It's Hot, and I'm Not Kidding

Houston, we have survived Week One of first grade. I say we, because naturally I've been as nervous and anxious as Big Stuff has. Or I guess more accurately, I've been nervous and anxious. She's been fine. Cutie Pie had to point out to me last week that I was not the one going back to school. Like I don't know that. Sheesh. (Maybe I should change his name to Smarty Pants...) Something about the Times They Are A Changin' just gets me all tied up in knots! Can't help it. Maybe I'm just going stir-crazy. Because it's like ONE THOUSAND degrees outside, and you don't even want to think about going outside, even to travel a mile or two in your swamp of a van so you can run as fast as you can to the door of your destination and collapse inside in the AC. I mean, are we living on the SUN or what? Yes, I'm a total wimp. Yes, I should be able to handle the heat better. I'm from Florida, the Sunshine State, for Pete's sake, where it is hotter than your wildest nightmares of Hell for most of the year. Which is why I MOVED, hello? But at least in my current state, you have the hope of cooler temperatures just around the corner. And I am all about hope. In the meantime, I will be hibernating indoors and talking myself down from the proverbial ledge, called Changes I Didn't Ask for Nor Want. Especially those involving little girls growing up.

Dinner with Meme

I have the coolest supper club. We not only eat the most amazing food, visit the most amazing homes and laugh ourselves silly into the wee hours of way-past-our-bedtimes...we have these great conversations, too. There's this Question of the Night thing we do. I didn't realize this, but there's an equivalent in the blogging world called the meme. (Learn something new every day). This past week, the supper club's meme was "What was your first car?" which turned into "Tell us about every car you've had since you turned 16." Now, I must warn you, I'm the kind of gal who thinks a car is pretty much a mechanism to get from Point A to Point B, although I wouldn't turn down a red convertible if you offered me one. I once dated a guy who drove (he told me many times) a carefully restored, mint-condition Camaro. He was extremely proud of this vehicle. But when he drove up in it on our first date, I was apparently not as impressed as he would have hoped. He kept hinting around...so, what do you think of my car? And I think I said something about it looking very clean and asking did he recently wash it. (I know, catch a clue right?) I guess he was intrigued by my "feigned" non-interest in his car, and so he spent the next year of our relationship trying to "educate" me about cars. Yawn. In any case...I'm not a gearhead or whatever they call car people. But this dinner conversation was incredibly interesting to me, because I never realized how much of a milestone a car is to a person - myself included. There's always a story about where you were in life when you got the car, who you had to share the car with, what the car's name was, who helped you buy it, why you chose a certain make and model, how the car treated you and how you treated the car, how it made you feel about yourself.... It was all very telling about our personalities, our hopes and dreams at different times of our lives and how The Car is more than just transportation (OK, I'm finally getting it Mr. Camaro!). What was your first car? Mine was a Pontiac Sunbird - black interior and exterior...in Florida. Thaaaatttt's right. (It was implied at dinner that someone probably paid us to take the car instead of vice versa). It was ugly and it was hot, but I loved that car because it was MINE. And there is nothing like driving over the St. Johns River bridge at sunset with the radio blaring, the windows down (AND the AC on - sorry, Mom) in a car that is YOUR VERY OWN. You can't beat it with a stick shift.

36 Going On 6

Do you remember being 6? I think I can remember it, and it's probably the first year I do remember. Of course, the farther I get away from 6, the less I remember about it. Next year, 7 will be the year of enlightenment. My baby turned 6 recently. A very cool birthday, where you have your own ideas about which friends to invite and what kind of party you want to have. But you're not so opinionated yet that you insist on a party with a thousand kids that will break the bank or the patience of your parents. You still enjoy the simple and the few, the quality versus the quantity. I do know that I was 6 when I met my best friend. When I was 6, I learned to ride a yellow bike down the sidewalk between our house and Aunt Kathleen's house. When I was 6, I wanted to pick everyone's flowers, much to my mom's and neighbors' chagrin, since our whole block and everything in it belonged to me. When I was 6, I think I remember having my birthday party in my parents' garage, and I got to invite friends from school and neighbors down the street... and I think I cried because I didn't get a prize for winning one of the birthday games (I was unswayed by the argument that I was the birthday girl, for crying out loud, and didn't I just get a whole table full of gifts??). Now my girl is 6. And she gets to do all the great things that 6-year-olds do. Man, nothing beats being a kid, does it? And guess what? It's pretty fun doing it all over again too.

It's Her Birthday, I Can Cry if I Want To

Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl!

Small Fry is officially the big 0-3. I love 3-year-old birthday parties. The little guys are so easy to please at this age. Just surround me with some loved ones who can make a fuss over me, give me presents and let me lick the icing off the cake, and it's a birthday to remember. They are never disappointed if you can deliver those few things. And Princess Small Fry was a prime example of birthday contentment. She was in her element. She relished every minute of the relative fussing, icing licking, bubble blowing, present opening, costume wearing affair. She marveled over each and every gift. "Oh, look at this!" she said breathlessly every time she ripped open a new goody. She gave every guest hugs and kisses. She read stories to us and danced in her Briar Rose ( whom has now been dubbed Fire Hose by Da) costume to our delight. It was awesome. Cutie Pie and I reminisced later that night about the day she was born. I started having contractions in the middle of the night, but they were very mild, and I figured why wake everyone up? ( I think I still felt guilty about Big Stuff's birth, when Cutie Pie went something like 25 hours without sleep. ) The next day I just went about my business until my 11 am OBGYN appointment. The midwife was about to sign off on me and send me home when I said, "Well, I think I've been having contractions since last night." Sure enough, I was halfway to Ground Zero already. She told me to high-tail it to the hospital, and 5 or 6 hours later, we were holding that dear girl in our arms. And every moment since then has been the same. She just eased herself right into our lives. Sure, she can be a handful with her temper tantrums and her refusal to be distracted from the mission of the moment, whatever that may be, but when she's ready...she just up and does her thing. And we just stand back and marvel.

PS - She decided 3 is a good age to be potty trained. And, therefore, she now is. See ya later Pampers! Yes, we've been joined at the cheek for the last six years, but it's the end of an era. ( cue the evil laugh ) Thank you, Jesus!

Ordinary Miracles

My girls and I went to see Charlotte's Web today at the movies. What a great movie, you really must see it! I laughed, and sentimental sap that I am, even cried. What kind of goofball cries at a kid's movie? But man, was it touching! And not in the manipulative, make-a-buck way that most movies are these days. Really touching, really sweet, really true. Small Fry looked over at me during Charlotte's final speech and said (loudly!) "Mama, why are you crying?" I whispered, "I just like the movie." She says, "I know you are crying. I hear you sniffing." She kept stealing glances at me suspiciously, as if I was trying to hide something from her (well, I was). I also choked up when Fern showed up in the kitchen wearing the pretty yellow dress her mother had picked out, asking Mama to tie ribbons in her hair. I laughed through tears when Avery teased, you look like a girrrrrrl and she punched him in the arm, saying yeah and you hit like one! I cried again when Fern and Henry Fussy clasped hands and ran toward the ferris wheel. Although I have seen this movie a hundred times and read the book two hundred times, there is just something unspeakably tender about that little girl growing up, just a bit, in the most innocent of ways. Maybe now it's just more poignant to me since I'm relating to Fern not as a peer, but as a daughter of my own.

"Why did you do all this for me?" he asked. "I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you."

"You have been my friend," replied Charlotte. "That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what's a life, anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die... By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heavens knows anyone's life can stand a little of that."