Project Runway: Daddy Edition

I work a couple of nights a week, and I swear I miss all the fun stuff. Bug is always be-bopping into my room in the morning jabbering on and on about all the great stuff she did with Daddy "while you was at work." (As an aside, parenting takes on a whole new level of funny when your kids can tattle on your partner to you later. Schmoopse and I are always calling each other with insider info from our little blabber mouth.)

Last night, my phone buzzed on my desk at work with the following picture:

Bug requested a princess dress, and a skirt (including the THREE tutu-inspired numbers she has) simply wouldn't do. Luckily for her, Daddy was able to whip up this full length empire-wasted number with ruching at the top out of a favorite blanket, a hair elastic, and her Easter sweater to keep it Daddy-approved in the modesty department.

The long and short of it is that I've tried all morning to replicate the gown, and simply can't match his execution up to her discerning taste and standards.

Daddies are the best.

Three years.

Littlest Pollywog Buggy,

I spent last night remembering. It probably looked like I was busy as a bee, flitting about broiling chicken and whipping up spicy peanut sauce or dashing off to the store with Daddy to pick up your birthday surprise, but in my head was a running clock. Right now, I bet we were at the Orton's house watching the game, I'd think. Contractions were starting. We picked out crepe paper and balloons for your party. I-15, squeezing Daddy's hand and holding my breath. We snuck your present into the garage at Nana's house and loaded sleepy kids into the car to drive home.  Monitors on. IV in. Knees and ankles rocking side to side to manage the hurt.

After you fell asleep, Daddy and I snuck into your room with balloons and streamers so you'd wake up to a party, and then I crawled into bed and cried.

I guess I've run out of ways to tell you that you are growing up too fast, that it can't possibly have been three entire years since you slid into the world, that I miss your littleness already.  I'll just wait patiently (it won't be long) until you've outgrown your Dora jammies and your habit of saying goodbye with a hug, a kiss, an Eskimo, and a high five. I'll wait until you have a baby of your own and your heart splits and knits together a thousand times a day. I'll see it in your pretty blue eyes; you will finally understand.

So, on your birthday, I'll spare you a wordy post about how last night I cried over the sleepers you've long since outgrown and the funny little words you used to stumble over that roll effortlessly off your lips these days.

Instead, I'll just say this: you are the most wonderful girl. You are smart and kind and funny and lovely and you fill my world with sunshine. Even though I miss you small, I cannot wait to see the beautiful woman you are becoming. 

Sometimes, when we're all wrestling on the floor together in a pile of arms and legs and laughter, someone will yell, "FAMILY SANDWICH!" It's your favorite thing, and you immediately burst into laughter and clap your hands until we all pile on in a stack. 

Mama and Daddy are the bread. Mister Baggins is our sweet, sticky little jelly boy. And you, pretty princess, you are our peanut butter. You are the soft, warm glue holding all of us together, with just enough salt to keep things interesting. 

Plus, your hair is the exact color of Skippy. 

I love you, baby. To the moon and back. Happy birthday!

-Mama

Birthday treat with Aunt Mim

Princess Hair

Bug, who has never even seen the movie Cinderella, recently saw a commercial with the fairy godmother dressing Cinderella for the ball.

I wanna look like Cinderella! she cried.

Go ahead, say it's my fault for ingraining those gender stereotypes. I don't care what you say, because she held perfectly still the entire time I combed her hair without the normal hollering and carrying on with merely the promise of a princess bun.

And so, if you are one of the throngs of people who have ever wondered what Cinderella would look like as a redhead and wearing an oversized glow-in-the-dark jack-o-lantern sweatshirt (courtesy Aunt B), a pink tutu, and floral tennies with a bit of washable marker on her face, here ya go. My gift to you.

Who needs a glass slipper, anyway?

The Hee-hee Place

Last year around Halloween, when Bug was still small and learning words (unlike now--these days I'm pretty sure her vocabulary is bigger than mine) we taught her all about pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns and witches on broomsticks, and at some point during the conversation we told her the witches say "hee hee hee". She thought that was hilarious, and referred to witches as hee-hees for the rest of the season. This year even though she knows they are witches she still calls them hee-hees sometimes just for fun.

Around this time last year, Jessica and I took our kiddos to Gardner Village to do the little scavenger hunt searching for the witches they have set up all around the shops and restaurants. I'm not sure why I never really blogged about it, but it might have had something to do with being 4 months pregnant and feeling like garbage (looking like it, too, most likely.) Bug and her steel-trap of a memory have referred to Gardner Village as The Hee-hee Place ever since.

Yesterday, Stace and I took our kids over to check out the hee-hees again. This year, it basically consisted of following Bug around endlessly searching for the next cool thing.

Someday when the two little ones have actual preferences about where we go and what we do, poor Bug's bubble is going to really pop.

Bug was all kinds of sassy about getting her picture taken at first (this almost 3-years-old business is no joke and SO MUCH HARDER than plain ol' 2) so I had to sneak them in from behind.

Once we staged her as the resident Big Girl of the group, though, she pretty much ate it up.

The series of shots of the three of them viewed in order basically become a flip book wherein you can watch Mister Baggins jam his girlfriend's super cute cape right into his mouth. This is only stage one.

See?

Luckily, she didn't seem to mind her clothing covered in his slobber. We have such great friends.

We had a great time! The weather could not have been more beautiful, and there's nothing better than a free seasonal activity with plenty of photo ops to make me feel like a good mom.

Melt my heart.

Yesterday this happened at my house:

"Daddy, are you a king? Because I'm a princess, and I need a king to dance with me."

In case you were wondering existentially about the meaning of life, you know, the what's it all for? business we first-worlders have the luxury to spend time pondering, there it is. 18 words that make up the entire universe for one daddy and his red-headed princess.

Parenting on the go.

How Schmoopse and I used to pack for a relaxing weekend getaway with the fam:

Prep Time: If I did it alone? Maybe 15 minutes. If I dawdled.


How the Schmoopse and I now pack for a relaxing weekend getaway with the fam plus two kids under two:

Prep Time: Let's face it, it takes me more than 15 minutes to get ready to go to the grocery store.

This does not include the Cadillac stroller, of course, because I was too late to reserve a U-Haul.

Just kidding. Only about the U-Haul part though. Vacationing with kids makes me good and ready for... a vacation.