned three year olds don't seem to care about perfection when it comes to birthday cakes. They only want yellow and sticky and sweet. The cake, she had been asking for cake for weeks. No presents, no fanfare, just cake.

And it was yellow, sticky and sweet. Trust me.

She scored a semi new wooden kitchen sized perfectly for someone 39" tall. (thanks for the recycle opportunity, Miss Rachel) It has provided hours of fun already.

As I got her ready for bed at the end of the big day, I told her that she was officially not allowed to grow one inch more or age one more day. That was an order, an order to which she laughed. Then I kissed her soft round outy belly button knowing we are at the tail end soft round outy belly button kisses. Truth be told I wouldn't mind having my 10 month old Livi back. She's just that sweet of a baby, I mean toddler, I mean three year old.

Pass the tissues. My baby is 3.

Ultimatums

It's been raining for 3 days straight. No one will walk me around here. I've eaten all the garbage there is. Desperate times call for desperate measures...I ate a wicker trash can. I didn't really want to, I sometimes make bad choices. I'm canine. The Halloween Babyruth's are officially toast. The 3 year old's little ponies?? gone...I'll be pooping pink plastic for weeks.

There is nothing left to do but settle in and officially set up shop as a couch potato.

They've left me no choice. Turn on the boob tube....and none of that dog Wisperer crap either.

Days of Our Lives or I'm eating a red Sharpie marker on the new carpet. You choose.

Is It Really This Late...

Please don't look at the date. Please don't. I took some great Halloween shots and I know it is reprehensible to be posting them a tad late. But this is my life now...a wee bit forgetful about important things like cheerleading practices after school and who's supposed to be bringing the teddy grahams for preschool snack while my mind is off running a little business making handbags mostly in my head.

So, here they are...or here they were. Halloween was the best one yet. Both girls competely understood the concept of free candy. And, what a wonderful thing to completely understand...ahhh free candy from the neighbors. After the free candy was dispensed we hopped in the car and went to our friend's amazing party. Boy can that gal throw a Halloween party. You know who you are. It's better than Christmas if you ask me..all that Halloween goodness.

Slacker Mom Goes all Scary

I honestly thought my day yesterday was going just fine and I was all uber-mom when I remembered that it was the day before Halloween and I dressed my Olivia in an orange tee shirt as we headed off to preschool. All the way there I was mentally calculating how much work I could accomplish in my 5 heavenly child free hours today.

We pull into the parking lot and the kid next to us getting out of his minivan is wearing a full Dalmatian dog outfit. Oh, how cute I thought, the 4's class must be letting their kids wear costumes. Then we enter the building and round the corner only to hear the teacher say..."Oh, Phoenix (no, I didn't make that up, the kid's name is Phoenix...and don't think I won't get to the bottom of that story before May) what a wonderful Buzz Lightyear you make." Oh shit, Livi is the only one of 10 kids not in full on Halloween garb. I'm trading in the stainless steel refrigerator for my old semi working white one that allows you to stick life's important memos to it with magnets...obviously I missed the preschool calendar notes this month.

Wait it gets worse. The teachers inform me that I can simply come back 15 minutes early before the Halloween show to dress her in a costume. Ah, what show I ask. They laugh acting like they are playing along with my dimwit game, "acting" like I don't know that there is some show today at 10:30am. I then proceed to ask what the kids will do after the show as far as the costumes go, since several of the kids, including my Olivia stay for extended day to play in their fabulous gymnasium. As luck would have it they have decided that there is no extended day during holidays. Halloween, a full holiday warranting early dismissal? What's next? No preschool on Secretary's Day. But remember to pay the full amount on the way out please.

Ok, so I'm to show up 4 hours early for preschool pumpkin songs, a cookie and early dismissal. Hmmm...making those seven handbags probably isn't going to happen, I think sullenly to myself on the way out.

I left seriously unnerved and wearing the scarlet letter S...for slacker mom. Then I came back to preschool in 1 hour after scurrying on home for Olivia's 1/2 finished costume. I was off balance all day until my girlfriend across the street who works a real full time job while raising 2 sons told me that she completely forgot to take her 11 year old to the first 2 whole days of school television crew practice. She just completely forgot for 2 whole days. When she asked the volunteers in charge they simply said they thought he might be sick since he was a no show. See, I'm not the only one in the neighborhood with a stainless steel refrigerator.

Here is Liv, on stage, checking out the people setting up the treat bags and cookie stand out in the audience, stage right.












And here is she auditioning for the NY Philharmonic. I mean shaking little bells to the tune of 5 little pumpkins sitting on a fence.

Easy Come, Easy Go

Notice something different? Something missing? Something in the general dental auxillary area missing? Yes, at exactly 6 years 9 months this child finally lost a tooth. The new one just plain old evicted the little baby one. Came up right behind it in a few short weeks and bump...you're out.

I'm verclempt. Not really because she's old enough to sprout adult teeth, more because damn it if I didn't work as hard as she did for the little itty bitty lost tooth. I swear I thought we would both lose our minds getting baby teeth for that poor child. My whole life revolved around what kind of day we would have based on how much pain she was in birthing those damn beautiful pearly whites, for several months. She screamed bloody murder and I walked around in sweaty old tee shirts drooling out one side of my mouth one half in sympathy and the other due to sleep deprivation due to aforementioned screaming of bloody murder. And believe me if the new ones are not as straight and white and as downright lovely as the old ones...I writing a letter to China. And it won't be polite. No, I'm in no hurry to see those babies go. Thank goodness the one next to it isn't even loose yet. There is mercy in the universe.









So, the tooth fairy. I'm sure your all wondering what the heck happened with the tooth fairy on such a momentous occasion. She came, she saw, whe wrote a note and kindly left $2 whole dollars. The tooth fairy figured since you can't even get a pack of good sugarfree gum for under $1.25 she would play the big spender the first time and cough up the extra dollar. Call her what you may, but cheap she is not.

Notice the note she left actually came from toothfairy headquarters? Might have been a slow night since it is from headquarters, and not some crappy satellite office in Roanoke.
After school, Ava prolaimed that some first graders don't even believe that the tooth fairy is real. Travesty, I tell you. But don't you worry Ava knows she is real. Want to know how? She said she noticed she left her last name on the note and only real people have last names. I admitted I didn't get the last name bit when I read the note. "Headquarters, is her last name name right?", said Ava. The note says: From: Toothfairy Headquarters.

How do I love that kid, let me count the ways. Any kid that can make me virtually pee my pants while eating scalloped corn...well, I do love that kid. Tooth gapped and all.

School 8 Weeks In; Life 6 Years In

We are now just about 8 weeks into 1st grade. Ava absolutely loves school and is learning so much, very fast...and not all of it is academic either. Some good and some shall we say, inevitable. Some of this stuff in the inevitable department is why I am a huge supporter and believer in public school education. It takes all kinds to make the world go around, to make us tolerant human beings, and to learn to swear properly on the kickball field. Ava is learning all of these important life lessons. She is sifting through what is appropriate for school, what is appropriate for home and what it feels like when a simply adorable little boy named Matt completely dumps you for all the womanly mysteries that are a little girl named Hailey. I haven't had the heart to tell her; hey baby, hold on until 7th grade, it will be far worse.

Just like Kindergarten we are also experiencing after school full atomic green meltdowns complete with slimy goo spilling out both ears while her head spins and she shouts in primal pain. I know deep down in my heart this is karmic payback for the tantruming 4ft. jumping brat that I was at the same age, and dare I admit much older too. Each and every time she is so tired that she melts onto the floor cursing me for living and subsequently gets sent to her room, I think of my mother and how she had to deal with my drama all those years. I'm still the reigning queen of a good temper tantrum, ask anyone East of the Mississippi.

So why is she so tired? What is it in her day that exhausts her physically and emotionally? She attends 1st grade full time, obviously. She graces the Brownie troop with her presence once every two weeks and she goes to Chinese school on Sunday afternoons for two hours. No dancing classes, no soccer, no afterschool care, no cooking lessons, nada. Of course she begs for a gymnastics class now and then but I've said no since she seems to be just keeping her little emotional head above water as it is.

Perhaps it goes back to her one big whopper of an issue that I know I've mentioned before. That ever elusive thing called sleep. You know the one thing in life that is supposed to rejuvenate and refresh the human body and spirit? Yeah, she's not all about that. Never has been. I have that child in her bed lights out between 7:59 and 8:00pm each and every night. And yet, it is not uncommon for me to trip over her on my floor during a 2am bathroom run. Sometimes she plays her music and reads at 3am. Perhaps her people might have been part vampire. These sleep issues do have a pattern. At the start of the school year her sleep issues become exacerbated, that is a pattern no doubt.

In addition, she's choosing adoption books for us to read quite a bit recently. The other night we read An Mei's Strange and Wonderous Journey. She was so quiet and looked about to cry that I just wanted to toss the book across the room. "Why can't we just read Dr. Seuss again, I thought." But, I know better...if she is choosing the book she needs to hear the story and work through awareness of issues. She had so many questions about the physical appearance of her birthmother. All of which I could not answer. My inability to answer a question frustrates Ava to no end, it always has. As I tucked her into bed after reading the book she shouted in utter frustration, "I just cannot remember. I can't remember what she looked like. I was too young to remember and now I've forgotten everything. I think I lived in a straw mud house but I don't remember anyone." Ava is notorious for remembering everything. The kid has a steel trap for a brain and can remember the details of some average playdate three years ago. Perhaps that is why this one thing about not remembering is such a difficult pill to swallow. I suppose when you are 6 years old it does not register that the cognitive part of the human brain just does not often remember life at 2, 4, 6, and 8 months old.

And so we push on. The Muffin Man and I knew full well that parenting these kids would not be all patent leather mary janes and bows to match pink dresses. Or so the social worker warned.

I suspect the sleep issues will even out as Ava gets more and more used to the routine of school. Perhaps some of the frustration related to her beginnings will too as we try to normalize living with it and talking it through as well.

Cronies Come Home

This is old news, but I'm home. I've been home for a week and a half and I'm just now getting to the part where I document in writing that I'm home.

Girls weekend with my gal pals, my cronies, my sista's from other motha's was a hoot. As you can see we quickly found a northern Michigan winery. We bellied up to the bar slurped down a few pino grigio's and the rest is history.

Here is a "best twilight zone story" of the weekend and then I'll move on to my usual cul-de-sac mundane crap. My little pal Leanne's (sitting next to moi and front row on the left in the picture)mom wanted her to hook up with a long lost cousin on the trip. Isn't there always a long lost cousin? We all politely grinned..and said sure we'll drop your ass off downtown Traverse City so you can party on down with Aunt Becky and Cousin Matt. Pick you up at 10. Kidding, we were all much more disgustingly polite than that. Anyhoo, Leanne calls Matt and he wants to hook up for a drink and tells us all the hot spots in town. Aunt Becky is not in for the deal. And by the way check out my retail store while you are there. So, there we are, us 5 moms heading on into town killing time shopping for tee shirts when we detour into cousin Matt's store. I smell patchouli, Lisa picks up a very classy looking roach clip and asks what it is, Carrie pulls out a tee shirt that says "Jesus is coming, pass a napkin." (Yes, it took me over 5 minutes to even get it before quickly taking my-hands-off-that-tee-shirt.) Then someone under their breath says, this is cousin Matt's place! I start howling. You're kiddding...a head shop? Leanne turns a deep shade of purple and quickly says that she will go meet Matt and catch up with us in a few. "Oh no!", I say, You can't ditch me." Can't wait to meet cousin Matt. :)

Matt and his friends were great. Shocking normal...much to my dismay. He explained that the retail shops (he owns a few) are simply an extension of his 18 year old self. He also owns a plastics company. Go figure, probably an extension of his 40 year old self that loves an amazing house on the lake with a boat slip to match.

Then we came back to our cottage and I spent an embarassing amount of time trying to learn to crochet little Amigurami pigs. Whew, rock on...good thing girls wekeend only comes around once a year.

Heading to The Lake of Crystal

It's Crystal Lake time again. Time for me to load up in a mini van full of my cronie girlfriends drive the open road for a long time, and end up at a lake house far remote from anything like the normal routine of 1st grade Brownie troop meetings, 2 year old playdates, lots of dishwashing...and quality stitching time at the sewing machine.

Ahhh, 3 whole days filled with wine and women. Three whole days of eating at the best little Jewish deli this side of NYC each and every morning. Three whole days of sitting on a deck and watching the water slowly move left and right. Three whole days of touring every little west side Michigan winery and its requisite gift shop.

If only I wasn't so darn tired just getting ready to get in that mini van. I tell you it has taken me 2 solid days just to prepare for my dear father coming, who has offered to toss the Muffin Man a life line and come stay to help entertain the young'uns, and prep the house, the book bags, the lunch boxes, the laundry etc... Because God only knows I couldn't step foot out of the state without every bed linen changed and every set of size 2T pajamas being wholly and absolutely sparkling clean and neatly placed in that top drawer. Hello insanity, just toss a pair of jeans in the duffle and put your butt down in the van and go already. But, Friday is 1st grade picture day and we all know if I'm not here to fight with Ava about how she will wear her hair...world peace will certainly run asunder and my 6 year old will have ratty hair preserved for posterity and all of time in a Lifetouch gray background 2x3 photo. This is forever people, 1st grade class pictures are at stake.

And yet, I could use a little time off the cul-de-sac. So the little royal court that is run by moi will have to find a way to operate without it's benevolent dictator for three short days. I'm sure it will be filled with plenty of ice cream and swinging time to satisfy even my subjects.

T minus 16 hours and counting until minivan lift off. Perhaps I'll share a picture of the gals and I at Madonna's father's vineyard upon my return.